Thursday, February 28, 2008

Buon Giorno Principatia

If you go there, wait for me. And remember that night, that one night in which the stars were lit in the sky. And all around, the smell of honey engulfed your senses. Everything was pure and innocent, and just upon the happenings of all surprise, a love was born. Don’t happen to forget the look in his eyes when his world before him turned upside down.

Just around that corner of shops, a handsome, yet gentle man came into glance. Initially he was taken off guard and fell at the hands of uncertainty. Then upon looking further, he recognized an angel of his past. She was provocative, seductive, and led his imagination crazy. Not only her beauty, which far surpassed any blossom or Azalia, but the unending mystique which drove a merely unstable mind crazy. He’d been fighting for weeks to escape the thought of it. Even taking to the sea, with high spirits and an empty canvas. But as he subconsciously wished, his dreams came true. He received another day of experience with the most stunning and surreal of individuals he had ever met.

For it had felt like an eternity to him since they last exchanged fancies, and uncontrollably his heart beat; overjoyed for such an unexpected opportunity to arise. So he set foot onto the dusty road, imbedded with rocks, and his sandals loosely kicked them as his hands turned to a glistening shadow of sweat. Never before had he reached a level of anxiety such as that, and not once in his young life did he feel as confidently dismantled. It was the sole impulse with which he acted upon; an array of ambiguity and amaze. It was descriptively ironic—He, a man, charismatic and cunning, found in a spiraling tunnel of unknowingness, all because she, young and beautiful, possessed the power to arouse every one oh his senses, with just one look. And characteristically that’s all she had given to him, to that point. But his imagination ran wild with it, and many nights did his weary mind stay awake, burdened by the thought of never again experiencing it. Over and over, and unintentionally, he’d picture her smile, hoping that one day he could be the reason for its existence.

He continued across the beaten dirt of tire tracks, avoiding those who traveled their own routine. As he neared her, he had not the faintest idea what to say. Their relations to that point had been a sunny day, surrounded at a table by many contrasts. And even then, he did not speak beyond several words to her. So his words ran dry, and all he could do was imagine. Imagine a life, which his dreams proved true. Bushels of flowers, magic, honeydew. A life of simplicity, not idolatry. Kisses, embraces, affectionate fetishes.

With that, he proceeded the last strides, before a moment of predictably profound persistence. She stood there, directing a couple stray shoppers to their destination. Her back was to him, preventing an early unattached awkwardness. He waited patiently for her to finish. And rather than preparing an opening line for conversation, he fell into a trance of romantic optimism. She wore the purest white dress he had ever laid eyes on, and her figure was struck just shy enough by the sun to add depth for his perception. He watched, enchanted by the movement in her hands. As she turned around, he remained in a state of admiration. She looked up, and in the sudden recognition, she smiled. Then they kissed.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

The King's Castle

Magnificently hung,
Were the stars that night
Tiny beams sung,
Bursting with light
The moon stared,
Horizons expanded
Enormity declared,
Human grasp disbanded
Might winds refrained,
Coldness paid its due.
Hope damned by pain,
Now saw a way through
To count them all would take his entire life,
He'd rather look into the eyes of his wife

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

We'll Take What We Can Get

Their first date, as they would call it, was late in the fall of 1964. Frances, along with her sister Margaret, attended the first basketball game of John’s senior year. She would not miss another home game, always watching him and cheering him, and deep-down-inside insatiably waiting for him to walk her home, singing to her the entire way, as they walked along the snow draped front lawns of Fairmount Boulevard.

Then, Frances, at the young age of 18, was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease. The doctors performed the most up-to-date radiation procedures, ridding her of any traces of the ailment, but in turn, severely damaging her heart in the process. They told her, in their best wisdom, that she would be greatly fortunate to live to see the age of 30. Upon hearing the news John asked her to marry him. She declined, urging that she could not bear to love him not knowing when she would be forced to leave him.

John simply said to her, “We’ll take what we can get.”

Frances’ parents vehemently objected to the union, due to Frances’s age, and instead offered Margaret as a substitute. A week later, John and Frances eloped to Michigan. When they returned forty-eight hours later, they went on their honeymoon—a trip to the grocery store—and did their best, with what money they had from John’s graduate student stipends, to fill the fridge and cabinets of their first home, a small studio apartment on the lower East side of downtown Cleveland. John began his Master’s work in Chemistry at Case Western Reserve, and promised Frances every night he would provide her with a better home, even if it required building it from the ground up, with his own two hands.

By the fall of ’66 Annibella Marie was born, eight pounds and two ounces, brown hair and John’s hazel green eyes. They lived day to day, barely surviving on the stipends and student loans, but meagerly saved enough to upgrade to a one bedroom flat by the time Clifford Lemay arrived in the late summer of ’67. John received his Ph. D from Case in 1970, and accepted an assistant professorship position at his alma mater, John Carroll. The following Mother’s Day, 1971, John surprised Frances when he took her to see their first real home—a dinged up, weather-beaten, two bedroom Bungalow in South Euclid, which he was secretly ashamed of. Frances was floored with excitement, demanding that the house was all she could want, and continually dismissed John’s constant nightly promises to build her one better. A month later, on Father’s Day, Frances had a surprise of her own—Joshua Brian was due by Christmas. By the turn of 1973, John found himself building dual bunk beds for the expected Patrick James, who would join his three older siblings in the already overcrowded second bedroom. By the time Thomas Athanasius was born in June of ’75, John surprised Frances and their little contingent of five, with another house, this time a four bedroom brick manor on Belvoir, in University Heights. Again, the house was a work in progress, but it grew with the family, and by the time John obtained professorship in 1981, Frances had carried and given birth to Sarah Ann, Alison Mary and Jonathon Paul—the house had done its due. So, John purchased the most beautiful plot of land in Gates Mills the bank would lend him the money for, and built a five bedroom palace, as he promised, with his own two hands, Frances helping late at night once the kids were tucked away, bearing the cold as she held logs for John to saw. He sang to her as the snow fell, draping the front lawn of their much awaited estate.

Thirty four years after her diagnosis, Frances was 52, and heavily beating the odds. She had married, raised a family, helped build a house she had longed for from the ground up, and saw her first seven kids go on to higher education. However, years of bearing and raising so many children had put a great strain on her heart. By the time Jonathon Paul was graduating high school, she was taking seven different medications a day. Then, at the age of 53, she had a major heart attack. She was rushed to the Cleveland Clinic, and sustained two triple bypass surgeries within a week. All eight kids came back together, and in between the solemnity of prayer, they joked and laughed in the waiting room, recounting the stories which would come to define their family.

Only John was allowed to see Frances after the surgeries. She was in intensive care, fully conscious, but her heart was fading quickly. John didn’t sleep for the last three days. He read to her. He sang to her. He made faces which made her laugh. He told her things that made her eyes well up with tears. He held her hand and promised her that he did all he ever could have done.

By the very end—the last day—Frances couldn’t muster the power to speak, and in turn had to write down her responses to John on a small notepad.

The last thing John ever said to Frances was, “Who would have thought we could have created all that we have…the kids, the house…”

Frances took her pencil to the small notepad one final time, and slowly wrote, “You always said we’d take what we could get.”

Monday, February 25, 2008

Unexpected Intervention

Cameron was close to giving up. He had given his best effort, but he wasn’t quite made out for the bright lights of Hollywood. He was a midwestern boy, having grown up on a farm in Western Iowa, plowing and tilling fields of wheat and corn. He was supposed to be the heir to a couple hundred acres of soil and livestock, once his high school football glory days came to a close. He did not have the money to go to college, nor did he want to. Cameron wanted to make movies.

His earliest attempts of theatre came in the rafters of the Dennison family barn—putting on one-man acts for his two younger sisters whenever they could find a few minutes away from their daily work. He had a natural talent and he could sense that from his audience—although it was small and biased. Most of all, Cameron had a dream, a burning desire inside, to pursue a life under the bright lights.

So, against his parents’ wishes, he packed everything he owned into two suitcases and hopped a train westward at the age of 18. He did not have much money, but enough to get started. When he arrived in Los Angeles, though, he lacked the necessary skills and trades to survive, and he had to learn on the fly. He got a job bagging groceries at a small market in East L.A., found a studio apartment he could afford, and set out on a dream.

He was in over his head. He did not have headshots, a resume, even a car. But every morning he would wake up and write. He did not know the proper way to write a screenplay, so he walked to the nearby library, and took out every book he could find on the craft. He read them cover to cover—only taking time away for sleep and his shifts at the market. With every penny he could save, and they were few and far between, he bought paper and ink cartridges for his very out-of-date typewriter. He wrote and wrote, script after script, and hand delivered them to the various studios in town. Not a single one made it past the secretary’s trash can.

After five years of this routine, Cameron was finally feeling defeated. He had tried every imaginable thing to break his way into the business—none reaped any reward. The closest he had come to making it was his move to the West Hollywood Ralph’s as an assistant manager. Then, one day, he was ready to give it all up—move back to Iowa, and continue doing the work he was destined for. He packed his two suitcases again, walked down to the bus stop, and was en route to the train station for a one-way ticket home. As he was sitting, waiting for the bus to arrive, a man sat down next to him. The man appeared to be homeless—wearing very ragged clothing, hair clumped and greasy, and a stench prevailed off of him that vaguely reminded Cameron of his days cleaning out the pig’s pen back in Des Moines.

“What do you have there?” the man asked, referring to Cameron’s final screenplay, which rested face down on his lap.
“Oh nothing…just a screenplay I wrote,” he said.
“Really?” the man responded, “I’m a writer myself.”
Most people would not have spoken a word to this homeless man. Not in West Hollywood, not in South Central L.A.
“What’s your name?” Cameron asked.
“Patrick,” the man said but did not ask for Cameron’s in return.

