Page 148 of Johnny

“I’ve been told.”

“You’re damaged beyond repair. Your mind is sick. Like truly fucking sick. And this… mythology

you’ve conjured up to justify your choices. God.” I laugh. “I mean, where do I even start with that?”

“I dunno, Megan. Start wherever you want.” He stands up and turns to face me. “This is how I see

it. You don’t get many real choices in life. Sure, you can make good or bad decisions every day and

perhaps they lead to something better, or worse. But those aren’t really choices. In the best-case

scenario it’s mostly about doing the best you can and in the worst case, it’s just not giving a fuck. But

choices—true choices—are a rare, special thing. They almost never present themselves. Some people

will go a whole lifetime and never get one true choice before their death. But here’s the thing, OK?

Death? The way you go out?” He nods at me. Smiles. “Now that’s a fucking choice.”

“How do you figure?” I say too loud. “People don’t choose to get sick.”

“No. They don’t. You’re right. But sick isn’t the same thing as death. Sick can lead to death, for

sure. But death is really the only choice we’re born with. Think about it, Megan. We don’t even get to

choose to be alive! We just end up here! Like… what the fuck, right? But death?” He sighs. “Death is

a choice we all have.”

“Are you fucking crazy? Are you telling me to kill myself?”

He shrugs. “It’s your choice.” And then he laughs.

“God, you’re sick. You’re fucking mental.”

“I think about this a lot,” he continues. “I think about how I’ll go out, you know? Like… if death is

the only real choice I have then I should make sure it’s spectacular. I should plan it. I should… I

should fuckin’ plan it like most people plan their wedding day.” He laughs. “And hell, marriage isn’t

even forever, right? Hardly anyone takes that shit seriously. But death”—he shakes his head and

smiles—“death is eternal for sure.”

I… I don’t even know what to say to that.

“Or not. If my destiny dude theory is correct. My point,” he says, “my point is this, Megan

Machette. If you want to whine and complain, if you want to blame others for your shitty fucking life,

if you want to be the victim and cry over your bullshit circumstances—”

My mouth drops open.

“—then just go fucking do it. OK?” He pans his hand to the side of the boat. “There’s a whole

fuckin’ ocean out there. Sharks, and eels, and fuckin’… giant squid. Barracudas?” He laughs. “Right?