Chapter Two: Broken Bones
“Have you been watching the games?” Zeke asks, nodding to a shopping mall display screen broadcasting the live winter games event. From the conversations they’ve shared at work Brandon has deduced how to gain Zeke’s acceptance…with the use of cynicism.
“I don’t really have the time to watch them,” Brandon offers (mentally prepared with a reinvented standpoint, one molded by the regular experiences from their work routine together).
From the start of his career at Fish & Chips Brandon deduced that Zeke was on the fence, but didn’t appear prejudiced toward him, and so Brandon gives in to trusting that his manager won’t betray this invested risk. “There really is only one winner…First place,” Brandon boasts.
With a devious glare he strikes Zeke’s conscience, going on to better clarify, “The silver and bronze medals are consolation prizes for the first and second place losers.”
Struck by this whit, Brandon’s work manager lets out a humored laugh. The comment expands on Zeke’s imagination. He considers how proud the two runners up pretend to be as they stand at the finalists’ podium, to each side, from below the only true winner. They’re pretending to be just as satisfied with their performance. It’s the most humiliating ceremony they could ever go through, having to wait and listen to another country’s anthem. All eyes looking up above, as though fixated on a god, instead of focused on them. All the pain and emotions they went through during the four year journey to get here. Turmoil gathered and packed into a dark ball of sorrow, weighing inside them. A wealth of depression dredged from the challenge, like a tumor that pumps nauseating chemicals through their body. Loss cries out in their mind, throbbing in their soul. They’re a failure in the eyes of the world’s spectators.
“What losers!” Zeke adds.
Brandon’s eyes sharpen (pleasantly shocked by his boss’s zealous rejoinder) unaware that he offers the keys to unlocking a portion of Zeke’s mind. The edgy notions Brandon shares cause pressure against the emotional dam of protection which Zeke closely maintains. Held behind those floodgates is unmentionable recourse and horrendous repercussions. Zeke gives in to the offer, allowing for a portion of the waters to spray, letting in to the temptation of seeing how such a loser responds in the midst of failure. It goes against his better judgment to refrain from public action until his college requirements are fulfilled; moved by Brandon’s influential suggestions that push the pressure gauge…insisting a brief release of this tension is necessary.
Impulsively Zeke places his foot down on the foot of an athletic-looking man who is in a hurry while passing by, making the physically fit individual fall clumsily to the ground. “Probably on his way to buy some jogging shorts, to look good in front of his boyfriend,” Zeke chuckles to himself, struggling with the repulsive imagery of two sweaty, smelly guys together in a private room, as he waits for the man to regain his composure and deliver his response.
Brandon doesn’t know what’s going on at first. His attention was turned away for a split second when the incident occurs. Before he knows it this guy is pushing Zeke, calling him names as if a short fuse just blew; the man yelling with fierce hostility (unconsciously voicing personal issues) appearing to be in his possible thirties, and pushes Zeke forcefully again.
Brandon takes a step back, struggling to gain a clear understanding of the situation. It’s in this state of confusion that an addictive rush of excitement releases through his brain, having always focused on mental advantages with words rather than relying on physical agility.
It’s obvious there’s no reasoning with this amped juicer. Brandon’s mind and body go into a sense of shock. His muscles seize, hearing Zeke say in an affirmative tone, “You deserved it you klutz; watch where you’re walking next time. Too bad you didn’t fall on your face. Then we all could have seen the precious tears your daddy wouldn’t let you spill, you jock fagot.”
In an instant the man’s entire skin-tone turns from tan to a beet-red. The veins on his arms, neck, and temples bulge as his heart races. Beads of perspiration form on his forehead. His thick fists ball up tightly. Both boys detect, by the way the man’s eyes behave, his vision is near distortion and close to blackout, as madness floods in. The still silence around them is broken with a ferocious yell that sounds, as the man swings with all of his effort.
