Speaking Slander
Gunter waved his magazine to swat away a fly before turning a page and wolf-whistling. "Check out that Megan Fox. She's not as pretty as people make her out to be, but I would still tap that."
Marty held his cigarette between his teeth and rolled over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows and squirming to get comfortable on the grass. "Are you kidding me, dude?" He blew the smoke out of his nostrils and watched the vapor crawl upwards into the air to dissipate, then snorted, unimpressed.
"What?" Gunter dropped the magazine down over his chest, turning his head to look up at Marty. "You telling me you wouldn't tap Megan Fox?"
"Yeah, that's what I'm telling you." Marty took in another drag. After a moment of holding it in, he breathed out more smoke with a soft groan, squinting. "Only because I would obliterate her."
Gunter cracked up and threw the magazine off of himself, leering over at Marty with a suggestive grin and wide eyes. "Nail her to a wall, huh?"
"More, split'er like wood."
"Sounds like you're just aiming to make sure she won't be able to walk anymore."
Marty let out a loud 'ha', throwing his head back. "Brother, when I'm done, her pelvis will be broken."
"Oh, shit." Gunter snorted and then paused to laugh. "I've never heard you say such scary yet sexy things. We should talk like this more often."
"Actually, that makes me think we talk too much.." Marty took his cigarette between his fingers and giggled, shaking his head as he blew out smoke. "It's really too bad though, that despite everything I said, I actually wouldn't do her. Megan Fox is ugly."
"Amen to that."
"God, the weather is so nice today." Marty combed his free hand through his hair and stuck the cigarette back in his mouth, inhaling sharply. "Windy but warm, like being being at a beach before noon. This, Rip, is what I call perfect weather. I don't know how you miss being in Chicago."
"What? Don't hate on my state." Gunter mock-pouted up at Marty.
"You're from Chicago and you don't know that it's a city?"
"Fuck off. Er, you know what I meant. Don't hate on my city."
The older male responded by positioning his hand as though he were holding a cup (pinky out) and taking a drink from the invisible glass. "Sippin' on that haterade, what're you gonna do about it?"
Gunter retrieved his magazine and tossed it at him.
Marty flinched and knocked it away, and then turned it towards himself to flip to the page where Megan Fox was staring up at him. He tapped the cigarette ash onto her face and closed the magazine, shaking his head. "I'm so sick of celebs these days. All the people who mattered are old or dead, and there's this whole new stream that's just way too young or too weird."
"Lady GaGa," Gunter rubbed his face at the thought. "People say she's creative. Is that a new way of calling someone a freak? I should be called creative, if that's right. I don't know what, man.."
"It's because you're not a chick who can sing, man."
"I think it's because I'm just not a chick. I mean, think about Bjork."
"Oh my god, you're right. You are so right. Shit, man..I guess you'd have to be an ugly chick too, at that."
"Oh hell no. If I had to be a woman, I'd want the face of Adonis and the body of an Amazonian goddess."
"Why not everything of an Amazonian goddess?" Marty paused. "Cause, like, you know... Adonis is a guy."
Gunter blinked. "Shit. At least he wasn't ugly."
"I guess so. A beautiful woman with the face of a handsome man..."
"I've woken up next to weirder things on some mornings after."
"I'll bet." Marty paused and looked at his cigarette. "If I stub this out on the grass, do you think it could catch fire?"
"Uh..." Gunter stared at the lit cancer stick, hesitating to answer. "Is this a trick question or something like that?"
"No, I'm serious. I want to put this out but I don't wanna get up just to do it. Unless you'll do it for me?" Marty grinned coyly.
Gunter raised his brows and shook his head, flatly going, "Nope."
Marty sighed and took the cigarette between his fingers, gazing down at the ground curiously. "Hey Rip, if I set this on fire and we burn, I just want you to know that I'm so sorry."
"You'd better eat more of that humble pie if we do, 'cause if that patch next to my head goes ablaze, I'm gonna have to shove my foot in a really weird and uncomfortable place and, y'know, neither of us want that, right?" Gunter paused. "Well actually maybe I do."
"Ripley, man..." Marty glanced over at him. "You're so creative."
"Oh, I know!"
Marty laughed and then cleared his throat. "All right, all right, I'm gonna do it."
"I'm not ready yet!" Gunter rolled onto his front and propped himself up on his elbows, putting his hands on his face and anxiously watching through the cracks between his fingers. "Okay, go."
