** Campfire Stories **
Out here, there’s nothing. And.. everything. Hard to explain it, though time and again she’d try.
The desert – it’s hopeless emptiness. What it is lies in everything it is not – pretentious, cluttered… changing. Desolate. Full of life.
A biting cold. A burning fire. A cold beer hidden by an Oromill coozie. Got Wood?
"It’s just Dr. Pepper, mom, jeez…"
She was drunk – as they all were. Could hear them, still. Porter’s playing cards in the toybox – anny up fucker, jiggle that kitty can… – Parker’s poppin the top off another cabernet – top it off mamma – Leif’s setting up for another round of beer pong – redemption my ass!
Adjusts herself in the camp chair – fingers an ember hole in the armrest. Taps her fingers along to the fire song… Mr. Banker, mister please…. how much does… money mean… Watches him.
"… was this water hole we’d party at during summer. Park at the top end of Cloverdale and hike down to the river…"
She was always amazed by the stars. Millions of them out here, where there are no lights to drown them out.
"… we’d tie a cooler into a tube and float the whole way down – poppin tops the whole way…"
The kid wasn’t much older – seventeen… eighteen. So what was it? Why him?
The fire was massive – Rikki made sure of that. It was their last night – tomorrow they’d have to go back. Two hours ago they’d thrown every last piece of scrap into the pit. The nice part about doin the desert with a guy who owns a lumber yard. They didn’t last, though. An hour later and it was just them three. Cold pushed the others away.
She could still see him on the other side – relaxed. Feet outstretched – the buckles on his boots unhinged and sticking every which way. Alpinestar. The red of his beard made more prominent by the flames. Asshole. Let’s out a stifled shiver – pulls the drawstrings of her hoodie tighter.
She’d never met the kid before. Didn’t know his name. Didn’t matter though. Her dad could talk to anyone willing to listen.
"… time we made it down to the hole and – fuck man – bunch of crazy assholes there partyin. Climbing this giant rock and jumpin off…"
Her dad loved tellin this one. She’d heard it before – millions of times. Kid was interested – eyes open and intent on listening to her old man remember. He had a way with stories.
She hated him, then. Hated him for being this, here – smiling, laughing, green eyes sparkling and remembering. Eyes that he’d given her. Where do you go when you leave here?
"… so I said – fuck it – you know – and I climbed that damn rock…"
She felt like an intruder – listening in on thier conversation. They’d forgotten about her – didn’t see her sitting there, in the shadows – on the other side of the flames… a world apart.
"… by the time I got to the top I was like – holy shit man this is pretty fuckin high, you know…"
Everyone loved him – and she’d do anything to keep it that way. But she knew – who he was when this man went away, the things he’d say – what tomorrow would bring.
Some nights she was able to keep away – go to a friend’s, stay late at school, read at the elementary playground up the street. Others… well, yes. There were others. You fuckin piece of shit – you’re a CUNT. You’re a fuckin CUNT. She can’t remember when it started. Wasn’t this way forever. Maybe… ten? Eleven? Get off your lazy fuckin ass and clean something. Somewhere around then. I don’t know why you have to be a fuckin bitch all the time. I can’t stand to look at you. It started when it did – all things considered. And it didn’t stop after that. Get out of my face. Get out of my fuckin life.
One time – mom said to pack up all her clothes. Said they were going up north, to her mother’s. For awhile. She didn’t know how long. He came into her room then – open luggage on her bed – get the fuck out of my house you bitch. LEAVE! He grabbed her neck – shoved her face into the leather suitcase – squeezed. You did this! You! She cried out – choked on the dust that had taken up residence in the leather cracks. Tried to squirm – to twist – to get her hands where she could find them. He pushed harder. All I ever ask for is a little help!
He came home from work one day. She was in the living room, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the coffee table – doing homework. He’d had a bad day. How fuckin hard is it to run a goddamn vaccuum cleaner through this pig sty? Get off your lazy ass you sonofabitch. Help! Help! HELP! It went late that night – screaming. Yelling. Yelling. Screaming. He had grabbed ahold of her hair at one point, dragged her from the living room to the hallway. Her mom threw a dinner plate. Spahgetti noodles and tomato sauce slithered down the wall. Porcelain shards shotgunned from kitchen to living room. He told mom that night – finally, what it was she had known all along – you bitches can get the fuck out. I don’t fuckin want you. Get the fuck out. But you’re not taking my son….
She took a swig of her beer. Oh won’t you reconsider, mister. Won’t you do this… thing for me. Tipped back in her chair.
" … and I land in the middle of the hole and pop up a few seconds later. Thinkin I’m the shit, you know. So I go over to the side and I start to climb out and I’m standing there and everyone starts clappin and yellin and I’m like, fuck yeah man – and then I realize I’m not wearin any pants…"
They both start laughing then – and so does she. Can’t help it. Not on a night like this.
It wasn’t always bad. Not all the time. Sometimes – he’d come back. This man, here. It had been awhile, though. Can’t remember the last time he picked her for a story. Turns her attention back to the kid. Why you? Why not me?
The thought depresses her. Finishes off the last swig of her beer and chucks the can into the fire. Stands up.
"Goin in?"
He smiles.
"Naah. I’m goin on a ride…"
She shifts.
"It’s dark out."
Kid looks at her. Sips his beer.
"I’ll take the quad… headlights…"
Trails off.
"Gassed up?"
She nods.
"Mixed some this morning."
Waits.
"… hmmph. Take your brother. Don’t go too far. And take that walkie talkie."
Shivers.
"Yeah."
Pulls her hoodie tight. Turns away from the fire. Walks into the darkness of the desert.
"I told you mister
I ain’t got no house
Ain’t got no car
I got me a 1950 Les Paul guitar
Won’t you take it mister banker
Won’t you bury my papa for me…"