Wednesday morning. The middle of the Pacific. Jayson Travis Morton was twenty-six.
Everything he had ever asked for, he had. Life was good to him that way. He always had a bit of money here and there. All he had to do was ask. He asked a lot. And why not? Fuck the fuckers. It wasn’t his fault. You can’t help being born, can you?
No, you can’t help being born. And so it was. One can only try to fix things. And as Jayson saw it, getting off the continent was the next best thing. He hadn’t had a Coca~Cola in a year. It was true. He hadn’t even smoked weed in a month, and the last time he had sex was four days ago. So he was doing pretty well. And today was Wednesday morning.
He had been up early to see the sun rise.
He felt noble.
He strolled along the beach. White sand. Blue water. Like the brochure. He was far enough away from the resort now. Micronesia or Micro Asia or Polynesia or wherever the hell this atoll was.
He’d studied Maritime anthropology once. He knew about a bit about kinships. He could draw a chart. He wanted to go to Venezuela. He wanted to meet the Yamamano. Get away from it all. Be Napoleon Chagnon. Instead, he came here.
He wasn’t Napoleon Chagnon though. He was more like Rupert from “Survivor” – they could both grow a beard. And so he did.
Down the beach, he walked. Miles and miles now; stroking his beard. It would take him a good hour or so to walk back to the other side of the island. He liked exploring the falls, and he liked kayaking.
The people were nice.
He could spend all day out here on the sand doing nothing but look at the ocean. He weaved in and out of the surf before sitting down on the beach. He stroked his beard some more. He liked his beard. It gave him something to do. Without it he would just be sitting on the beach, bored as hell. He watched the waves sucking the white sand back into the water, and then gently placing each rock particle back into place.
He did this for a half hour or so, before he fell asleep.
He woke up with an erection that quickly faded as he went into the water.
He swam for a bit. Not too far.
From the angle of the sun, he knew exactly what time it was. He would miss happy hour at the hotel if he wasn’t careful.
That’s where all the pretty girls would be.