Marty sucked in a breath and quickly snubbed the cigarette out. Nothing happened.
Jimyi leaned over them, arms folded and brows raised way up high, hidden behind her bangs. "That was really, really anticlimactic, you guys."
Gunter glanced up at her and then rolled onto his back once again. "I can see up your skirt, chica."
Jimyi furrowed her eyebrows, perplexed. "I'm not wearing a skirt."
"But if you were, he'd be looking up it. Up your skirt, I mean." Marty paused and raised his brows to drawl out a "heeey!"
Jimyi rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "I can't believe I came outside for this."
"Hey wait, yeah. What did you come out here for? Surely not to enjoy the weather."
"And why wouldn't I come out here to enjoy the weather?" Jimyi pretended to step on Marty's hand.
Marty quickly withdrew and let out a snort. "You know, I had the perfect comeback to that question just for you, but since I thought of it so long ago I completely forgot what it was."
"I love how you think about setting me up in advance." Jimyi laughed and then gasped, "Oh! Someone named Daracon called. He said he knew you two and wanted to go for lunch sometime."
"Who the fuck is Daracon?" Gunter asked, scowling with bewilderment.
"No clue. Sounds familiar though," Marty scratched his head. "He say where he was from?"
"He said that you all met in Chicago. While you were both jailed. I don't..even want to know that story. And, um, that Daracon is just his middle name but that's what you called him. He's originally from Alabama or Louisiana, I can't remember."
Gunter and Marty both froze. "Hey Mart, s'he the Gunnery Sergeant?"
"That tall-ass black guy with the muscles of Zeus, who called us 'mastuh'?" Marty squinted trying to recollect his memory.
"Did he sound like a bigshot movie announcer or some hollywood star?" Jimyi twisted her mouth off to the side. "Because I..was so turned on by his voice."
"Oh my god oh my god oh my god it's him it's him it's him," Gunter sputtered out. "Shit shit what was his real name again?"
"Holy crap calm down, you're making me excited and also I don't remember." Marty gaped. "Daracon, Daracon Chris? What was his first name?"
"Was Chris his last name? That doesn't sound right."
"I thought not, but it was the best answer I've got. If it wasn't Chris then what is it?"
"I don't know, but it was way cooler than that."
"...Cross. Cross!"
"Daracon Cross sounds badass! That must be it. But uh, shit, what was his first name?"
"I have no damn clue, bro. But, you know how his middle name and last name are awesome? I remember being so unimpressed by his first name. In fact I think it was so bad, that's why we called him Daracon."
"Um," Gunter squeezed his eyes shut and tapped at his forehead. "Um um um um. It wasn't Dustin, right?"
"No, no. It wasn't the lame kind of bad, it was the old man kind of bad. Maybe it was, I don't know, Logan or Brett or something."
"I don't think so. Brett's a cool name..."
"But yet no one's ever met a cool Brett."
"You're right, you're right." Gunter sighed heavily. "Okay, um, old man name.. Ernest?"
Marty guffawed as Jimyi promptly returned to the building. "Not that old! What if it's Eugene?"
"Or Harvey."
"Hey, I'd vote Harvey Dent."
"Okay, uh, Wilmur."
"Ew! How about Theodore? That's like the male name equivalent of Dorothy."
"Theo--" Gunter snapped his fingers and quickly sat up, hooting loudly and swinging his arm. "Theodore Daracon Cross was our big black Marine baby!"
-
Nelson rapped at the frame, pushing the door in just a crack. "You mind if I come in? Sorry it's really late, I heard the noises and I had no idea what they were until I got here.."
Anthaniel scooped the water into his mouth and rinsed, then spat it back out onto the sink, cupping more of the liquid to wash away the tiny remains of vomit from the ceramic. "I-it's fine.."
Nelson entered the bathroom slowly, rubbing Anthaniel's hunched back as gently as he could muster. He took one look at the mirror and was confused at the spontaneous array of math equations, but decided not to ask about that. "So what's up? Eat something weird?"
Anthaniel shook his head and laughed without smiling. "No, nervous."
Nelson's rubbing motions turned into very light patting. "Nervous about what?"
"You know. This," Anthaniel made a gesture and began to take short breaths. "What we're doing and what's going to happen. I'm so fucking terrified right now," he swallowed thickly and wiped at his eye with the back of his wrist, tearing up.
"Wait, what? Are you pulling my leg or what?" Nelson patted his back a little less carefully. "You're freaking out now?"