Patrick began rambling on and on about the children’s book he was desperately trying to finish. As he did so he began pulling out random scraps of paper—restaurant receipts, unwanted credit card envelopes, anything Patrick could have dug out of the nearby trashcans.

“The bigger problem is finding a pen or a pencil in those dumpsters,” Patrick replied.
Without thinking twice, Cameron removed two pens from his pocket and handed them to Patrick.
“Have mine,” Cameron said.
“No,” Patrick refused, “I can’t take those…you’re an artist and those are your tools.”
“I’m meant to be a farmer,” Cameron replied.
“What do you mean?” Patrick asked.
“I’m not cut out for this town. I’ve tried. I chased this dream with all my heart, but you can’t force luck.”
“It’s not about luck,” Patrick replied.
“Well, I don’t know what it’s about, but I do know what farming is about, and I can be good at that.”

Then a man and woman walked up to the bus stop, hand in hand, looked at Patrick and the man said, “Get out of here, bum…this bench is for people who are waiting for the bus.”
“Wait a minute,” Cameron intervened. “His name is Patrick, and he’s my friend…if he wants to sit here, he’ll sit here.”
“It’s okay,” Patrick said. “I have to go somewhere for a moment, would you mind watching my bag?” he asked, referring to a brown grocery bag full of folded up newspapers.
“Sure thing,” Cameron replied.
“I won’t be long,” Patrick insisted.

Then Patrick walked down the street and out of sight. The next bus pulled up and Cameron faced a dilemma. If he did not get on that bus he surely would not make it to the train station in time. But he did tell Patrick he would watch his bag until he got back. He decided to let the bus go. It was not his nature to put himself before others—whether it was a queen or a homeless man. It might cost him a small fee but he was sure he could trade in his ticket for a later one.

A few minutes later Patrick returned.
“Thank you for watching my bag,” he said. “Most people will not even talk to me. I owe you…I really do,” he said.
“It’s okay,” Cameron replied, “I told you that I would.”
“Well, I have to go,” Patrick said, lifting his brown bag off of the sidewalk.
“It was nice meeting you, Patrick,” Cameron said while shaking his hand.
“Yes it was…you will do very well, Cameron. You will do well.”

One of the small note cards Patrick carried fell from his pocket to the sidewalk. Cameron bent down and grabbed it. When he arose, however, Patrick was not there. Cameron rapidly scoured everything around him, but there was no sign of Patrick.
He looked at the card and it said, “Give it one more shot, Cameron: Your Guardian Angel, Patrick.
Cameron realized he had never given Patrick his name, and when he looked down at his screenplay he confirmed it was face down.

So Cameron gave it one more shot. He took the next bus to the nearest studio, walked in, told the secretary he had a meeting with the vice president of production—his name was miraculously on the schedule—and he went in and pitched his script. Two years later, Cameron’s first movie was on every Cineplex screen across the country. Three years later he directed his first movie. Just three months before turning 30 he sat anxiously at the Kodak Theatre awaiting the results from the stunningly beautiful actress’s mouth, “Best Picture goes to…Cameron Dennison for Empty as a Pocket.”

Cameron walked up the steps, took the Oscar in his hands, and removed a small note card from the inside pocket of his tuxedo coat. It was old and weathered, but he could still make out the words.

He said, “I want to thank God, first. I want to thank my parents. And I want to thank my best friend Patrick, if it wasn’t for his words to me one day many years ago, I would never be on this stage.”
Before Cameron put the card back into his pocket he looked at it one more time. Right before his eyes, he watched the words change to, “You did well, Cameron: Your best friend, Patrick.”

Saturday, February 23, 2008

A Crime That Paid

Had Thomas Chance never tried robbing the old man at the end of his street when he was fifteen years old, he may have never become the world’s greatest photographer; an explorer and mountain climber; a husband and a father. He was a lost child, a product of a broken home, with an absent father and a mother who was severely addicted to alcohol and painkillers. Thomas fell in with the wrong crowd at school. The misfits naturally seem to gravitate toward one another. He was a constant problem with his teachers and authority figures of every sort. His grades were satisfactory at best, but he greatly lacked motivation. He liked football but he was never able to play, because what little money his mother had she spent immediately at the liquor store. Thomas was lost, to say the very least.

When summer break had finally come around following his freshman year, Thomas planned on never returning to school. He failed ninth grade, and being that he would turn sixteen before the start of the next school calendar he was legally allowed to drop out. His best friend, Jimmy Foley lived down the street. Jimmy was a year older, and he was from a similar background. Jimmy was not going to drop out of school, he just wanted to play football, as well. However, Jimmy could not play for the same reason that Thomas was unable—money. So, Jimmy conceived the plan while sitting on his front porch one evening.

Mr. Carver lived in the house across the street from Jimmy. He was a very old man, appeared to live alone, and was the perfect target. Jimmy figured there would have to be something of value inside of the house. At least enough valuable things he could take down to the pawn shop to come up with the money to play football. He wasn’t sure he could do it by himself, so he called on Thomas for help. Thomas had been talking about getting some money together to skip town. He did not have any destinations, but he knew it would be somewhere very far from that small town. Thomas agreed to help Jimmy as long as they split everything right down the middle.

On the night they were going to break into Mr. Carver’s home, Jimmy bailed on the plan. He was not too coward to do it, though. He was the lucky benefactor to his uncle’s passing, and in return, would inherit four thousand dollars. He had no need to rob Mr. Carver. Thomas, on the other hand, needed to do it for more than one reason. He had to go through with the plan. He watched Mr. Carver’s house all day, and saw no movement. No one came, no one left. When the sun went down no lights were turned on in the house. Thomas was positive that no one was home.

When the clock struck three in the morning he decided to do it. He climbed over Mr. Carver’s backyard fence, and began his search for an open window, a broken door lock, anything that would give him a way in the house. Then he found it. The kitchen window had been left open. He popped the screen out of the frame and climbed through. He began casing the first floor of the house, grabbing every small little thing he could put in his pockets.

Mr. Carver laid in his bed. He was not asleep, despite the late hour, because of a condition he developed during his tour in World War One. He could only sleep an hour, maybe two, before the night terrors would set in, waking him in a state of panic and fear. After 50 years of nightmares Mr. Carver had discovered ways to get his mind off of the horrors he had seen first hand, horrors that revisited him on a nightly basis. He would think of every beautiful thing he could imagine—flowing rivers, snow draped mountains, fields of flowers on a warm Spring day. Thomas was not even in the house when Mr. Carver heard him. Despite his old age he had an acute sense of hearing. He did not call the police until he was certain that Thomas was in the house.

Just as Thomas reached the landing, between the front door and the stairs he saw the red and blue flashes in the driveway. He froze for a moment, and then made a break for it through the back kitchen door. Before he could begin climbing the fence he was hit on the back of the head by the police officer’s billy club. He knew it was all over. He was handcuffed and thrown in the back of the police cruiser.

The police officer went inside where he talked to Mr. Carver. Then the police officer came back out to the car and said, “I have two options for you, kid. I can take you down to the Juvenile Detention Center, or you can call Mr. Carver every night and talk to him for a half hour.”
“What?” Thomas was perplexed. “What do you mean, talk to him?” he asked.
“Just that,” the police officer responded. “He said he wouldn’t press charges if you called him on the phone once a night for the next week, and talk to him for a half hour.”
“Okay,” Thomas said, “Can’t be worse than going to jail.”
“Here is the phone number…you better call him, son. I’ve advised Mr. Carver to call me the first day that you don’t, and I will be at your house to take you to Juvenile.”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas said, and took the small piece of paper.

The next day Thomas took out the piece of paper, and called Mr. Carver at six o’clock. Mr. Carver answered the phone on the first ring, and began talking to Thomas. He did not ask him why he tried robbing him. He did not ask him anything at all. He just began talking to Thomas like they were old friends who had not spoken in a while. The first day he talked to Thomas about football. He said that he played when he was young, and may have played in college had he not been drafted to serve in the army. Thomas asked him why he did not play again after the war. Mr. Carver simply said he had other things to worry about. They talked for a half hour exactly on the first day.

Thomas called Mr. Carver at six o’clock on the dot the following day. Again, Mr. Carver did not ask Thomas any questions. He began speaking to him the same way he had the previous day. They discussed Mr. Carver’s death defying trek up Mt. Everest when he was young. Thomas was blown away, he could not believe Mr. Carver had summitted the tallest mountain in the world. On the second day their conversation last forty minutes.

Once again, on the third day, at six o’clock, Thomas called Mr. Carver, who picked up on the first ring and began talking. This day he told Thomas all about the time he sailed around the world—starting in California, going down around South America, across the Atlantic Ocean, down the Coast of Africa, up through the Indian Ocean, and finally across the Pacific to California. Thomas was even more interested than he was the day before. He could visualize every sentence, every description that came from Mr. Carver’s mouth. Their conversation lasted an hour on the third day.

Everything began exactly the same on the fourth day. But instead of mountain climbing or sailing, Mr. Carver talked about when he ran with the bulls in Pamplona. He talked about the entire trip with very vivid detail. He talked about how he nearly did not make it because he lost his passport, but that he snuck across the Spanish border on a fruit train, carrying the biggest and most delicious grapes he had ever tasted in his life. Thomas was floored once again, and pressed the phone against his ear for an hour and a half.

The fifth day nothing changed. It was six o’clock, Thomas dialed and Mr. Carver started talking as soon as he picked up the phone. He had shifted from Spain to the Caribbean. He told Thomas about the year he spent living as an island hopper. He said he would wake up early in the morning, before the sun came up, eat his breakfast on the beach, watch the sun rise, take a morning swim in the bluest and most beautiful water he had ever seen, and then would take tourists on a small plane from one island to another all day. During that year he gave a ride to all sorts of people, including JFK, Joe Dimaggio and Marilyn Monroe. Thomas listened with disbelief for two hours before hanging up.

