Fear Nothing
which he keeps for Orson. On the bowl he has painted ROSEBUD in block letters, a reference to the child's sled in Orson Welles's Citizen Kane .
I have no intention of inducing my canine companion to become an alcoholic. He doesn't get beer every day, and usually he splits a bottle with me. Nevertheless, he has his pleasures, and I don't intend to deny him what he enjoys. Considering his formidable body weight, he doesn't become inebriated on a single beer. Dare to give him two, however, and he redefines the term party animal.
As Orson noisily lapped up the Heineken, Bobby opened a Corona for himself and leaned against the refrigerator.
I leaned against the counter near the sink. There was a table with chairs, but in the kitchen, Bobby and I tend to be leaners.
We are alike in many ways. We're the same height, virtually the same weight, and the same body type. Although he has very dark brown hair and eyes so raven-black that they seem to have blue highlights, we have been mistaken for brothers.
We both have a collection of surf bumps, too, and as he leaned against the refrigerator, Bobby was absentmindedly using the bottom of one bare foot to rub the bumps on the top of the other. These are knotty calcium deposits that develop from constant pressure against a surfboard; you get them on your toes and the tops of your feet from paddling while in a prone position. We have them on our knees, as well, and Bobby has them on his bottom ribs.
I am not tanned, of course, as Bobby is. He's beyond tanned. He's a maximum brown sun god, year round, and in summer he's well-buttered toast. He does the mambo with melanoma, and maybe one day we'll die of the same sun that he courts and I reject.
There were some unreal zippers out there today, he said. Six-footers, perfect shape.
Looks way slow now.
Yeah. Mellowed out around sunset.
We sucked at our beers. Orson happily licked his chops.
So, Bobby said, your dad died.
I nodded. Sasha must have called him.
Good, he said.
Yeah.
Bobby is not cruel or insensitive. He meant it was good that the suffering was over for my father.
Between us, we often say a lot with a few words. People have mistaken us for brothers not merely because we are the same height, weight, and body type.
You got to the hospital in time. So it was cool.
It was.
He didn't ask me how I was handling it. He knew.
So after the hospital, he said, you sang a couple numbers in a minstrel show.
I touched one sooty hand to my sooty face. Someone killed Angela Ferryman, set her house on fire to cover it. I almost caught the great onaula-loa in the sky.
Who's the someone?
Wish I knew. Same people stole Dad's body.
Bobby drank some beer and said nothing.
They killed a drifter, swapped his body for Dad's. You might not want to know about this.
For a while, he weighed the wisdom of ignorance against the pull of curiosity. I can always forget I heard it, if that seems smart.
Orson belched. Beer makes him gaseous.
When the dog wagged his tail and looked up beseechingly, Bobby said, No more for you, fur face.
I'm hungry, I said.
You're filthy, too. Catch a shower, take some of my clothes. I'll throw together some clucking tacos.
Thought I'd clean up with a swim.
It's nipple out there.
Feels about sixty degrees.
I'm talking water temp. Believe me, the nip factor is high. Shower's better.
Orson needs a makeover, too.
Take him in the shower with you. There're plenty of towels.
Very broly of you, I said. Broly meaning brotherly.
???Yeah, I'm so Christian, I don't ride the waves anymore - I just walk on them.
After a few minutes in Bobbyland, I was relaxed and willing to ease into my news. Bobby's more than a beloved friend. He's a tranquilizer.
Suddenly he stood away from the refrigerator and cocked his head, listening.
Something? I asked.
Someone.
I hadn't heard anything but the steadily diminishing voice of the wind. With the windows closed and the surf so slow, I couldn't even hear the sea, but I noticed that Orson was alert,
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