"Believe it or not, Nel, there's only so long before I can't hold onto my bravado anymore.." Anthaniel coughed and sniffled, wrinkling his nose. "I lost my nerve. I forgot who I was, and I lost my fucking nerve."
"I don't, uh, know what you're talking about..."
"When you spend enough time acting like a regular, maybe kind of weird guy around friends and acting like a sinister mastermind at work, it's easy to lose yourself somewhere in-between. So easy, too fucking easy," Anthaniel squeezed his eyes shut and gagged. "I'm trapped in an identity crisis and the normal guy is getting desperate."
"Well tell the criminal in you to tell him to calm down," Nelson shrugged incredulously. "Something big is coming up, right? Some crazy confrontation? The normal guy is going to get you killed."
"It just fucking hurts so bad," Anthaniel placed his hands over his eyes and groaned. "I'm not allowed to be a decent human being."
"Hey, don't say that; sure you can be," Nelson rubbed Anthaniel's back in a half-hearted attempt to console him. "I know it's tough, being split like that all the time, but there's a lot of room still."
"You don't get it," Anthaniel shook his head and swallowed a gag. "Even if I could be decent, better, what would I accomplish? Wanting peace of mind, being merciful--has that ever done anything for anyone?"
Nelson blinked. "Martin Luther King?"
"He got shot if you don't remember your history," Anthaniel sniffled and reeled again. "But what's the point? I'm waiting--no, hoping for a better stage in my life but you know what, I've never defined what 'better' is. No guns, no cash? Will I be satisfied even then? Because I've always seen this as a problem, you know, but I never thought about what would fix it. It's hopeless."
"I don't..know. Be a believer, you wannabe hippie, if that'll make you feel better."
"But what am I doing, Nel? Even if I do have faith that the world is a good place or can be a good place, I don't see the point. Why do I care about virtue and morals and shit so much? What makes that important, it stopped making sense to me. Maybe it was just a really good idea for a while."
"Don't talk like that. Things like that are important, I guess," Nelson scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what he was trying to say. "You need something to help you do your best.."
"But what is 'best'? If I'm secure on my own, isn't that satisfactory? Isn't that something just as meaningful since I have no doubts?"
"That's too many questions in one shot, but," Nelson wore down his lower lip and hesitated, "Doing your best means making good decisions, your judgment. It's impossible to survive without that since there are always ambitions to pursue and problems to solve..."
"It's funny, Nel, I got into this because of all that."
"Maybe your judgment was hazy at the time."
"No." Anthaniel closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, no. It was the best choice I've ever made. It got me off into a good start here in America, I had all the money I needed by breaking laws, and the best kick was being protected from those laws."
"But you're not happy now."
"I'd be happy being a Buddhist bum. I'd be happy seeing the world in sunshine and not getting into fights and never causing harm upon anyone but let's be honest now, being a..a 'wannabe hippie' never got anyone anywhere. I'd feel better but what does it really accomplish for myself? I can't be concerned with the greater good, I just can't. The facts are that the world is a dog-eat-dog type of place and if I'm not looking out for number one, I've got nothing."
"You'd be like Jesus Christ, or..Socrates, even. You would whittle away for not conforming but if you're secure with your own theories--"
"I don't have any theories."
Nelson paused and sighed heavily, at a loss. "Why're you telling me this? This isn't like..last will or final words, is it?"
"I don't know." Anthaniel shook his head. "To be totally honest with you, I don't fucking know. I just.." He raised his hand and stretched out his fingers, trying to find the right way to express what he wanted to say. His hand dropped when nothing came. "I just feel like shit, man."
"Sorry and all, but I don't..know what I'm supposed to do about that."
"You're not supposed to. I'm just letting you know." Anthaniel held his hand up close to his ear and flicked his wrist upwards, making a 'flew over his head' gesture. "I don't know what awareness has ever done for anybody either, but there it is."
"You're a total Socrates, man. You find problems but have no solutions, but whatever way it swings, it's like you care but you don't. Like there's nothing, I don't know..."
"Hopeless. It's just hopeless."
Nelson frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but Anthaniel cut him off.
"You said you know how tough it is to be split all the time. How's that?"
"Look, the best I can tell you..." Nelson trailed off. "Seriously, my teeth weren't always like this. That's honestly all I can say about it. Honestly. If I told you anything more--"
"If you told me anything more?"