On the sixth day Mr. Carver immediately started talking about Paris. He said that it was still his favorite place in the world. He talked about the buildings, the people, the way the Eiffel Tower looked at dusk, the way the flowers bloomed and smelled in May. He talked about the love of his life, too. The woman he met there and fell in love with. For the first time in Thomas’s life he became very interested and open talking about love—his heart opened. At the end of the conversation on the sixth day Mr. Carver made a request.
He said, “Don’t call me tomorrow. I want you to come visit me. I want to talk about you.”
“Okay,” Thomas responded without a second thought. “What time?”
“How about six o’clock…I’ll make dinner,” he said.
“Sure thing, Mr. Carver. I’ll come by at six.”
The following day Thomas walked down the street to Mr. Carver’s house. He knocked three times on the front door, and Mr. Carver opened it. Thomas looked at Mr. Carver for the first time. Mr. Carver was tall and thin, with wrinkled skin, a left hand that shook from the Parkinson’s, a right hand that loosely held a long white stick with a red tip. Mr. Carver was blind.
“Sit down,” Mr. Carver said, leading Thomas to the kitchen table. “I hope you like soup.”
Thomas was dumbfounded. He could not help but ask, “How long have you been blind, Mr. Carter?”
Mr. Carter replied, “Since I came back from the war…Eighteen-years-old.”
“But what about Mt. Everest, and Pamplona, and sailing around the world? What about Paris? What about island hopping? What about everything you told me you did?”
“What about them?” Mr. Carver replied.
“How could you tell me you did them? How could you describe all of that if you have never really seen it?”
Mr. Carver simply said, “One does not need eyes to see…he only needs his imagination. I did do everything that I told you I did. I saw everything I told you I saw. I did it in my mind.”
Thomas was not bothered or upset; he did not feel that he was misled. Thomas was completely and utterly at a loss for words.

“You see, Thomas…life does not always go the way you want it to go. When I was a young kid, not much older than you are now, I had set my mind to do everything that I described to you. God had other plans. I came back from that war without my eyesight, but I never lost my dreams. They could not be taken from me. You have the opportunity to do anything at all that you want. You have youth and health, intelligence and aspirations. Don’t let anything get in the way of your dreams. Don’t let anything stop you from imagining and then doing.”

Mr. Carver and Thomas ate dinner for the first of many Sunday nights. Every week Thomas would walk down to Mr. Carver’s house to talk and eat soup. Thomas did not drop out of school, and after a year of getting his grades to good standing, Mr. Carver paid for Thomas to play football. Mr. Carver never missed a game, either. By the time Thomas’s mother had gone to rehab at the beginning of his senior year, Mr. Carver adopted Thomas, and had him move in. Thomas graduated in the top ten of his class, went to college, and took a job with National Geographic. Mr. Carver passed away shortly after, and Thomas lived every day to keep his promise. He did everything that Mr. Carver had told him about the first week they began talking. He even fell in love in Paris, married the woman, and had five kids with her. Every night that he tucked his kids in he thought about Mr. Carver, and what his life might be like had he never tried to rob the old man down the street.

Friday, February 22, 2008

The Camping Trip; Part Five

"The Camping Trip" is a five day series, consisting of five different parts, to be presented daily--the 18th to the 22nd--from five different vantage points. If you get behind, don't worry because they'll be on here for good. If you want to get ahead, you're out of luck, because I'm making this up as I go. This is Part Five. If you haven't read Part One, Two, Three or Four they are directly below. Enjoy.

LEO
I started gathering everything together around sunrise. I didn’t sleep at all on Saturday night. It was a very therapeutic experience. I don’t know why but there’s something about staring at a fire for hours on end—watching the logs slowly catch, going from a deep indigo blue to red and then orange and then yellow as the heat rose into colorless fumes.
I broke down the tents and packed the truck while the other four were down at the washhouse brushing their teeth and cleaning up for the ride home. I made peace that night with everyone on that trip—I made peace with myself.
Bengi was the first one to walk back up to the site, carrying his toiletry case in one hand and his towel in the other.
“Thanks for packing everything up, man,” he said, putting his stuff in his duffel bag.
“No problem…I just wanna get home,” I said.
“Rough weekend?” he said, trying to hold back a smile.
“Memorable to say the least,” I said, tossing my bag alongside his in the bed of the truck.
“Sorry it turned out the way it did,” he said.
“Why? I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“I bet.”
“Seriously. And if you wanna take Alyssa out when we get home, feel free,” I said it and I meant it. I knew it was gonna happen anyway, so I figured I’d spare him the odd and dishonest sneaking around.
“Why would you say that?”
“You get along better with her than I ever did…if you like her, don’t let me hold you back.”
“Thanks, man. I think I do like her.”
I already had my funeral with that girl. I wasn’t hoping it would fail, or that she would do all of the same things to him that she did to me. I just figured it would be good to get it out of his system. Honest. I think every guy should date a girl like Alyssa one time in his life—if nothing else, he’ll learn to never marry one like her.
We drove away from that campground about noon. I didn’t sit up front with Bengi and Alyssa, though. I let the newlyweds have the front all to themselves. Instead I lied down with the camping stuff in the bed of the truck. It was pretty cool. Two hours of warm July air rushing past me at 65 miles per hour. You could say that by the time we got back to Cedar Falls I had blown that trip right out of my hair.

BENGI
When I woke up on Sunday everything was already done, except breaking down the tents. I don’t think Leo went to sleep on Saturday night because he looked like a beaten man when I came back from the washhouse. I would’ve helped break down the tents but he had done that in the ten minutes I was gone. He was obviously ready to get home.
Then he caught me completely off guard. He said that I should ask out Alyssa when we got home. It was relieving because I didn’t know how I was going to bring that up to him. I had already asked her out on the canoe, and I was debating whether or not I was going to tell him before I actually took her out.
Then we got in my truck and headed home. Leo decided to lay down in the bed of the truck for the entire ride—a little bit weird, but whatever. Alyssa and I continued joking and laughing, listening to country music and talking about where we were gonna go for our date. It was a great end to the trip. I could’ve never imagined that was the way it would all end, but I was glad.
I dropped Leo off first, and then took Alyssa home on the way to my place.
“Tuesday night is good?” I asked.
“Yeah, that would be great,” she said.
Then she leaned over and kissed me.

ALYSSA
I woke up and walked to the washhouse. I brushed my teeth, threw my hair into a pony-tail and then started back towards the site. I noticed Todd from the night before, tossing stuff in the back of his pick-up. I walked over to apologize and say goodbye.
“Hey,” I said. “Sorry about Leo,” I said. “He needs to be hospitalized.”
He sort of laughed. “It’s alright. He’s should be glad I was drunk…because I would’ve taught him a lesson.”
“Well, I’d still like to go out with you if you don’t mind driving to Cedar Falls.”
“I’d love to,” he said. “My cell phone is dead…to you have something to write on?” he asked.
“No. Here’s my lipstick and a napkin, though.”
I gave him my number and he folded it up and put it in his pocket.
“How’s Tuesday night?” he asked.
“Should be great…just call me,” I said and walked away.
When I got back to the campsite everything was completely packed up and ready to go. Leo decided he wanted to lay in the bed of the truck on the way home. I seriously think he needs to seek help.
We got back to my place just before 3 PM, and Bengi asked if I wanted to go out on Tuesday night. How ironic. I said it sounded great. I could either blow Todd off or maybe do a lunch date and a dinner date. That would be interesting. Anyway, I leaned across and gave Bengi a kiss, and then I went in the house. I powered up my cell phone and saw that Todd had already called me. What’s a girl to do when she’s wanted from every direction?

SMITTY
The good thing about not bringing anything on that camping trip was that I didn’t have to pack anything up. Leo did everything. I just walked out by the river, took a leak, and then hopped in my car. Mandy was already sitting in the passenger seat and she had already put on a CD. It was some terrible new female pop singer, sounded a lot like Britney Spears.
“We listened to your music on the way down,” she said, “Now it’s my turn.”
My life was going to be hell from then on. Oh well. It sure beats being alone all of the time.
When we got back to Cedar Falls I stopped by the Starbucks before going home.
“You’re really learning,” she said. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. I liked Starbucks—I guess that was a perk to her. “I’ll just wait here,” she said, “You know what I want.”
I had no idea what she wanted. I think she liked Frappucinos, but there’s a million different types of those. I guess I’d just get her what I always got, and hope that it went over well.
“Two Venti Iced Mochas with Pepperment and nonfat milk,” I said to the girl at the counter.
I walked back out to the car, praying I wouldn’t catch any crap from her. She took a sip, smiled and said, “I love you.”
I guess I picked right.

MANDY
I couldn’t wait to get home and take a shower. I felt like I had been living in pure filth for three straight days. I don’t consider brushing your teeth as qualified daily hygiene.
I tried helping Leo break down our tent but he said it would go a lot faster and easier if he did it by himself. So I got into Mark’s car and put on my Hillary Duff CD. I figured he would take it out immediately when he got in, but I wanted to test him—see if he learned anything from that weekend.
When he got in I said, “It’s my turn to pick the music.” He just nodded and went with it. I leaned over and kissed him. He was a good guy, and with a little bit of work and luck he’d be just what I liked.
Mark made a detour when we got back to Cedar Falls. He stopped at the Starbucks, and my heart nearly melted in my chest. All of this was too good to be true. “You know what I want,” I said, staying in the car. He walked out two minutes later and handed me the drink. I took a sip. Venti Iced Mocha with Peppermint and nonfat milk. He had really learned a thing or two on that trip. With any luck he’d take me to the Cayman Islands next year.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

The Camping Trip; Part Four

"The Camping Trip" is a five day series, consisting of five different parts, to be presented daily--the 18th to the 22nd--from five different vantage points. If you get behind, don't worry because they'll be on here for good. If you want to get ahead, you're out of luck, because I'm making this up as I go. This is Part Four. If you haven't read Part One, Two, or Three they are directly below. Enjoy.

