Eleven – A Piece, of the Sky

The #JODY game rears its head again – this time between Fessy and Brett, instead of Tyler and the evicted Swaggy.

Sam and I are both tired of a conventional game, on the part of everyone, who is not Tyler or JC. I too, like Sam, am ready to stomp metaphorical, strategic “mudholes” and turn this game upside down, just to keep it interesting.

Faysal is a lumbering giant, both physically and mentally. Kaycee went back up on the block, just like during Hay’s HOH, and Scottie is 99.99% going home.

As I mentioned earlier, I ship Hay and Brett. Hay is a disappointing player, but as a person, she deserves a better significant other, than Fessy. Don’t be too vulgar but drop a bomb on Fessy’s intentions of ever winning Hay’s heart, Brett!

Back to Hay’s game: extremely disappointing. Fans of the game or independent fans, are just aghast at how fast Hay could go from hero to zero. This week has been a wake-up call not just for the weakness of Scottie’s game, but Hay’s as well.

One can only look back and see that during the intermediary period, after Swaggy left and when Bay was unofficially running Foutte, Hay had some clever ideas or instincts, but she would rarely voice them, outside the DR, much less, act on any of them.

Hay’s passive gameplay has followed her into Fessy’s disastrous (for Foutte) HOH week and is a major reason for the utter collapse of her own HOH week: RS going home.

The Mind Flayer (Stranger Things fans, rejoice), that is JC, continues to live on. His Hive Mind, has jumped hosts. Still, JC has a good point: even dedicated, hardcore Tyler fans are nervous about this whole #Tangela experience. I like them as good friends, but personally, I don’t see the showmance material.

On a game level, almost any kind of showmance is distracting. In the first Season of Survivor, on Borneo, Richard Hatch was very taken by the quirky and handsome Sean, but that was only in his heart. His brain voted Sean out without a second thought and Hatch won the million dollars.

I am not surprised that Bay and Swaggy didn’t survive game-wise, even though they seem to love each other, as people. And of course, I have never put much stock in Hay or Fessy, as players, or ever been excited, on a game level, for their showmance. Neither Hay, nor Fessy, are in my Final Five.

Tyler is a strong player; if his game immune system has been compromised by Tangela (Pokémon?) he isn’t showing any symptoms – yet. He reassured JC, not to take this Tangela nonsense seriously, and if Tyler really is bi, this may be a relief, for JC, on a personal level too. JC doesn’t like the females on his men. He broke up Fessy and Kaitlyn, and JC has never been a huge fan of Fessy x Hay.

Angela liking Brett, that way, seems highly unlikely. I don’t see it at all. So, I hope JC doesn’t try to sell that ocean-side property, in Kansas, too hard.

Lines are being drawn. With Foutte, all but in a free fall, it’s time to look toward the endgame. The great mental war between JC and Tyler, is just beginning, like Professor X trying to outsmart Magneto.

Brett is a funny character, a paragon of the trickster archetype, but compared to the depths of Tyler’s game-mind, Brett is just a very pretty face (dump him Sam). JC, defeat Tyler. Come up with a better line and entangle Tangela in your gladiator’s net.

The wooden blades of the fan chopped at the clunky summer air. Nealy and Alli sat in a booth. Alli could see the night outside the window: grocery flyers caught the breeze and got stuck on trash cans. She sat under the warm lamplight, in Nate’s Papaya Dogs.

They ate soft, flaky pancakes, dipped in syrup, the late-night breakfast special. “I love this place,” Nealy said, putting another bite in her mouth. She was wearing a fuchsia button-down shirt, with the collar open. A twine necklace, with a shark’s tooth on it, dangled from her neck. She wore a delicate, twisting silver ring on her right, index finger.

Nealy sipped her coffee, black. The rolls and waves of her orange hair lay on her forehead, damp with sweat. She took an Altoids tin out of the pocket of her chinos and rolled a cigarette with a sprinkle of tobacco. Alli watched her tap the first embers in the cerulean ashtray on the table.

“So, you didn’t go to Peary,” Alli asked and didn’t ask. It came out like a statement.

“No, I went surfing in California instead,” Nealy said. She took a drag on her cigarette, and puffed the smoke ceiling-ward, where the wisps were cut up by the fan. The waiter brought another plate of sausages and whisked Nealy’s half-eaten plate away.

“Why?” Alli wondered, “I thought you wanted to go.”

“I did,” Some ash fell from the butt of the cigarette, crumbling on the table, “But I realized that I wanted to stay with you more.”

Alli looked up from the checkered pattern, covered by some acrylic plastic, to protect against stains and spills.

“I realized I wanted to be with you,” Nealy folded her hand over Alli’s on the table. Her hand was fleshy and solid, wider than Alli’s, “We’re going to go to college together.”

Alli let the warmth of Nealy’s hand sink into hers, let it flow down, into her heart. The feeling buoyed her up. Her head felt like a helium balloon.

“I didn’t know you cared,” Alli whispered.

Nealy exhaled through her nose, the smoke billowing upward. “I always cared,” she exhorted, holding Alli’s hand.

They stared into one another’s eyes. Cars rolled down the street, speeding toward Downtown, past the two figures sitting in the café window.