"I.." Nelson looked down at the floor and retracted his hand from Anthaniel's back, sighing.
"just forget about it and feel better, okay?"
Marty held his cigarette between his teeth and rolled over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows and squirming to get comfortable on the grass. "Are you kidding me, dude?" He blew the smoke out of his nostrils and watched the vapor crawl upwards into the air to dissipate, then snorted, unimpressed.
"What?" Gunter dropped the magazine down over his chest, turning his head to look up at Marty. "You telling me you wouldn't tap Megan Fox?"
"Yeah, that's what I'm telling you." Marty took in another drag. After a moment of holding it in, he breathed out more smoke with a soft groan, squinting. "Only because I would obliterate her."
Gunter cracked up and threw the magazine off of himself, leering over at Marty with a suggestive grin and wide eyes. "Nail her to a wall, huh?"
"More, split'er like wood."
"Sounds like you're just aiming to make sure she won't be able to walk anymore."
Marty let out a loud 'ha', throwing his head back. "Brother, when I'm done, her pelvis will be broken."
"Oh, shit." Gunter snorted and then paused to laugh. "I've never heard you say such scary yet sexy things. We should talk like this more often."
"Actually, that makes me think we talk too much.." Marty took his cigarette between his fingers and giggled, shaking his head as he blew out smoke. "It's really too bad though, that despite everything I said, I actually wouldn't do her. Megan Fox is ugly."
"Amen to that."
"God, the weather is so nice today." Marty combed his free hand through his hair and stuck the cigarette back in his mouth, inhaling sharply. "Windy but warm, like being being at a beach before noon. This, Rip, is what I call perfect weather. I don't know how you miss being in Chicago."
"What? Don't hate on my state." Gunter mock-pouted up at Marty.
"You're from Chicago and you don't know that it's a city?"
"Fuck off. Er, you know what I meant. Don't hate on my city."
The older male responded by positioning his hand as though he were holding a cup (pinky out) and taking a drink from the invisible glass. "Sippin' on that haterade, what're you gonna do about it?"
Gunter retrieved his magazine and tossed it at him.
Marty flinched and knocked it away, and then turned it towards himself to flip to the page where Megan Fox was staring up at him. He tapped the cigarette ash onto her face and closed the magazine, shaking his head. "I'm so sick of celebs these days. All the people who mattered are old or dead, and there's this whole new stream that's just way too young or too weird."
"Lady GaGa," Gunter rubbed his face at the thought. "People say she's creative. Is that a new way of calling someone a freak? I should be called creative, if that's right. I don't know what, man.."
"It's because you're not a chick who can sing, man."
"I think it's because I'm just not a chick. I mean, think about Bjork."
"Oh my god, you're right. You are so right. Shit, man..I guess you'd have to be an ugly chick too, at that."
"Oh hell no. If I had to be a woman, I'd want the face of Adonis and the body of an Amazonian goddess."
"Why not everything of an Amazonian goddess?" Marty paused. "Cause, like, you know... Adonis is a guy."
Gunter blinked. "Shit. At least he wasn't ugly."
"I guess so. A beautiful woman with the face of a handsome man..."
"I've woken up next to weirder things on some mornings after."
"I'll bet." Marty paused and looked at his cigarette. "If I stub this out on the grass, do you think it could catch fire?"
"Uh..." Gunter stared at the lit cancer stick, hesitating to answer. "Is this a trick question or something like that?"
"No, I'm serious. I want to put this out but I don't wanna get up just to do it. Unless you'll do it for me?" Marty grinned coyly.
Gunter raised his brows and shook his head, flatly going, "Nope."
Marty sighed and took the cigarette between his fingers, gazing down at the ground curiously. "Hey Rip, if I set this on fire and we burn, I just want you to know that I'm so sorry."
"You'd better eat more of that humble pie if we do, 'cause if that patch next to my head goes ablaze, I'm gonna have to shove my foot in a really weird and uncomfortable place and, y'know, neither of us want that, right?" Gunter paused. "Well actually maybe I do."
"Ripley, man..." Marty glanced over at him. "You're so creative."
"Oh, I know!"
Marty laughed and then cleared his throat. "All right, all right, I'm gonna do it."
"I'm not ready yet!" Gunter rolled onto his front and propped himself up on his elbows, putting his hands on his face and anxiously watching through the cracks between his fingers. "Okay, go."
Marty sucked in a breath and quickly snubbed the cigarette out. Nothing happened.
