Spence sighed and started walking around turning off the other showers. He walked over to me and stared at me like I was a fucking idiot or some shit. “Jake, when you said you were in Japan you were in North Korea, okay? And you weren’t in Dubai, we’re pretty fucking sure it was Tehran. Tehran, Jake! Do you even know where that is?”
“I’m not a complete idiot Spence, I’ve heard of that country before.”
“Jesus Foster, that’s not a—never mind. Back to the list of your ‘vacation’ hot spots. You weren’t on the beach in Cancun, you were in Cuba. And that wasn’t Prague that you visited, in case you didn’t notice it was some bombed out part of Chechnya! And Sheldon recognized another Photoshop item in that pic. He’s pretty sure the original of that pic shows you holding some kind of automatic weapon, not a bong like in the pic you posted.”
I tried to remember that trip, and it kept feeling like there was something familiar about that too, but I couldn’t break through the fog and remember. “You could be right about that one”. There did seem to be a lot of gunfire noises going on there, now that he mentioned it.
“Yeah, and all the rubble of all of those fucking buildings in the background? I don’t know why anybody looking at your posts didn’t notice that, I guess your friends probably thought somebody was just tearing down old bars and restaurants to make way for new ones.”
“That sounds, umm….plausible? Or whatever. I’m pretty sure that’s what I thought.” I was beginning to doubt my assumptions about where we were, and I was starting to have these little flashbacks about some pretty disturbing other stuff.
“Are you seeing a trend here, Jake, a fucking pattern that you should be concerned about?!”
I was really stumped. Spence sighed and leaned against the wall; he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. I wondered if maybe some other prescription had kicked in and it was finally calming him down. Spence opened his eyes and pushed some of the hair off his forehead and looked at me with what seemed like some kind of pity, like he was talking to a four-year old or some barnyard animal—a sheep maybe.
“Okay, okay, bro, let’s try this. You didn’t notice who you were with, where you were, and exactly what you were doing. So far that makes you about as smart as the average student here at Hawthorne. And it’s definitely normal behavior for you.”
“Wait a minute Spence, you’re making me seem like this clueless jock stumbling around in some kind of like haze, or whatever.”
“Okay, good. You get my point.” He kept pushing, “What else did you do, Foster? Think about it, when you were in all these fucked up places did they have you doing anything else?”
The flashbacks started up again, and I stalled. I grabbed a clean towel off the shelf and finished drying off; I tossed that one on the floor next to the other one. I grabbed another clean one and put it on the bench to remind me that tonight there were too many people out there to just walk back to the room naked. I could hear the party still going strong in the bathroom. I thought again about getting on the road—
Spence was studying my face and frowning, “C’mon Foster, you can tell me. What else did you do?”
“Well they didn’t just have us training the clients. It seemed like, you know, they were just as involved in training us too.”
“What kind of training did they have you doing?”
I had an image of a racetrack. “Well, some kind of driving course, avoiding shit—I wanna say bullets and bombs, maybe road blocks? But that might just have been the drugs. I don’t think I was great at that.”
“Shocker. What else?”
“Well MMA stuff, you know, hand-to-hand combat kind of shit. That was intense, a lot of guys dropped out after that. They didn’t show up for work the next day, just left.”
“Sounds rough, like they were screening out the slackers or whatnot.” He picked up his own towel and was drying his hair and wiping off his face. “What else?”
I focused on one flashback and guessed, “Target practice, some kind of weapons training.” I vaguely remembered some kind of tube on my shoulder and watching something, maybe an old abandoned truck in some desert, exploding in the distance.
“What the hell, why weapons training?”
I shrugged, “That might not be right, but I think it is. And let’s see, after that some flight lessons. And really considering the fog I was in I don’t think I excelled at that either.”
Spence started to get a little pale. “Oh, shit. Anything else?”
“Well, there was one thing that seemed odd to me—”
“Really? After the list you just gave me, one thing seemed ‘odd’? You’re a smart guy, Foster, all kidding aside.” Spence wiped his face one more time with his towel, then he tossed it on the ground with the other dirty ones and threw a clean towel on the bench next to mine. “I know you had a heavy course load this semester—Intro to Water Polo, Intro to Rugby, Health Club Management, and the kicker, Fundamentals of Baseball! You were a state all-star catcher in high school. I hope you got a fucking “A” in that one!”
“I need all of those for a degree in Recreation Management, you know that! And anyway, I heard you flunked your course in business ethics, what does that say about you?”
“It was at eight in the morning, and I never decided if I was pro or con! But I’m dying to know Foster, what was the one thing in this clusterfuck you got yourself in that seemed ‘odd’ to you?”
“The, well…the—and don’t judge me, I think I took a course in Israeli knife fighting.”
I kept wondering what Spence was on and if he was going to overdose, he kept getting more and pale and that twitching thing had spread to basically everywhere. “Oh fuck me Foster, what the hell did you think they were doing? Travel, shady people, shady places, and they have you training to be a Navy Seal or some kind of shit a whole lot worse than that! What did you think was going on?” He was staring at me like I had just sprouted another head.