MANDY
When we got back from the canoe ride I just wanted to change my clothes and wash my hair. I figured the washhouse would probably be filthy but I couldn’t imagine it being any dirtier than my hair. It was tangled and smelled like a dirty river. So I walked up to Mark’s car and Leo was sitting in the driver’s seat. My stuff was on the passenger seat so I opened the door and grabbed it. Leo was listening to music.
“Take a seat,” he said.
“Are you alright?” I asked him.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You had quite a meltdown out there,” I said, and immediately regretted bringing it up.
“It happens to the best of us,” he said. “So what’s going on with you and Mark?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if we should even be together anymore. He’s just so stubborn. He always does whatever he wants to do.”
“Just give him time. He’s an interesting guy, and he’s got a lot of issues from his folks and all of that sort of stuff…but who doesn’t?”
“I really said something I shouldn’t have.”
“What’s that?”
“I called him a drunk, like his father…said I should leave him like his mother left his father.”
“Let’s just hope he was too drunk to remember that,” he said. “There’s a pretty good chance…he’s passed out in the canoe down by the river.”
“I feel really bad. I just want the best for him. I shouldn’t have said what I did about his dad, but I couldn’t think of any other way to get through to him.”
Then he turned down the music. “I’m guessing you’re getting your stuff so you can go wash your hair,” he said, referring to my shampoo and conditioner.
“Yeah.”
“Does your hair always look or feel the way you want it to?”
“No. I feel like it never does. Only when I spend a lot of time on it does it work out how I like it to.”
“Think of Mark like your hair.”
“What?”
“He needs time. Like your hair.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you just woke up and left the house without doing a single thing to your hair would it look great?”
“No. It would probably look terrible.”
“If you took a shower, got out, put on clothes and left the house without doing anything to your hair, would it look good?”
“No. It would be wet and tangled.”
“So, in order to get it how you like, you have to wash it, dry it, brush it, maybe put some product in it…right?”
“Yeah.”
“That probably takes a good amount of time, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it always look exactly how you want it to look when you do all of that?”
“No. Sometimes it’s exactly how I like it, but it’s never perfect.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly?”
“You can’t expect Mark to just get out of bed and be perfect. Like your hair he takes time…washing it, drying it, brushing it. Mark’s a pretty layered guy. He may not appear like that on the surface but he is. He’s not gonna just stop drinking and start remembering everything, and do everything you want him to. Like your hair, he’ll never be perfect. But the more time you listen to him and spend time with him, the more willing he’ll be, like your hair, to cooperate.”
“Wow. I never thought of it like that.”
“If you don’t like your hair you’d just cut it off, right?”
“But I really do like my hair.”
“Well if you really like Mark, you’ll accept that he’s never going to be perfect…otherwise cut him off.”
Leo really put everything into perspective. I would have never thought about that the way he did. He was a really insightful guy. He really cared about things. That’s a rare trait to find in a guy. I felt kind of bad for him. He was the only one on the trip who seemed to really care about everyone having a good time. And in return, all it did, was make him the one most miserable.
“You’re a good guy, Leo.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“Really. You are. You seem to put others before you, and that’s not something you find in a lot of people.”
“I just want everyone to be happy,” he said, starting to turn the music back up.
“There’s only so much you can do for other people. You gotta start trying to make yourself happy sometimes.”
“I know,” he said.
“If you want to talk about anything just let me know.”
“Thanks. I will…Now go and wash your hair, it looks awful,” he said with a half smile.
I washed up, ate dinner, hung out around the fire with Bengi and Alyssa, and then went to sleep in the backseat of Mark’s car again. I woke up to Mark tapping on the window. He apologized and asked if I wanted to lay with him. I said yes. Then we talked. I mean I had to start washing, drying and brushing the hair if I was going to get him how I wanted him to be.

ALYSSA
I was just sitting there with Bengi and this guy Todd from a few campsites down, having a good conversation, when Leo threw another one of his tantrums. The guy was inviting me to his campsite for some of his wine, because I had run out. I wouldn’t have needed to get more wine if Leo would’ve just bought two jugs instead of one. He knows that I like Chablis in the big jug. And I told him two—not one and a box of Franzia. He listened to everything else I said, except for the only thing that mattered.
He came out of his tent, opened a beer, started cooking a hotdog, and acted like a total jerk to Todd. And Todd was a nice guy. We met him on the river when we were canoeing and he happened to be just two sites down. He brought over his own beer and sausages, and offered them to everyone.
I was gonna throw Leo in that river right behind Todd if Bengi wouldn’t have held me back. By the time Bengi let me go Leo was waving the fire poking stick around like was going to swing it at anyone who came near him. I feel so bad for Todd. I hope he’s still around in the morning before we leave, because I’m gonna apologize. He said he doesn’t live too far from Cedar Falls either, so I’ll give him my phone number, too. He seemed like a fun guy. He was pretty funny, and I’m sure he’d be great to hang out with back home.
So I went to the tent. Bengi had already crawled in when I got there. I was boiling hot. I wanted to go back out there and lay into Leo. I wanted to tell him how crazy he was, and that he needed help. That he should stay out of other people’s business. That was one of the most annoying things about him—he was always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Bengi held me back, though. He had a way of calming me down. For the second straight night I ended up falling asleep right next to him.

BENGI
If Leo didn’t throw that guy in the river I was going to. He was a total creep. We first saw him on the river when we were canoeing and he wouldn’t let us be. He paddled alongside us for the last five miles it seemed, and then just invited himself over. He said he had a bunch of beer and some food for everyone. He brought a six pack and two sausages. That guy was bad news from the jump.
He really crossed the line when he invited Alyssa back to his campsite. He said he had a couple bottles of wine over there, but just an hour before that he said he only drank beer. Alyssa was pretty drunk so I can understand how she missed that. But I’m a guy and I know guys, and that was just a ploy to get her over there. Anyways, he had a ton of nerve. There were three guys and two girls, chances are she was taken, but this guy just kept trying and trying.
When Leo came out I knew it would be the end of him. Leo doesn’t mess around when it comes to protecting girls—he’s got three sisters. I’ve seen him be a little bit overprotective, but I can’t entirely blame him. He’s a guy, and he knows how guys think. I was sort of relieved, to tell you the truth, that Leo came out when he did. He ended looking like the bad guy, not me. I thought Alyssa was gonna attack Leo so I held her back. Then I went to the tent. I was drunk, exhausted, and I just wanted to get some sleep. I told Alyssa to calm down and come to bed. Even if Leo got rid of that guy, hanging out wouldn’t be fun anymore.
As I crawled into the tent I woke up Smitty. He had been sleeping all day, so I didn’t feel bad. It actually worked out perfectly because he got up and left just as Alyssa was climbing in.

SMITTY
I woke up around 2 AM in the tent. Bengi was trying to climb over me to get into his sleeping bag and he nearly trampled me. I guess I had slept the entire day away. I got up and walked outside. Near the campfire I could hear arguing going on. I started to walk towards it when Alyssa came stomping past me, and into the tent. Then I saw Leo standing near the fire, and it looked like he was taunting the river. How drunk was he?
Then I saw a body emerge from the river, covered in mud and dirt.
“That should teach you,” Leo said to some guy I had never even seen before.
“You’re crazy!” the guy yelled back, waving something in his hand as he started towards Leo. Leo effortlessly threw him back to the ground.
“I don’t want anything to do with that girl, man,” the guy said, desperate to get out of the mud.
“Just go back to your site,” Leo said, “And don’t come back over here.”
The guy got up, started to walk away, and then made a quick rush at Leo, whose back was turned. So I stepped in and stopped him. The guy looked at me, realized he was in over his head and started walking back through the woods to his campsite.
“What was that all about?” I asked Leo as I sat down in a lawn chair next to him.
“He was being obnoxious…saying some things to Alyssa. Asking her to come back to his tent.” He poked at the fire.
“What was she saying?”
“You know her, man…she was just going along with it. She loves the attention.”
“You gotta let her go, man,” I said to him.
“I know. It’s just hard to watch her openly flirt with other guys right in front of me.”
“Just don’t hang out with her after this trip…that’s all.”
“I’m not going to. I’ve had it. I guess it was more about territory with that guy than anything. Imagine if some guy was over here doing the same thing with Mandy.”
“I’d kill him…but she’s my girlfriend.”
“For now,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He cracked open a beer, threw another log on the fire and said, “It means that you’ve got a good girl, Smitty. She’s a real good girl. She might seem a little bit overwhelming at times. You might think that she’s asking for a lot, but she’s not. She just wants you to be there. She doesn’t expect you to be perfect. If you don’t want that…if you just don’t want to be bothered by the hassles of a relationship then don’t be. But I’ll tell you this much, girls like Mandy don’t come around often in college. She really likes you, and she only gets on your case because she wants to see the best out of you. Don’t misinterpret that for being nagging or annoying.”
“Sounds like you’ve really thought this through,” I said. The guy knew more about my relationship than I did.
“There’s good and there’s bad…in everything. You may have a perfect date with a girl, but you’ll never have a perfect relationship. Just like a pitcher might throw a perfect game, but he’ll never go an entire season without giving up a few runs and walking a few guys. He’ll probably lose a game or two, but without his catcher he won’t win a single game, let alone the World Series.”
Now he was talking my language. I get baseball.
“Just like a good pitcher needs a good catcher, a relationship needs a good girl and a good guy.”
“So she’s the catcher? Why does she get to call all of the shots?”
“Because that’s how it works. Girls call the shots. But you can always brush off a sign here and there…call your own pitch. Sometimes you may battle over that, but she’ll always come to the mound for a conference. You know why?”
“She likes to talk.”
“No. Well, maybe a little. But it actually means that she’s concerned…she cares whether or not you give up a home run on the next pitch. She’s concerned because she wants the entire team to win…to see how far the team can make it.”
I never would have gotten that message had I not sat down with Leo. He was always good for making things clear. He had a gift for putting things in a way that I could relate. Mandy was a good girl, and she did love me. Of course she was a little needy here and there, but what girl isn’t? I had never been in a relationship before her, and I guess I thought I was missing out on my single days. But Leo was right. I was on a good team. I may have wanted to be a free agent again if I was on a bad team, but I wasn’t.
“That all makes a lot of sense,” I said to Leo, “I need to apologize to my catcher.”
“If she’ll get out of your car, you guys can have my tent, I may not even go to sleep tonight…but no hanky panky, alright? That was my parents’ tent…it’s kind of special to me.”
I walked up to the car, knocked on the window, and she actually opened the door.
“Wanna be my catcher?” I asked.
“What? You think I’m gonna just hop in the—
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. It’s something Leo said. Anyway, I’ve been an idiot all weekend, but it is our anniversary and I’d like to just lay next to you. Leo said we could sleep in his tent.”
“I accept your apology…just don’t do it again,” she said, and we went to Leo’s tent.
We actually talked all night. Leo was right, I had a good girl, and I didn’t want to lose that. We made an agreement, too. Every time we would go somewhere she wanted, she had to then go to a football or baseball game with me. Thank God for Leo. That guy should be a marriage counselor, or a general manager of a baseball team—that’d be way more fun.