Jimyi leaned over them, arms folded and brows raised way up high, hidden behind her bangs. "That was really, really anticlimactic, you guys."
Gunter glanced up at her and then rolled onto his back once again. "I can see up your skirt, chica."
Jimyi furrowed her eyebrows, perplexed. "I'm not wearing a skirt."
"But if you were, he'd be looking up it. Up your skirt, I mean." Marty paused and raised his brows to drawl out a "heeey!"
Jimyi rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "I can't believe I came outside for this."
"Hey wait, yeah. What did you come out here for? Surely not to enjoy the weather."
"And why wouldn't I come out here to enjoy the weather?" Jimyi pretended to step on Marty's hand.
Marty quickly withdrew and let out a snort. "You know, I had the perfect comeback to that question just for you, but since I thought of it so long ago I completely forgot what it was."
"I love how you think about setting me up in advance." Jimyi laughed and then gasped, "Oh! Someone named Daracon called. He said he knew you two and wanted to go for lunch sometime."
"Who the fuck is Daracon?" Gunter asked, scowling with bewilderment.
"No clue. Sounds familiar though," Marty scratched his head. "He say where he was from?"
"He said that you all met in Chicago. While you were both jailed. I don't..even want to know that story. And, um, that Daracon is just his middle name but that's what you called him. He's originally from Alabama or Louisiana, I can't remember."
Gunter and Marty both froze. "Hey Mart, s'he the Gunnery Sergeant?"
"That tall-ass black guy with the muscles of Zeus, who called us 'mastuh'?" Marty squinted trying to recollect his memory.
"Did he sound like a bigshot movie announcer or some hollywood star?" Jimyi twisted her mouth off to the side. "Because I..was so turned on by his voice."
"Oh my god oh my god oh my god it's him it's him it's him," Gunter sputtered out. "Shit shit what was his real name again?"
"Holy crap calm down, you're making me excited and also I don't remember." Marty gaped. "Daracon, Daracon Chris? What was his first name?"
"Was Chris his last name? That doesn't sound right."
"I thought not, but it was the best answer I've got. If it wasn't Chris then what is it?"
"I don't know, but it was way cooler than that."
"...Cross. Cross!"
"Daracon Cross sounds badass! That must be it. But uh, shit, what was his first name?"
"I have no damn clue, bro. But, you know how his middle name and last name are awesome? I remember being so unimpressed by his first name. In fact I think it was so bad, that's why we called him Daracon."
"Um," Gunter squeezed his eyes shut and tapped at his forehead. "Um um um um. It wasn't Dustin, right?"
"No, no. It wasn't the lame kind of bad, it was the old man kind of bad. Maybe it was, I don't know, Logan or Brett or something."
"I don't think so. Brett's a cool name..."
"But yet no one's ever met a cool Brett."
"You're right, you're right." Gunter sighed heavily. "Okay, um, old man name.. Ernest?"
Marty guffawed as Jimyi promptly returned to the building. "Not that old! What if it's Eugene?"
"Or Harvey."
"Hey, I'd vote Harvey Dent."
"Okay, uh, Wilmur."
"Ew! How about Theodore? That's like the male name equivalent of Dorothy."
"Theo--" Gunter snapped his fingers and quickly sat up, hooting loudly and swinging his arm. "Theodore Daracon Cross was our big black Marine baby!"
-
Nelson rapped at the frame, pushing the door in just a crack. "You mind if I come in? Sorry it's really late, I heard the noises and I had no idea what they were until I got here.."
Anthaniel scooped the water into his mouth and rinsed, then spat it back out onto the sink, cupping more of the liquid to wash away the tiny remains of vomit from the ceramic. "I-it's fine.."
Nelson entered the bathroom slowly, rubbing Anthaniel's hunched back as gently as he could muster. He took one look at the mirror and was confused at the spontaneous array of math equations, but decided not to ask about that. "So what's up? Eat something weird?"
Anthaniel shook his head and laughed without smiling. "No, nervous."
Nelson's rubbing motions turned into very light patting. "Nervous about what?"
"You know. This," Anthaniel made a gesture and began to take short breaths. "What we're doing and what's going to happen. I'm so fucking terrified right now," he swallowed thickly and wiped at his eye with the back of his wrist, tearing up.
"Wait, what? Are you pulling my leg or what?" Nelson patted his back a little less carefully. "You're freaking out now?"
