Jesus,” Jessup says.
It’s sacrilegious and instantly funny—David John laughs and Jessup does as well, despite himself—but it’s all he can think to say.
“You know how a coyote will gnaw its own leg off to get out of a trap?” David John says. He moves the handle of the maul into his left hand and, with his right hand, taps his heart. “‘For God, Race, and Nation.’ FGRN. What a stupid fucking tattoo.”
If Jessup was shocked to hear David John say he was willing to walk away from the Blessed Church of the White America, that’s nothing compared to hearing David John swear. What a stupid fucking tattoo. The humor from just a few seconds ago melted into the night.
David John keeps speaking. “I had him put it right over my heart. ‘For God, Race, and Nation’? If I could do it again, do you know what I’d get?”
He doesn’t wait for Jessup to respond. Isn’t even looking at Jessup now. Is just looking at the ground, at the head of the maul. “I’d get your mom’s name inked right there. And Jewel’s name and your name. That’s what I should have had tattooed on my heart. My family. Close to my heart.”
Jessup asks it softly: “And Ricky?”
It sounds like a hiccup. David John crying.
Jessup doesn’t know what to do.
Thinks of David John carrying him off the field in his arms.