“Well, when you add it up it seems clear to me, and I’m not sure what the big deal is. They had a lot of cameras filming us and I think there were some guys taking notes. I think maybe they were shooting a pilot for some kind of reality show. You know, a bunch of jocks in some crazy situations trying not to get eliminated. And it was intense, pretty rough shit. It seemed to me like they were trying to at least get me through the elimination rounds to the pilot, even if I’d only maybe make it through a few episodes. But one of the guys on the film crew, whatever, he told me the producers had real doubts about me. Evidently they thought I was a little too self-medicated, and they thought my religious and political views were really vague. They even had an acting coach trying to get me to memorize some kind of speech in front of the cameras, but I think I really sucked at that. The word around there was that they liked having me around, I was always the life of the party and shit, but they thought they were just going to let me go home and not include me in the final cut.”
Spence was gulping like he couldn’t breathe, and I was thinking I should maybe poke my head out the door and see if anybody in the bathroom knew CPR. I tried to get him to relax, “so I figure that’s cool, Spence, me and those guys, we just part company on good terms, I got the travel and the money and they worked out the bugs for their show. It’s just a win-win for everybody.” I smiled at him and wondered if any Klonopin would get his twitching under control.
“Foster, I’ve noticed you doing some odd things around here, too. Can you explain why you had a huge FedEx box of nothing but militant looking clothes—all camouflage shit or whatever—sitting on the floor of your room last month.”
Finally, something that was easy to explain. “Bro, that was nothing more than smoking too much weed with one of the Zachs and watching a Duck Dynasty marathon. I just got homesick or whatever, cammo has always been comforting to me.”
“Okay, then explain all the black ninja looking shit you got the next day—the hoodies, the pants, the shoes, the gloves—what about that stuff, Foster?”
“Okay, let’s see if you can explain this one. When I walked into your room the other night you had attached a clock radio to your microwave, what was that all about?”
“Oh, that was just a simple experiment, you know, an eco-friendly kind of way of cooking, that kind of thing.” I didn’t even remember that but I had wondered why there was a huge scorch mark on the side of the microwave.
He took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling, I could tell he was trying to get his shit together but I personally had doubts about that happening anytime soon. And I wondered what time it was because I just wanted to get the hell out of this place and have some me time on the road before I had to deal with my family. “Foster, of all the Foster fuckups you’ve managed to pull off in the two years that I’ve known you, this is the most fucked up shit you could’ve ever gotten involved in. This is truly amazing, a fuckup to go down in the history of all fucking fuckups in the fucking universe!”
“Damn Spence, that seems a little harsh, I don’t think—“
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” I was getting a look from Spence that made me wonder if he trying to explode my brain telepathically or whatever.
I tried to change the mood of the conversation a little. “C’mon Spence, we’re brothers, we’ve been through a lot of shit together, we’re about as close as two guys can get. I admit that I may have wandered into some odd shit, but like I said I really don’t think I’m going to be doing any work for them, I think they’ve written me out of their script, or pilot, or whatever. It’s all done bro, it was a harmless mistake getting involved with them but it’s fucking over. I’m done with it! We’ll just get back to partying and sex and girls or whatever and the frat and put all this behind us. No harm, no foul, right man?”
He responded by grabbing me by the arms and pinning me to the wall, really slamming me against it. He whistled and squeezed my arms harder, “Jesus Foster, how many curls are you doing these days??” I smiled but then he snapped back to the hostility mood and kept pushing me harder against the wall.
“FOSTER, YOU SHIT-FOR-BRAINS IDIOT!” He took a breath and lowered his voice, “That wasn’t the pilot for a show, Foster! That wasn’t their plan for you. They were training you to be a terrorist, they probably wanted you to do some evil shit! Don’t you fucking get it?”
“Whoa, Bro! The anger, the language, the physical attack! And I think you’re wrong, I’m too clean cut to be a terrorist. I’m too average guy next door. Not to be politically incorrect, but I’m not sure I fit the image—no the profile, of that kind of guy!”
“Well fucking figure it out Jake! Really, how fucking stupid can you be?” He shook me and kept me pinned against the wall.
I was getting a little beyond pissed and starting to feel a little hostility myself. “Go easy bro, don’t say anything you might regret. We’re best friends, don’t ruin it.”
“You just don’t get it! It’s a perfect fucking plan! They recruit you, they drug you, they train you, they send you home all brain washed and they know as a blonde-hair blue-eyed guy with a famous mother and father and a semi-famous stepfather you have access to some big events, political and social shit Foster! Places that they couldn’t dream of sending their normal people into! The only thing that saved your ass was your drug-induced coma-style personality and your absolute lack of any moral or political agenda. They couldn’t get you to drink the Kool-Aid and they just gave up! I love you Bro, you’re just so stupid about—”
I snapped and in one swift move I drew my knee up into his thigh, trying to pull back at the last second so I didn’t break any bones. It was a move that Hector had taught me in Cancun, but I guess really Cuba, but when I did it there I definitely felt the other guy’s bone snapping. I tried to concentrate and remember what, exactly, these people had taught me, and why. Then I realized Spence was howling and hopping around on his good leg.