LEO
I have to admit, throwing that guy in the river was the highlight of my trip. I just don’t care much for guys like that. He was drunk and rude and obnoxious. I didn’t even know where he came from, but he thought he was a real hotshot. I was gonna let the whole thing ride until he started insulting me. Of course I didn’t want Alyssa going over to his site with him, alone, in the middle of the night, in a dark campground. I wouldn’t have let Mandy go over there in that situation. So, I offered to walk over there with the two of them and help carry the wine back. That’s when he set me off. He made some wise crack about how I was the over-protective ex-boyfriend, and that he could see why she broke up with me. He said if I was a real man like he was I wouldn’t have to worry about her thinking about other guys.
Two things struck me at that moment: they had obviously been sitting around that fire for some time cracking jokes on my behalf, and that he was on my turf. First of all, I don’t go for anyone insulting me, and secondly, not on my turf. So I walked over to him, pushed him backwards, off of his lawn chair, and when he got up I shoved him the additional three feet over the small ridge where the river started. For added fun I grabbed the poking stick and began waving it around like a madman. Sometimes you just have to entertain yourself.
I got rid of the guy, sent Bengi and Alyssa to their tent, and I cracked open a beer. It was my first beer of the night, and boy did it taste good. Smitty came over and sat by the fire with me. I talked to him a little bit about Mandy. I told him he should just look in his heart. I think she’s a good girl, and since they had been together he was far happier than when he was single. I think I might’ve knocked some sense into him because he apologized to her and they took my tent for the night.
I just sat by the fire, poking at it, and throwing an additional log or two on when it was getting low. I thought about a lot of things. I thought about baseball, football, basketball, about how I didn’t get to go fishing, or how we never sat around and played cards just the three of us guys. Most of all, I tried to have my guys weekend for once—right there, at that fire, by myself. It was very relieving. I thought about how girls change everything. I don’t want to say ruin, but they definitely throw things off course. I was 21-years-old and I only had about a year of college left, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend it worrying about girls. So I made a pact with myself at that fire. When I got back to school I would finish my Italian class with Alyssa—wash and cut that tangled clump of hair right off—and I’d become a free agent again. But not the kind of free agent who is looking for a team to sign with immediately, rather a free agent who wants to take a season off, planning on playing again when the time was right.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

The Camping Trip; Part Three

"The Camping Trip" is a five day series, consisting of five different parts, to be presented daily--the 18th to the 22nd--from five different vantage points. If you get behind, don't worry because they'll be on here for good. If you want to get ahead, you're out of luck, because I'm making this up as I go. This is Part Three. If you haven't read Part One or Two they are directly below. Enjoy.

LEO
Saturday morning was pleasant. I woke up soaking wet—two inches of rainwater on the bottom of my tent. It didn’t make any sense. It hadn’t leaked once in the five years I owned it. I unzipped the door, peeked outside, and saw that it didn’t work because it wasn’t on my tent—it was over the other one. Pretty funny joke on me, I guess. Then I heard whispering from the other tent.
“I think he’s up…”
Then a female and male voice chuckled.
“I bet he’s soaked.”
Laughing again.
I got out of the tent and walked to Bengi’s truck to get my bag—at least it would be dry, I thought. I opened the passenger door and grabbed it. It was sopping. I looked at the door, and the window was rolled down six inches. So I removed my swim trunks, put them on, and hung the rest of my clothes over a makeshift clothesline.
To say the least, I was pissed off by that point. So I built a fire and took the eggs and bacon out of the cooler. I made breakfast with a caste iron skillet, and ate whatever bits of burnt bacon and scrambled eggs I could scrape off the bottom. Then I went on a hike.
When I got back everyone was ready to go canoeing. A bus came by and picked us up at our site, then drove us to the launch point about fourteen miles up the river. I cooled down by then. It helped that Smitty packed the cooler full of beer and Captain Morgan, not to mention, he wasn’t talking to Mandy at all, so I had a source for conversation.
At the launch site there were canoes and kayaks. I asked for two canoes, and then Alyssa barged in. She wanted a kayak. She said that having three people in a canoe was stupid. I figured she might want to share a canoe with Bengi. She didn’t like the suggestion. I told her I didn’t like waking up in two inches of water, but it happened. Anyway, she always had to have her way, so I let it go. Mandy refused to share a canoe with Smitty, so she jumped in Bengi’s. I didn’t mind sharing a canoe with Smitty; he had the cooler of beer.
So we walked down to the muddy shore, carefully put the cooler in the middle, and then launched into the muddy river. As soon as we got on the water I felt a calm come over me. There was something really soothing about the feeling of weightlessness and the ice-cold beer between my legs. Then, as soon as my mind was at ease, my world was turned upside down. Literallly. As I rose out of the waist high water I could hear them laughing. Once I got the water out of my eyes I could see Smitty trudging away from the canoe. Bengi started yelling at me to get the beer. “Save the beer!” he screamed. I flipped the canoe, while telling everyone within shouting distance to go “f” themselves, grabbed the cooler that was floating away and retrieved nearly every one of the 30 Natty Lights.
I had a meltdown—by every means—I admit it. But put yourself in my shoes. Can you blame me? My tarp was stolen from me in the middle of the night, because I didn’t want to stay up getting drunk while two people fought like starving pigs, and the other two made wise cracks on my behalf. But I let it go, despite waking up in two inches of water, and all of my stuff ruined. Then my breakfast charred to a crisp because Bengi had brought my old skillet—not the one I had bought the day before we left. Then I’m told that I’m an idiot because I think that having three people in a canoe is totally fine. Then…when I’m finally at peace, I’m flipped into cold dirty water, and my partner, Smitty, jumped ship at the first sign of discomfort—literally.
So when I emerged from that water and saw Alyssa laughing her little ass off I really couldn’t control myself. I trudged directly at her, grabbed a hold of the bottom of her kayak, and flipped it. She came up screaming, but I didn’t care. I just hopped into the kayak, paddled over to the canoe with the cooler, grabbed six beers, and I left all of them.
The final thirteen miles of that trip, alone in the kayak, with nothing but the beer and water and sky above me, was the only enjoyable time I spent on that camping trip.

MANDY
I woke up in the backseat of Mark’s car on Saturday morning. I wasn’t sleeping anywhere near him. All we did was fight on Friday night. I thought he would’ve learned his lesson when I threw his bag in the river. I felt bad about his phone and i-Pod, but I didn’t know they were in there. If he would’ve just apologized and acted like a decent guy I would’ve accepted his apology and let the whole thing go. But instead he started drinking. That’s his solution to everything—he starts getting drunk.
I didn’t eat anything at all before we left for the canoe trip. I took one look at the eggs and bacon Mark made and I lost my appetite. I didn’t even want to go canoeing. I just wanted to take a hot shower, wash my hair, put on clean clothes, and watch TV. Instead, I was stuck in honky tonk hell with a bunch of drunken idiots.
When we got to the place where they gave us the canoes I refused to share one with Mark. I was going to share one with Leo, but I’m glad I picked Bengi. If I would’ve been in that canoe when Bengi and Alyssa tipped Leo and Mark I would’ve demanded to go home immediately. Leo went bezerk and I can’t entirely blame him. He took the kayak and left. I wish I would’ve had a kayak, because I would’ve left, too.
So, somehow I got stuck with Mark in a canoe after all. Thirteen miles is a long way in a canoe. So I figured it would be a good time for Mark and I to talk. He did act like an idiot sometimes, but I loved him. I wouldn’t have been with him for an entire year if I didn’t.
“Can we talk about things?” I asked him.
“About what?” he said as he took a swig from his beer.
“About us. It’s our one year anniversary today and I don’t want to fight.”
“Here,” he said, trying to hand me a beer.
“I don’t want a beer,” I said. “I wanna talk.”
“Well, I don’t wanna listen.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I don’t wanna be given a lecture.”
“What?”
Did I hear him correctly, I thought. Now he was trying to say I was controlling.
“Just drink some beer and pick up your oar. Have you never been on a canoe before?”
“No. I haven’t.”
“It shows.”
“You’re a drunk, did you know that?”
“Yep,” he said, like it didn’t even bother him.
“This is the biggest day of our relationship so far, and you’re gonna drink all day.”
“Hopefully until I can’t remember it,” he said and finished his beer. He reached back and grabbed another.
“That’s your solution to everything, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” he said and cracked open his beer.
“You know who you’re like?”
“Nope…and I don’t really care.”
“You’re just like your father. A miserable drunk!”
“Yep.” He still seemed unfazed.
“I should learn something from your mother and leave you before it’s too late.”
I knew it was a low blow when it left my mouth, but what could I do, he wasn’t responding to anything else.
“What’d you say?” he said and hopped out of the canoe. I went flailing into the water. I stood up and I thought he was going to choke me.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean it,” I said, pleading with him—crying by now.
“Well, you shouldn’t have said it,” he said, immediately calming down. I thought maybe it was enough to knock some sense into the two of us. Maybe now we could start talking things through.
“Enjoy the walk back,” he said as he got into the canoe.
“What? You’re not leaving me.”
“It’ll give you plenty of time to think about what you just said.”
Then he started rowing away—grabbing every floating beer he could reach on the way.
“Get back here!” I screamed.
He didn’t stop.
I trudged over to the bank of the river, sat on a log and cried. How could this happen? It was our anniversary. One year since he stood behind me at Starbucks and ordered the same drink—Venti Iced Mocha with Peppermint and non-fat milk. I knew it was meant to be at that moment. I didn’t have the courage to approach him until then, and we’ve been together ever since. Now things were falling apart.
Finally, Bengi and Alyssa came rowing down the river—laughing and having a ball of a time. I got into their canoe and rode back with them. I wanted to have fun with them, but I couldn’t. They reminded me too much of what two people should be like after dating a year.

