See—the thing is, even though Mulberry had given a little tug-tug on Cheek’s ear to try an’ shame him out of his smugness, that’s the thing about smugness. Any and all attention is a good one, even if it is a negative, a reprimand or shit like that. So she was wagging her finger at her, and he was still cheesing at her with tiny skunk teeth cuz he liked her, and when she trouped out from under me he waddled his ass right on behind her, not quite finished liking her yet, thinking to himself hmm, maybe Tembovu’s got some cuddles I can squeeze out of ‘im. Chico’s a trip, guys. Just sayin’.

The tightness in my gut was twisting too hard to really enjoy the tiny shenanigans going on kinda-underneath me, kinda-not. It was a rope that was growing tighter and tighter in my stomach, my whole body wracked with nerves as the conversation turned towards Lee(?) Mow-ya(??). It was painful to watch Tembovu’s confusion over Lee’s name, and I don’t know why, I dunno, like maybe we knew two different people and that was really scary to me. It was one (painful) thing not to know someone, another (painful) thing to know a con artist.

I didn’t think Lee was a con artist though. Or, at least, I didn’t want to believe it. Not yet.

(He had fought in a war that misplaced some babes but sure yeah I can definitely afford to give the benefit of the doubt—)

“He is a different man than what I thought. But I still hold him as a friend.”

And there was something weird bubbling up in me, something that had no place in the apprehension in my gut, the fear and the sadness that was sprinkled on top, and I realized, too late, that it was the urge to laugh. And it was weird before I realized why I wanted to laugh like that at Tembovu’s words—it was a nervous tick of relief I guess, because that sounded a lot like Lee, actually, how I had seen him when we first met on that fucked up beach, and how I saw him now—who he was to me. He was a different man what I thought. He was a King.

I didn’t actually laugh, though, cuz it would probably come out wrong and I just might cry instead and I ended up just smiling tightly, sadly, at Tembovu’s words. It made me wonder if Lee was doing okay around here, after all. Tembovu had gone tight, like me—what kind of trouble had Lee gotten himself into? Tembovu cannot be what he needs.

So then, of course, the question became: What did Lee need? And that’s the circle I’m finding myself in again.

The question came out, finally: Why do I call him Lee? I hadn’t been looking at Tembovu until this moment, my eyes cast somewhere off to the side, either side, towards the trees or the mist or some other place to consider other than my own feelings on the matter. But Tembovu had been forward about his own personal shit when he hadn’t meant to, and I couldn’t leave him hanging like that. Besides, there was a piece of me that…that wanted to talk about this, too, cuz it felt like speaking about it made it a real thing, something that hadn’t been playing out in my head all this time.

It still felt like a confession though, and the words were tight in my throat when I finally answered Tembovu. “Because,” I said slowly, uncertain and honest, “the first time I heard his name was Mow-ya was the same time I learned he was the King of the Edge.” I was looking hard into Tembovu’s eyes, deeply. “And I learned both those things from you.”

I shuffled my feet, knowing these things sounded…weird, and awful, cuz I was supposed to be Lee’s friend, wasn’t I? “I’ve known…Lee…for years,” I kept talking, not really able to stop myself at this point, “and….I dunno man. 'Lee' just comes from something I heard him say one day. Leos or whatever. We’ve…seen some shit, done some shit, and it’s like—“ I was stumbling with the words cuz even though it’s the truth, that don’t make it easy to spit, “He’d been there, y’know? Through some of the hardest shit of my life. He’d been there and I ain’t ever ask him to be but he was and—“

I sighed, or maybe I just let all my pent-up breath tumble out of me in a rush, I dunno. “I…I always thought of him as one of my best friends, man,” this came out small, almost a whisper, but Tembovu was too far away to hear those, “and it’s like…I dunno, we just were always there for each other but we…somehow we…never asked for each other’s real names. It just never mattered. He had needed help sometimes and I had needed help sometimes and it just worked and—“

I snorted, hard, a shield coming up against these soft things I was showing Tembovu, “—but he never told me when he became King of the Edge, or that he had had a family or a daughter until she was laying dead at his feet. So when—so when he needs help, he’s suddenly surrounded by a crowd of these random people and it’s like—it’s like—“ back to smallness again, “—do I even matter to him like that? I—“ —love him— “—care for him so much, like, it feels like my stomach’s gonna blow up knowing he’s so sad, he’s so broken. But how can I go up to him like this? How can I even look him in the eye and say, ‘Yo, I gotcho back’, when there’s…dozens of others already surrounding him? Who am I to him?” Not his bestie, not like I had thought.

I hadn’t meant to spill so much of that to Tembovu, honestly; it had kinda just came out, and I wasn’t really done either, cuz it felt like there was a pressure inside me lessening, just a little, by letting the air all out. “How can you be friends with someone when you don’t even know their name?” And that was my thesis statement, coming out weak and shaking.

Quit Hollerin' "Why God?", he ain't got shit to do with it.