I felt bad about snapping like that and hurting my best friend, I guess. Meanwhile Spence was hopping around so insanely that he slipped and landed square on his ass. It sounded like it knocked the wind out of him. I figured if it stopped all the moaning then no one outside would think anything shady was going on in here so I was kind of relieved.
He managed to get back up on his one good leg and to head toward me, hopping and rubbing his ass and thigh at the same time. I was pissed I didn’t have my iPhone because this shit would have gone viral in about a minute.
As he made it over to me I raised my hand like a traffic cop. “Just stop there, Spence! You’re in no shape for round two and we both just need to calm down before somebody gets hurt.” I tried to look all peaceful and friendly and shit.
“Get hurt?!?” he was trying to balance on one foot while he kept rubbing his ass and leg. “Foster, I think you broke my fucking leg and I think I broke my ass—”
“I really am sorry but it’s not my fault, you made me do it! I admit I should have figured out this terrorism shit, or whatever. It just kind of snuck up on me, and I’m sorry if this shit has pissed you off. Can we not just put this whole fucking episode behind us? We made a pledge to always be bros, to stick by each other. This whole thing got of hand and when you think about it, it’s not my fault, and it’s not yours either.”
He hopped a little closer to me and he looked a little more chill, maybe, so I stepped forward and put my hands on his sides to steady him. He sighed and said, “Okay Foster, whatever, but Jesus that hurt! I’ll do my part and try to put this whole thing behind us, I guess.” He still looked a little angry to me but I grinned anyway. “But,” he continued, “You have got to stop just wandering off whichever way people or parties lead you—you need to stake a claim on your own life, make some solid decisions about your future, stick to like a plan, whatever. Do you really want a career in terrorism on LinkedIn summary or your resume? The point is that right now a lot of people are concerned, we all see you on the road—no, the fucking autobahn—that’s headed straight to your own spectacular personal disaster.” He put a hand on my shoulder, I think in part out of friendship but mainly because his good leg was probably getting pretty damn tired.
I thought about what all this meant to me personally, and felt a little panicky. “Spence, what the hell am I gonna do if these guys decide to come here and fuck me up, get rid of me? Maybe this shit isn’t over, what do you think?”
He only paused for a second, and I was wondering if I had any oxy’s in my stash to help with his pain. “Look Foster, I think they really are done with you. They thought you were a chill guy but they figured you just weren’t a good fit in their organizational structure. They also probably figured it wasn’t worth going to all the trouble of training you for some kind of attack, only to have you be so fucked up you couldn’t execute it. And as far as coming after you I don’t think they’ll waste the time and effort. I think they’re betting you’ll OD before they could get to you.”
I felt relieved, and patted his side and smiled, “you’re probably right, but what if they DO come after me?”
“Then God help ‘em, they’re the ones that trained a chemically-imbalanced jock in all this terrorism shit. I think they realize making contact with you would be like putting a hand in a cobra’s nest and stirring it up.” He started laughing and put his other hand up on my shoulder so we were basically like, hugging.
And that’s when the door opened and Yoda walked through the door.
I had made no effort to memorize all the fraternity nicknames, but this guy was so Yoda it just stuck with me. His eyes were squinted and he looked kind of sweaty and flushed. He had a beer in one hand and his other hand was resting on the top of his global gut.
“Shit guys! I knew there was like a pretty intense bromance thing going on between you too, but really? Fooling around in the showers is NOT something I would have—“
“No homo, Yoda!” We both shouted
at the same time. He studied us and looked doubtful. Spence and I both picked up our towels, he held his in front of his junk and was still hopping on one foot and rubbing his ass. I slung my towel over my shoulder.
“Well right, okay, whatever. I was looking for you, Foster. The seniors, the ones actually graduating anyway, it looks like they are about to start some kind of bropocalypse on the back lawn. I think they’re about to launch, well it looks like some kind of giant fireworks shit, and they have the thing aimed straight at campus.”
Spence looked at Yoda and then stared at me. “What the hell do you want Foster to do about it, Yoda?”
“Well this thing they’re about to launch, whatever it is, it looks pretty fucking dangerous to me. I’m just not sure how safe it is to leave them out there with it, and I’m not going to be the one to try to stop them. I really don’t want to get involved. I figured you’re kind of like the voice of reason around here Foster—”
Spence started laughing hysterically, like that was the funniest shit he had ever heard, so I backhanded him in the nuts to shut him up.
“Dammit Foster, stop hurting me’ Bro!” He started rotating from holding his nuts to rubbing his ass. I noticed there was an enormous fucking bruise spreading across his thigh. Yoda was looking at me and then Spence like he was watching a tennis match.
“Then stop making me want to hurt you, smartass! And look Yoda, I’m on my way out of here, or trying to be, anyway. But I’ll check this shit out when I go to the car. It’s probably just some harmless fun.” I smile but the look on his face made me wonder.
Yoda was still rubbing his belly and he finished off his beer and set the empty bottle on the bench. “If you see this thing—this fucking missile parked in the back yard—I think you’ll change your mind, but whatever. Just remember I warned you!” He turned around and headed out the door, I saw some people in the bathroom raising their phones in our direction so I slammed the door shut and looked at Spence.
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