"Believe it or not, Nel, there's only so long before I can't hold onto my bravado anymore.." Anthaniel coughed and sniffled, wrinkling his nose. "I lost my nerve. I forgot who I was, and I lost my fucking nerve."
"I don't, uh, know what you're talking about..."
"When you spend enough time acting like a regular, maybe kind of weird guy around friends and acting like a sinister mastermind at work, it's easy to lose yourself somewhere in-between. So easy, too fucking easy," Anthaniel squeezed his eyes shut and gagged. "I'm trapped in an identity crisis and the normal guy is getting desperate."
"Well tell the criminal in you to tell him to calm down," Nelson shrugged incredulously. "Something big is coming up, right? Some crazy confrontation? The normal guy is going to get you killed."
"It just fucking hurts so bad," Anthaniel placed his hands over his eyes and groaned. "I'm not allowed to be a decent human being."
"Hey, don't say that; sure you can be," Nelson rubbed Anthaniel's back in a half-hearted attempt to console him. "I know it's tough, being split like that all the time, but there's a lot of room still."
"You don't get it," Anthaniel shook his head and swallowed a gag. "Even if I could be decent, better, what would I accomplish? Wanting peace of mind, being merciful--has that ever done anything for anyone?"
Nelson blinked. "Martin Luther King?"
"He got shot if you don't remember your history," Anthaniel sniffled and reeled again. "But what's the point? I'm waiting--no, hoping for a better stage in my life but you know what, I've never defined what 'better' is. No guns, no cash? Will I be satisfied even then? Because I've always seen this as a problem, you know, but I never thought about what would fix it. It's hopeless."
"I don't..know. Be a believer, you wannabe hippie, if that'll make you feel better."
"But what am I doing, Nel? Even if I do have faith that the world is a good place or can be a good place, I don't see the point. Why do I care about virtue and morals and shit so much? What makes that important, it stopped making sense to me. Maybe it was just a really good idea for a while."
"Don't talk like that. Things like that are important, I guess," Nelson scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what he was trying to say. "You need something to help you do your best.."
"But what is 'best'? If I'm secure on my own, isn't that satisfactory? Isn't that something just as meaningful since I have no doubts?"
"That's too many questions in one shot, but," Nelson wore down his lower lip and hesitated, "Doing your best means making good decisions, your judgment. It's impossible to survive without that since there are always ambitions to pursue and problems to solve..."
"It's funny, Nel, I got into this because of all that."
"Maybe your judgment was hazy at the time."
"No." Anthaniel closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, no. It was the best choice I've ever made. It got me off into a good start here in America, I had all the money I needed by breaking laws, and the best kick was being protected from those laws."
"But you're not happy now."
"I'd be happy being a Buddhist bum. I'd be happy seeing the world in sunshine and not getting into fights and never causing harm upon anyone but let's be honest now, being a..a 'wannabe hippie' never got anyone anywhere. I'd feel better but what does it really accomplish for myself? I can't be concerned with the greater good, I just can't. The facts are that the world is a dog-eat-dog type of place and if I'm not looking out for number one, I've got nothing."
"You'd be like Jesus Christ, or..Socrates, even. You would whittle away for not conforming but if you're secure with your own theories--"
"I don't have any theories."
Nelson paused and sighed heavily, at a loss. "Why're you telling me this? This isn't like..last will or final words, is it?"
"I don't know." Anthaniel shook his head. "To be totally honest with you, I don't fucking know. I just.." He raised his hand and stretched out his fingers, trying to find the right way to express what he wanted to say. His hand dropped when nothing came. "I just feel like shit, man."
"Sorry and all, but I don't..know what I'm supposed to do about that."
"You're not supposed to. I'm just letting you know." Anthaniel held his hand up close to his ear and flicked his wrist upwards, making a 'flew over his head' gesture. "I don't know what awareness has ever done for anybody either, but there it is."
"You're a total Socrates, man. You find problems but have no solutions, but whatever way it swings, it's like you care but you don't. Like there's nothing, I don't know..."
"Hopeless. It's just hopeless."
Nelson frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but Anthaniel cut him off.
"You said you know how tough it is to be split all the time. How's that?"
"Look, the best I can tell you..." Nelson trailed off. "Seriously, my teeth weren't always like this. That's honestly all I can say about it. Honestly. If I told you anything more--"
"If you told me anything more?"
"I.." Nelson looked down at the floor and retracted his hand from Anthaniel's back, sighing.
"just forget about it and feel better, okay?"