Zeke however is a champion of reflexes; deducing the situation clearly he sidesteps. It’s not something he openly admits; this self-awarded title backed by countless hours of virtual online training sessions. He knows that a swift punch to the man’s gut may not be as effective as it would with some homeless slob. But having dodged the punch, Zeke knows how to stifle this brute, despite his hardened muscle and prolonged physical power supplemented by his rage.
Zeke sweeps his leg quickly beneath the man’s feet, as the hothead’s balance is offset from unexpectedly missing with his balled fist, and then trying to regain his stance. The man falls face (or rather chin) first against the ground as his legs are knocked out from under him. A crunch from jawbone slamming against pavement sounds, and the hothead is knocked out.
The setup was perfect, Zeke triumphantly recants. When his victim finally awakens he won’t remember how the events transpired. His memory will be confused. Zeke will have a clear explanation, reiterating that it all began as an honest mistake. Witnesses will endorse his testimony, along with mall security. Additional proof will be available with recorded footage taken by mall surveillance cameras, verifying that Zeke responded in self-defense to an attack.
The rest of the evening is wasted having to sit in a confining security office, going over the details of the incident, with law enforcement officers. Brandon is released first. Security personnel instruct that he leave the property, and not to return until notified otherwise. It’s a despicable feeling, as though he were abandoning Zeke, his newly developing confidant.
With hopes looking ahead to tomorrow, doubts form. “What if he goes to Fish & Chips to find the doors locked, and Zeke never comes to open them?”
Brandon’s emotions are soon pirated by a seizing state of helplessness. “And what if Zeke never returns? What if their nearness is forever lost, placed in a frame of indetermination, tainted by legal matters, court hearings, and judicial findings?” Brandon puts his face into the pillow of his bed, wanting relief from this despair by crying himself to sleep.
That night Brandon dreams of the guy at the mall, but this time he’s not alone. Frankie is accompanied by two other guys. The three men dressed nicely in suit and tie, stroll inside a house Brandon and Zeke occupy. The two boys wait sitting on a couch. Zeke appears to be a stuffed animal. Video cameras are posted at the four corners of the room. The lenses of the monitors are made of rare stone. Zeke’s eyes are made the same way. Brandon feels his eyes hardening. They too are becoming like rock. The guys notice them. With devious motives and sinister intentions they approach the two’s location. Brandon tries to get up but his hands are tied behind his back, his legs bound together, wearing his Fish & Chips work clothes.
Brandon wakes abruptly in the middle of the night, just before the guys in that dream are about to cause him serious harm, and considers calling Zeke to set his mind at ease. He hears the reassuring voice of his floor manager telling him what was really going on.
Was there something Zeke was keeping from the authorities; an ulterior reason for the altercation? It’s possible this was an accidental happenstance that spontaneously escalated, leading to a man requiring emergency assistance, then rushed off to the hospital, treated for head trauma, multiple stitches administered to his chin, his jaw needing to be reset with machine parts.
Brandon struggles to remember the guy’s name. It came up once by the police. He had it in mind during the dream, but now it’s gone from his memory. Why can’t he remember?
For Brandon the rest of that night is spent tossing and turning. The vivid images of what
took place in the mall, and the heart-pounding rush of excitement so vividly alive inside his body and mind. Doubt insists that their relationship can’t be dependent on that brief exhilarating moment they lived together. Something he said to Zeke must have made a positive connection, prompting Zeke to let Brandon in; to reach out to him as more than just a work acquaintance.
If they were hanging out now, what would Brandon say to strengthen the friendship? Many ideas surface in answer to this question. But there’s one topic in particular he knows will entice: Each person’s lucid perspective of this world is based on their past experiences, current expectations, their health, physical wellbeing, and personal relationships in their life. At what point does one begin to lose their innocence, and that joyful aspect is diminished entirely? Even more important is, suppose someone sought to gain that innocence back. Is it possible?