SMITTY
I tried apologizing to Mandy when I woke up on Saturday. I even made her breakfast in bed. Granted, her bed was the backseat of my car, but there was a perfectly good spot next to me in the tent that she didn’t want to use. She took one look at the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and said she wasn’t hungry. I remembered what my old man told me one time. He said, if you and your lady get in a fight, make her breakfast in bed…if she eats it the fight’s over…if she doesn’t, start drinking and before you know it she’ll have forgotten all about it.
So I started drinking. We had two cases of beer and no one to drink it. Alyssa only drank wine—by the gallon, mind you, and Bengi was only drinking Captain Morgan’s that weekend. Leo was nowhere to be found until the bus came by and took us to the canoe launch.
I don’t really remember a whole lot past that point. I remember our canoe being tipped, hurrying like hell to the other one, and Leo in absolute meltdown mode. Then it all pretty much goes black. I guess I wound up canoeing the trip by myself, because I woke up at the bank of the river, next to our campsite, with ten or eleven empty Natty Light cans around my feet. It was still light out but I had no idea where I was until Leo grabbed me and took me up to the tent. I really have to stop drinking on an empty stomach.

BENGI
It was a good thing Alyssa went on that trip. The whole thing would’ve been boring without her. Leo was in a pissy mood since we got there, and Smitty and Mandy wouldn’t stop arguing. The entire night Alyssa and I had to listen to them bicker at each other while we sat around the fire. In my opinion, Leo needed a Xantax, Smitty needed to stop drinking so much, and Mandy needed to start drinking a little more—then everyone might meet somewhere in the middle.
I couldn’t get over how much fun Alyssa was, though. She’s the perfect girl. She’s hardly ever in a bad mood; she doesn’t have weird hormonal rages like other girls; she takes everything with a grain of salt; and she’s game to drink and laugh all the time. I want to take credit for it, because it’s hilarious, but I have to give her the credit for the prank.
We were sitting around the fire on Friday night—around 2 AM—when it started raining. Mandy was sleeping in Smitty’s car, Smitty was passed out in a lawn chair next to us, and Leo had already been asleep in his tent since about Ten. Both tents should’ve had a rain tarp, but Smitty forgot the one for the big tent. So Alyssa and I were standing under a tree and she thought of it.
“Let’s take Leo’s tarp…he’s gonna be pissy either way, so why should we be wet?”
So we drunkenly stumbled through the motions, laughing the whole time, but managed to take his tarp and put it over our tent before any of the initial rain soaked through our tent’s roof. It was an honest prank. I’d’ve laughed it was done to me. Leo took offense to it—what else was new? He’s the type of guy that can’t just let things go. He was probably still angry about the confederate flag.
After breakfast we took a bus down to the canoeing place. More than anything else I wanted to go ca-brewing on that trip. What could possibly be better than slowly meandering down a stream while getting boozed up? When we got there we decided to get two canoes and a kayak. Leo wanted to put three people in one of the canoes, which was just stupid. The kayak ended up being a great idea, because it kept Leo from whining in our ears for thirteen miles.
So we tipped his canoe, what’s the big deal? I have to take credit for that one. He was being a pest, Alyssa agreed, and so we snuck up behind their canoe and tipped them. It was the funniest thing I had seen in a long time. He got up screaming like a madman. He was cussing and flipping everyone off. Then he took the kayak from Alyssa. Just pushed her right out and took it. It was a little bit harsh, because I think she would’ve gladly given it to him had he asked. Anyway, we didn’t have to hear his crying for the rest of the ride, which was fine by me.
Just like Friday night around the fire, I ended up with Alyssa the whole time. She’s a riot. She told me all her and Leo’s little relationship. I could totally see why she dumped him. The guy did take everything too seriously. She said he was always worried about her cheating on him. She said that every time she went out without him he’d obsessively ask questions the following day. I wouldn’t want to date some girl who was paranoid every time I wasn’t by her side. Alyssa was a good girl. She wasn’t the messing around type—you could just tell. She was a fun girl who wanted to have a good time. That doesn’t mean she was out fooling around with all sorts of guys, and then lying about it.
We rowed and drank, joked and laughed, and really had a hell of a time. Then we found Mandy sitting on the banks of the river, crying. Smitty had tipped her out of the canoe for no reason, and left her. That kid really needed to stop drinking so much. He’d end up just like his old man if he didn’t. So we let Mandy ride in the middle, which was good for her because she didn’t have to do anything. It didn’t stop me and Alyssa, either. We kept on having fun—like Mandy wasn’t even there.

ALYSSA
Thank goodness Bengi was on that trip. I would’ve had a miserable time had he not been there. We sat around the fire Friday night and had a blast. Leo was in a bad mood, so we decided to bust his balls until he either flipped out or went to bed. Bengi won the bet. He said Leo’s only good for one meltdown a day, and that he’d just get frustrated and go to bed. I had seen multiple meltdown days from that kid, so I put my money on flipping out. Oh well, I owe Bengi dinner when we get home.
Around 4 AM it started raining, and Bengi and I started to worry. Smitty had forgotten his tarp for the big tent and we would be soaked in the morning if we didn’t do something. I have to give Bengi the credit. I want to say it was my idea, but he was the one who thought of it.
“Let’s just take Leo’s tarp…he’ll never wake up,” he said as we huddled under a tree.
So we fumbled around for a couple minutes and actually switched the tarp from his tent to our’s without him waking up. Then we crashed. I woke up on Saturday morning, kind of snuggled up to Bengi, and I heard Leo griping and muttering things. I woke Bengi up so he could hear, and I must say we got a pretty good morning chuckle out of it.
Breakfast was a fiasco. The frying pan Leo brought was a joke. There was no point in even using it, because the eggs and bacon stuck to it and wouldn’t come off unless you scraped them. So Bengi and I made hot dogs. He’s so hilarious. He must’ve lost three hot dogs off of his lousy little stick in a matter of one minute. He just kept putting them on, though. If it were Leo he probably would’ve thrown the whole fire pit into the river.
Then we went ca-brewing. It was so much fun. I had already gone ca-brewing once that summer. About three weeks before this trip. I had just got back from my family vacation and my best friend from high school asked me to go. That was a real drunken blast. I met this totally hot guy named…Kirk, I think. We had so much fun. He was so laid back. And hot. I think he’s what made me start thinking about breaking up with Leo. I still have his number. I should give him a call one of these days.
Sorry. Back to the story. I ended up getting a kayak for myself. Three people in a canoe isn’t a terribly bad idea. We did it three weeks ago and it was great because I didn’t have to do a lick of work. But then I thought about getting stuck in a canoe for fourteen miles with Leo, so I got the kayak.
I have to admit I had been thinking about tipping Leo’s canoe since we first left the campsite, but I knew I’d probably need help. I could hardly get the words out of my mouth when Bengi agreed.
“He’ll never suspect it,” he said. “Look at him, he’s a sitting duck.”
So we paddled up to him real quietly and tipped him. I kind of felt bad for Smitty because he was the innocent bystander. Leo looked like he was going to kill someone. He was shouting and swearing, telling little kids to go “f” themselves. It was hilarious. By far the funniest thing I had seen in a long time. All four of us just sat back and laughed as we watched him storm around—trying to hold the canoe with one hand while fishing for floating beers with the other. When he came my way I thought he was going to strangle me. He had a crazy look in his eyes. He walked up, grabbed my shoulders, and dunked me into the water. By the time I came up for air he was in the kayak floating away. What a crazy idiot. I think he should be hospitalized. I really do.
It ended up being a great idea of mine, because I wound up sharing a canoe with Bengi the entire time. We just drank, laughed, and forgot about Leo’s crazy antics. It was a blast. Halfway through the trip we saw Mandy crying on the side of the river. She said that Smitty had thrown her out of the canoe, nearly drowning her, and left like it was no big deal. I don’t know the kid that well, but he seems like a loon himself. I even joked with Bengi that when we get back we should send Smitty and Leo off to the mental ward together. It registered a pretty good chuckle. That’s what I liked about Bengi, he never took anything too seriously.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

The Camping Trip; Part Two

"The Camping Trip" is a five day series, consisting of five different parts, to be presented daily--the 18th to the 22nd--from five different vantage points. If you get behind, don't worry because they'll be on here for good. If you want to get ahead, you're out of luck, because I'm making this up as I go. This is Part Two. If you haven't read Part One it is directly below. Enjoy.

