He wears the antlers and the vertebrae necklace around a lot. It’s like he’s reenacting some primeval rite.
The odd part isn’t just that he wears them out in public or at all—it’s the pride he takes in them, a glow that crosses his face whenever he describes how he hunted the deer and stripped its bones.
Okay, I guess I kind of get it. He’s proud of it, his first time hunting.
I’m not opposed to hunting, per se, especially when the meat is utilized, and clearly these items bring him joy.
But it’s definitely unusual to wear antlers and a spine around.
He also has a different necklace with beads and deer… claws? Hooves? Something like that.
And then one day he randomly gifts the claw necklace to me. Heputs it around my neck. “This is for you,” he says. “I want you to have it.”
“Thanks?” I say. I’m not really a big… wearer of dead animals. But I don’t judge people who wear leather or fur super harshly, I suppose, although I prefer the faux versions for myself.
Just a Timmy quirk.
He brings the antlers and spine necklace over and stores them in my apartment so he can wear them on a regular basis. I don’t love them being there, but they’re not hurting anyone.
“I always carry a knife,” Timmy says casually, indicating the sharp blade hanging from the top of his board shorts. “You never know when you might need it around here.”
The knife itself, sinister and sharp with its dark handle and silver detailing, seems more suited for a survival show than the busy streets of Sunset Cay lined with restaurants and beach shops.
I glance around the tourist district, where the biggest threat is usually an overpriced meal or sunburn.
“Okay? Why exactly?” I give him side-eye. “Like for construction work or something else?”
“Things happen around here,” he explains, his voice low, glancing around as if he’s used to spotting trouble before anyone else does. “You’d be surprised. I like to be prepared to intervene if I have to.”
It sounds a bit over-the-top, but, then again, I know people carry self-defense items all the time. Hell, isn’t this the country where people carry guns around just in case? I know I’ve carried pepper spray and cat-ear keychains that could poke someone if needed. So a knife seems… reasonable? And useful, I suppose? He’s always cutting leaves off things to make leis and whatnot, too.
“Intervene?” I laugh nervously, wondering if he’s exaggerating or if there’s some hidden world in these streets that I just haven’t seen yet. “You mean, like, defend yourself or something?”
He shrugs, smirking a little. “I mean, yeah, like I’d be able to defend you if some weird people started following us or starting a fight. It happens, you know. And it’s better to be prepared.” There’s aflash of something in his eyes, like he’s playing out a scene in his mind, and it’s oddly both unsettling and oddly reassuring.
“It does? Around here?” While there are definitely people up to no good here, just like anywhere else, they tend to stick to themselves. There’s a heavy police presence to protect tourists, and I haven’t really felt in danger except when I’ve accidentally wandered down a dark alley trying to find a restaurant or something.
“Yeah, once I actually saved a girl,” he says earnestly, his eyes lighting up. “Her boyfriend was strangling her. I jumped over a bush and punched him in the face, and then distracted him with my knife while she ran away to safety.”
I gasp. “Oh wow. That was heroic of you.”
“Yeah, he tried to fight me, but I pulled out my knife to show him I wasn’t playing around,” he explains. “So I always think it’s important to carry it and have it readily available.”
“That sounds intense,” I say. Because it really does. I’ve lived in several big cities around the country, where crime rates are known for being high, and I don’t remember anyone I know ever having carried a knife around. Pepper spray, maybe. But never a weapon. But maybe lots of people I’ve known have carried knives and they’ve just kept them concealed. Harder for Timmy whose signature uniform is board shorts, no shirt, no shoes.
Besides, he knows this island way better than me. And I’ve mainly stuck to the tourist spots. Maybe things get a little rowdier, a little less heavily policed, where the locals hang out.
He continues. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve had to do. Some of the things I’ve seen.”
His words come out of nowhere, and there’s a darkness about him that I haven’t really seen before.
“I’ve spent so many nights in game rooms and other shady places. I’ve sold drugs and festival balls and all sorts of things I needed to.”
He’s making himself sound like a tough guy out of an action movie.
“Um.. wow. Okay, what’s a festival ball?”
“It’s a big firework. Very loud, beautiful when it goes off.”