The next day Brandon can hardly contain himself. He’s ready for work an hour early. He rehearses the topic over and over in his mind while he’s waiting in his car, parked in the employee section of the Fish & Chips parking lot, anticipating his manager’s arrival.
Zeke shows up on time, as usual, at 8:45 am, to open the doors for their morning routine. Five minutes after that, Zeke is in the restaurant and deactivates the security alarm. Brandon briskly approaches the front door. Zeke approaches the entrance, duly monitors the environment outside, unlocks the latch, opens the door to let Brandon in, and locks it back up behind him.
Zeke’s face is plain when their eyes finally meet. Disappointment stifles the ecstatic joy and relief trembling Brandon’s heart and nerves from seeing his manager is back to work as usual. “Has he decided to forget about their friendship?” Brandon grievously worries.
Zeke routinely greats Brandon, saying, “Good morning.”
Maintaining professionalism, Brandon mimics the monotone gesture. But with a minute hint of enthusiasm responds plainly, “Good morning!”
Zeke returns to the back office where the safe is, to count out the money for their register drawers; Brandon follows behind as part of the daily routine to their opening shift. The two have never engaged in conversation during this time, so Zeke can fully concentrate on the paperwork.
With their trays in order and the numbers filed they exit the back office, returning to the front of the restaurant. Brandon waits with baited breath for the icebreaker; longing to hear Zeke’s smart intellect and witty humor; hoping for that familiar flame of energetic passion to ignite. A simple question shatters the tension, Zeke asking, “How’d you sleep last night?”
Finding a perfect way to connect his response with what’s bouncing around in his head, Brandon admits “I don’t believe I slept at all,” displaying a sense of worry. “So many questions were going through my head, and it sucked because I had no way of finding out the answers.”
Sparked with intrigue Zeke tauntingly baits, “You know…you could have just called.”
Ashamed now for not doing so (recalling how he believed it would have been imposing, possibly even crossing the line) Brandon lowers his head and stares at the dismal floor. Stricken by shame, his vision blurs from stinging tears pooling together. He bites down on his lower lip, then imagines breaking the skin, and forcing from his eyes the swell of pain and heartache.
He fears his voice will falter, then Zeke will recognize his weakness when he speaks. The moment is cold and disappointing and Brandon wishes he had never come in for work. He should have just postponed meeting last night with Zeke. “I didn’t want to bother you. It was really early in the morning and I figured with all that went on…” Brandon fearing this is when his voice will fail him, finding it nearly impossible to remain strong on his own “that you probably just wanted to be left alone.”
“Yeah right!” Zeke replies. “You’ve no idea what you missed out on when I finally got out of that tank!” The upbeat expression in Zeke’s voice lightens Brandon’s mood. He lifts his head, and his spirits lift as well; a smile cracks on his face; displacing senseless worries, and the seemingly lame topic of well being, Brandon announces “Really? What did I miss out on?”
“Dude. Stuff got crazy! But now’s not the place to talk about it. I think these scumbags record our conversations.” Scumbags? Brandon questions. Then it dawns on him the utter contempt Zeke has for the establishment and those behind the scenes. Brandon’s yearning to divulge personal thoughts are repressed, wondering if it’s true. Are they watching now?
Alfonse, the kitchen help, arrives 45 min later, after the two have clocked in.
With the keys to the front door still in the lock Brandon lets Alfonse in.
Zeke has little time to react by retreating to the back office.
Engrossed by his own thoughts Brandon is far too distracted to observe company protocol warning to always be alert when opening the front door before the start of business.
The attack happens in a split second; catching Brandon and Alfonse off guard; the two overwhelmed by a fog of disorientation, unable to make clear sense of what’s happening.
Three masked men, dressed in black tactical gear with black ski masks covering their faces barge in from what appears to be from out of nowhere; as if using a magical trick.
One of the attackers holds a riot baton and after pushing Brandon off balance, strikes him in the back of his head.
When Brandon comes to, still seeing through a visual haze, he’s riding in an ambulance.
(To be continued with Chapter Four)