BENGI
What the hell, I thought. No way. He wasn’t bringing her. I wouldn’t allow it. I pulled up to Leo’s place and he was standing there with Alyssa. They broke up two weeks earlier. She called him boring! Who would want to go on a trip with someone who said they were boring?
“Hey guys,” I said as I parked my truck behind his car. Maybe she was just getting something back from his place, I thought.
“Hey Bengi,” she said to me. “You don’t mind if I come, do ya?”
Of course I minded. It was guys weekend.
“No, I don’t mind…Is your stuff here or do we have to swing by your place?”
“Gotta stop at my place…is that a problem? I’ll be real quick,” she said.
Of course it was a problem. Now the timing was off. It was five past one and we should have been on the road already.
“It’s not a problem at all. Leo throw your stuff in and let’s go.”
He threw his stuff in the bed of the truck, and they both got in the passenger door; Leo was riding shotgun, Alyssa was crammed in between us.
I drove to her house and she ran inside.
“Why is she going?” I asked Leo as I lit a smoke.
“She’s evil, man. Put me on the spot.”
“You’re so weak,” I said. He was. The guy always gave in to her. He flat out couldn’t say no to her under any circumstance.
“You won’t even notice she’s there,” he said.
She came out after fifty-five minutes with a sleeping bag and a backpack. It was 2:35. We were ninety-five minutes behind schedule. I tossed her stuff in the back of the truck, all three of us crammed into the front again, and we were off.
I took the scenic route—up old State Route 5 instead of the interstate. I was in a lot better mood the further we got into the country. We passed by a double wide trailer with a big confederate flag hanging outside, and Leo had to go righteous on us.
“That’s ridiculous!” he exclaimed.
“What is?” I asked.
“Confederate flags in general…let alone in the North. People are stupid…downright behind the times.”
“What’s wrong with confederate flags?” Alyssa asked.
“They’re a blatant sign of racism…not to mention everything this country stands for,” he responded.
“I disagree,” I said. “It’s about pride.”
Leo was a real city boy. He’d listen to country music and go camping and stuff, but he looked down on country people.
“They have nothing to do with racism,” Alyssa said.
“What?” Leo screamed. “Have you two lost your minds? It’s the symbol of the Confederate States of America! The people who tried forming their own country because they wanted to enslave other human beings! That was the whole point of the Civil War.”
“No it wasn’t!” Alyssa shouted back. “It had nothing to do with slavery.”
“It’s about country pride,” I said again.
“Yeah,” Alyssa followed.
Typical Leo. He’s real tight all the time. He thought everything was a big social issue. He couldn’t take anything for what it was worth.
I ended the conversation by turning up the radio for the last twenty minutes of the ride. Then I pulled into Appache State Park. I got out of the truck and walked into the registration stand.
“We have a reservation for a campsite under the name Smith…and Keegan.”
The lady looked at the reservation log.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see anything for either of those names.”
Smitty. I knew I should’ve made the reservation.
“Hold on one second,” I said before stepping outside. I called Smitty. “Please tell me you made the reservation. No, I wasn’t. You were supposed to make the reservation! You’re an idiot! I’ll call you back!”
I walked back in.
“I guess he forgot. Are there still sites available?”
“Not this weekend,” she said. “You might wanna try Appache Valley…just down the river,” and she gave me a map.
“Thanks,” I said and walked out. I got in the car.
“What’s up?” Leo asked.
“We’re goin’ to another place. Smitty forgot to make the reservation!”
“He’s an idiot.”
I followed the map the lady gave me. We crossed a river and started heading deep into some woods, down a dirt road. It looked more ominous as we drove. Finally we got there. A small shack with a sign out front said “Registration.” You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. I walked in and a big guy with bushy sideburns, a flannel shirt, and a mouthful of brown teeth set us up with a site.
I got back in the truck and we drove down there. Leo and Alyssa weren’t speaking one word to each other. We set up the campsite, built a fire, and I sat down with Alyssa, because Leo had gone off by himself some place.

ALYSSA
Bengi pulled up as I stood outside of Leo’s place with him. I was really hoping Leo wouldn’t ruin the trip for me. I didn’t want to talk about us, or breaking up, or anything at all like that. He was gonna cause a mess, I just knew it. Oh well. Even if he did it would be more interesting than sitting in Cedar Falls alone all weekend.
“Hey guys,” Bengi said as he parked his truck.
“Hey, Bengi. You don’t mind if I come, do ya?” I asked.
“No, I don’t mind…Is your stuff here or do we have to swing by your place?”
“Gotta stop at my place…is that a problem? I’ll be real quick.”
“It’s not a problem at all. Leo throw your stuff in and let’s go,” and we all crammed into the front and drove to my place.
I ran inside while they stayed with the truck. I said I’d be quick, but what were they gonna do, leave me? So I took a shower, dried my hair, put on some make up and tossed a few things in my backpack. I did it all in less than an hour, and walked outside. Bengi threw my stuff in the bed of the truck and we crammed back into the front.
Bengi took Route 5. It’s so much prettier, and it made the trip a lot better until Leo had to ruin it by getting all high and moral. There was a trailer with a confederate flag hanging outside of it. That’s just a country thing—North or South—but Leo had to go and get on his high horse.
“That’s ridiculous!” he screamed.
“What is?” I asked.
“Confederate flags in general…let alone in the North. People are stupid…downright behind the times,” he kept screaming.
“What’s wrong with Confederate flags?” I asked.
“They’re a blatant sign of racism…not to mention everything this country stands for,” he said in a rage.
“I disagree,” Bengi jumped in. “It’s about pride.”
“They have nothing to do with racism,” I followed.
“What?” Leo cried out. “Have you two lost your minds? It’s the symbol of the Confederate States of America! The people who tried forming their own country because they wanted to enslave other human beings! That was the whole point of the Civil War.”
“No it wasn’t!” I shouted. “It had nothing to do with slavery.”
“It’s about country pride,” Bengi said.
“Yeah,” I said, backing Bengi.
I really don’t know why I ever dated the kid. He put on a real front at first. I was young and I just wanted to have fun. I didn’t want to sit around and debate moral issues all of the time. I was glad Bengi agreed with me. At least someone had some sense. At least someone wanted to have fun with me. I probably should’ve dated him that whole time. He was just a fun guy. Not at all like Leo—what a bore.
We finally got there around five, and Bengi went inside to register for the site.
“I can’t believe you think the confederate flag has nothing to do with racism?” Leo attacked me.
“Can you just let it be?”
“It’s just ridiculous. I mean you’re educated…you’re in college and you don’t know what that flag stands for.”
“This is why I broke up with you. I wasn’t lying when I said you were way too serious, and to be honest, just boring sometimes. Here we are, on a camping trip, and you want to talk about slavery and the meaning of some stupid flag. Lighten up. You take the fun out of everything!”
Then Bengi got back in the truck and slammed the door.
“What’s up?” Leo asked.
“We’re goin’ to another place. Smitty forgot to make the reservation!”
“He’s an idiot,” Leo said.
So there we were. Leo wanted to talk about some stupid history subject, Bengi was boiling mad, and I wasn’t sure if Smitty would even make it. I really hoped there would be some cool people at this campground. I was gladly willing to ditch those guys. Especially Leo. He wasn’t going to ruin my trip.
When we did finally get to the other campground it was a dump. There was hardly any grass, mosquitoes were everywhere, and the bathroom seemed like it was a mile away. After we set up the site—two tents and a big tarp hanging over the picnic table—Leo just disappeared. It was the best part of the day. I just sat down with Bengi by the fire and talked. He was hilarious. He was so different from Leo. He was laid back and didn’t let anything get to him. He was pretty cute, too.

LEO
I couldn’t believe I got myself into that whole mess. The trip up there was downright painful. Besides the fact that I was jammed up against the door, I had to listen to Bengi and Alyssa’s ludicrous claims about country pride. Who really thinks the Confederate flag doesn’t stand for racism, slavery, and the separation of the Union? I couldn’t take it anymore. I helped set up the campsite, and then I got out of there.
I decided to take a hike. The campground wasn’t great, but when I got into the woods it was fine. I didn’t know how I was going to do it. I didn’t know how I’d last the whole weekend without strangling someone. Once Smitty gets here it should be fine, I thought. At least I’d have someone on my side. It was like Alyssa was attached to Bengi’s hip whenever he was around. Those two are actually quite annoying when they’re together. It’s like they go out of their way to irritate me.
I just needed to cool off. I didn’t know why she always got under my skin. I shouldn’t have cared, but I did. I mean, you’d think I’d lose all of my feelings for her when she called me boring the first time. You’d think I’d lose all of my feelings for her when she said I took the fun out of everything. But I didn’t. I still really liked her for some odd reason. I think that’s why I let her come on this trip in the first place. I thought it might give us something fun to do—so I could prove to her that I could be fun. So she might give me another chance.
I had to get over the Confederate flag thing. She was right; it was stupid. At least it was stupid to argue about it. I’d just let it go. I mean, I guess she was right—no one wanted to talk about social issues on a camping trip. People want to drink beer and sit around a fire, and cook marshmallows on camping trips. When I finished the hike I’d go back to the site in a good mood. I’d show her I could be fun. I’d show her that I wasn’t so serious all of the time.

