Pity.

The Orphan came home this morning…after three days and nights away.

He announced his arrival by sending me the following text message first:

“You know…it’s called a wetsuit for a reason, not a hang up dry suit.”

Basically, his way of provoking me into going to the beach with him…

Pity…

I do not prefer to spend the day with anyone out of a sense of pity they may be feeling for me, but he means well. When he actually got home, I told him it’s too late for surfing today, by the time we got there the sun will be starting to set – and he is not keen on nighttime water activities so much…smart guy. Anyway, he told about his latest endeavors and I told him I had nothing new to report; we drank over-strong coffee and chain-smoked together, a default comfort mechanism that we have always shared in common, and I eventually just asked him straight up:

“You trying to take me to the beach ‘cause you feel sorry for me?”

He doesn’t miss a beat before replying:

“That’s the ONLY way you EVER get to follow me over there…”

The Orphan boasts the biggest, whitest, most Un-American looking choppers I have ever seen in person…his smile is unmatched by any dude that I know, and when he cracks a joke prior to cracking that smile, he does this funny thing with his neck – the combination of the three together is instant comfort to me, regardless of the situation; one of his most endearing physical displays, in my opinion.

“I don’t do shit with anybody out of pity, you dumbass…”

The words seem to speak directly to my heart as he says them at me.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself…”

He’s standing, staring down at me, still smiling – but his eyes are afire like he’s possibly bordering angry as he retinal-burns me with his line of vision; waiting for my response.

I am caught off guard by his calling me out, and it apparently showed because his expression softens itself immediately before he adds, “Jackass…”

I stood there temporarily stuck on stupid, not sure what to say back to him, thinking about how right he actually is with his point.

Okay, Killer…I will.”

His mouth is hanging open slightly across the table from me, as we sit under the now-naked pomegranate tree out back; he was not expecting me to agree with him, no doubt.

You’re right…”

For someone so wet behind his little (sunburned) ears, he can be pretty wise when he doesn’t want to be, sometimes…