MANDY
I wanted to kill him. We pulled up to the campsite and it wasn’t our trip, it was everyone’s trip. He was such a liar. I wanted to kill him.
“You’re an idiot! Do you know that!” I screamed.
“I swear I didn’t know they were gonna be here,” he said. What an idiot. He dug himself a hole and now he was trying to dig himself out of it.
“Oh yeah…they just happened to find out exactly where you made a reservation and decided to crash our weekend!”
“You know how my friends are,” he said.
“Yeah, I do…they’re stupid like you are, and they’d never be able to discover where we were going.”
He got out of the car and started taking things out of the trunk.
“Come on, baby,” he said through the passenger window.
“I’m not getting out of this car. You ruined our anniversary! I bet you didn’t even know it was our anniversary!”
“Of course I did! Please don’t act crazy,” he said.
“CRAZY! YOU WANNA SEE CRAZY?”
I got out of the car, walked back to the trunk to start throwing his camping gear everywhere. But when I got to the trunk there was no camping gear—just our two bags.
“Where’s the camping gear? You’re telling me that you didn’t know they were gonna be here, but you brought no camping gear? You’re an idiot. Where were we going to sleep…in the car?”
“I can’t believe I forgot to pack the camping gear,” he said, still trying to dig himself out. “I swear, baby, it’s all a big misunderstanding.”
“Don’t talk to me,” I said before grabbing my bag and walking down to the picnic table where Bengi and Alyssa sat by the fire. “Hey guys,” I said. “How are you?”
“Good…Smitty didn’t tell me you were coming,” Bengi said.
“Well it’s nice to see you guys,” I said and stormed back to the car.
I was going to kill him. That dirty, two timing liar! When I got to the trunk I grabbed his backpack and started back towards the fire. I thought about throwing it in the fire, but he’d probably grab it before anything burned. So I walked to the edge of the river, wound up, and tossed it about fifteen feet out. Then I turned around, walked back to the fire, sat down, and watched him trudge out to his bag—soaked from his waist down.

SMITTY
I probably should have told her before we got to the campground. Then again, hindsight is 20/20. I didn’t think she’d go ballistic the way she did. It was like a light switch. One moment we were pulling into the campground, she was holding my hand and telling me she loved me, and the next thing I know she was a raving lunatic.
“You’re an idiot! Do you know that!” she screamed.
“I swear I didn’t know they were gonna be here,” I said. I probably should have given up at that point, but I dug myself a hole and I had no idea how else to get out.
“Oh yeah…they just happened to find out exactly where you made a reservation and decided to crash our weekend!”
“You know how my friends are,” I said.
“Yeah, I do…they’re stupid like you are, and they’d never be able to discover where we were going.”
I figured if I just got out of the car and unloaded our bags, she’d cool off.
“Come on, baby,” I said through the passenger window.
“I’m not getting out of this car. You ruined our anniversary! I bet you didn’t even know it was our anniversary!”
She had me there, but I wasn’t going to admit it. I’d be crazy to admit that.
“Of course I did! Please don’t act crazy,” I said. Rule of thumb to any guy out there, never…I mean NEVER use the word crazy.
“CRAZY! YOU WANNA SEE CRAZY?” she started screaming.
Then she got out of the car, walked back to the trunk, looked inside, and then just looked at me.
“Where’s the camping gear? You’re telling me that you didn’t know they were gonna be here, but you brought no camping gear? You’re an idiot. Where were we going to sleep…in the car?”
I had to think of something good at that point. So I said, “I can’t believe I forgot to pack the camping gear…I swear, baby, it’s all a big misunderstanding.”
“Don’t talk to me!” she screamed as she yanked her arm away from me and walked towards the fire.
She’d cool off. She always did. I’d just let her be until she sat down and talked to the guys for a little bit. Then she made a b-line back to the car. She didn’t say anything when she got to the trunk. She just grabbed my bag and headed right back towards the fire. She wasn’t going to do anything too crazy, I thought. But I trailed her by twenty or thirty feet just in case. She didn’t stop at the fire like I thought she would. She went all the way to the edge of the river and heaved by bag into the darkness.
That’s when I started sprinting. I didn’t care about the clothes or the bag, but my cell phone and i-Pod were in the front pocket. So the next thing I remember, I’m standing up to my waist in cold brown water, trying to turn on my cell phone and i-Pod. Both were ruined.
In hindsight, I probably should have told her before we got to the campground.

Monday, February 18, 2008

The Camping Trip; Part One

"The Camping Trip" is a five day series, consisting of five different parts, to be presented daily--the 18th to the 22nd--from five different vantage points. If you get behind, don't worry because they'll be on here for good. If you want to get ahead, you're out of luck, because I'm making this up as I go. Enjoy.

LEO
I was pretty excited about the trip. I needed a little break. Summer classes were definitely more laid back, but they were five weeks instead of ten, so the pace of the curriculum was rapid. Not to mention, I just wanted to be done with Italian. I should’ve finished it in Rome last winter, but instead I was in Cedar Falls, taking summer classes.
Bengi had been nearly tripping with excitement all week. He had the idea since we started college but he could never round the troops enough to make it happen. He started getting his camping stuff together on Tuesday—had his truck packed on Wednesday—and probably couldn’t sleep a lick on Thursday night. He said he was taking a half day on Friday, so we could hit the road no later than 2 o’clock. The timing would work out just right if it all went as planned. I'd get class over with by noon, head back to my place, throw the rest of my stuff together by one--right around the time he swung by to pick me up. Smitty had to work until five, so he wouldn’t get up to Appache Creek until at least seven. That would give Bengi and me the perfect amount of time to set up the campsite, get a fire going, and start dinner.
So I'm walking to class and my cell phone starts ringing. It was Alyssa. We met in Italian in the spring. I saw her on the first day of class, talked to her on the second, and took her out for the first time on the third. We dated for three months and I really fell for her. Everything was great, and then, out of the blue, she told me it was over. She broke up with me about two weeks prior. She said I wasn’t exciting enough—that I lacked creativity. To tell you the truth, I didn’t mind breaking up. I just didn’t think she had to call me boring.
“Hello,” I answered. “Yeah, I’m goin’ to class. I’m walking in right now. Are you coming?”
That was my present dilemna; I was stuck in my final Italian class with her—two weeks in, and three to go.
I walked into the small room and sat down. No one really came on Fridays. There were three other kids and the instructor. Then Alyssa rushed in. She sat down right next to me. I wish she wouldn’t have come, and I was looking forward to an entire weekend two hours away from her.
“Hey,” she said with a smile.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. Any plans this weekend?” she asked.
“Goin’ camping up at Appache with Bengi and Smitty. A guy’s weekend.”
The look on her face dropped. I knew immediately what she was thinking.
“I thought we were going camping next weekend,” she said.
We made the plans before she broke up with me. However, when she told me I was boring, I kind of figured I'd cancel any future plans.
“So…we’ll go a week early,” I said.
I never did well under pressure.
“Okay,” she said. “Sounds fun.”
At the time I already knew it as a bad idea.

ALYSSA
I had to get to class. I had to get that guy out of my house.
“Wake up,” I said, causing him to take his head out from under the pillow.
He was cute, I guess. I was so drunk the night before I couldn't remember exactly how we met. Oh well. I’d make him give me a ride to class, then I’d give him a fake number, and I’d probably never see him again. Problem would be solved.
“Can you give me a ride to class?” I asked him.
“Yeah…let me get dressed,” he said.
I rushed to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, threw my hair in a pony-tail, rushed back to my room, grabbed my bag and slipped on my flip flops. I was ready to go, and so was my fling from the night before. I definitely don't remember his name, but I remember he drove a black Siverado. I love guys with pick-up trucks. I don’t know why, I just think it makes them so much hotter.
“I had fun last night,” he said to me as he pulled his truck onto Campus Loop.
“Yeah. It was fun,” I said back.
“We should do it again,” he said.
“Yeah. Definitely.”
I pulled out my cell phone and called Leo to see if he was going to class. I should’ve called him before I got out of bed. I could’ve just skipped class and got his notes and copied them. He was good for that sort of thing. He would do anything for me; all I had to do was ask. I wish there was a way for him to take my tests. I bet he would've done it if there was a way.
“Hey,” I said as he answered. “You goin’ to class? Where you at? Yeah, I’m coming. I’m walking there right now. Just go in, I don’t want you to be late. I’m walking past the corner of Sycamore and Campus Loop. Bye.”
I had to tell him I was walking. If I didn’t he’d have all sorts of questions. Who was it? How do you know him? How come I’ve never heard about him? A bunch of questions that I didn’t feel like making up answers to.
“Alright, here it is,” I said to the guy as we pulled up to Dolan Hall. Class was really two buildings down, in Sherwood, but I was afraid Leo would be waiting outside. He was really annoying like that.
“Can I get your number?” the guy asked me.
“Yeah. 937-3564…Call me.”
I got out and walked past Dolan to Sherwood. I went downstairs and into the classroom. I sat down next to him.
“Hey,” I said, smiling at him.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Nothing. Any plans this weekend?”
“Goin’ camping up at Appache with Bengi and Smitty. A guys weekend,” he said.
What was I going to do? We were supposed to go camping the next weekend. I wasn't going to sit in that boring little town all by myself for the weekend. I’d just guilt him into inviting me. So I gave him “the look”. I had done it a million times. It never failed me. It worked when I wanted to go to that concert with Nick—my ex. It worked whenever I wanted him to change the TV channel. He really couldn’t ever say no to me.
“I thought we were going camping next weekend,” I said, knowing he'd cave.
I watched him as he twisted in his seat. It would only be a matter of a few seconds.
“So…we’ll go a week early,” he said.
“Okay. Sounds good,” I said before turn towards the front of the class.
HOOK, LINE AND SINKER…I got him again.

BENGI
Finally. It was about time we made the trip. Three and a half years we’d been talking about ski trips, camping trips, beach trips, and nothing. Now it was happening. It was beautiful outside. It was perfect. Flannigan was letting me leave work at noon, so I could swing by and pick up Leo by one. We’d get a bite to eat and hit the road.
I had been so excited about the trip that I started getting out my camping stuff on Tuesday. I had the truck packed since Wednesday. I couldn’t sleep at all on Thursday.
It was about ten-thirty, and I had one last quote to do for a guy out in Sugar Hills, then get back to the office to file the paperwork, and then I’d be on my way.
“How’s it going?” I asked the guy.
“Good,” he said.
He seemed like a real pampered, white-collar type. The house was about five thousand square feet. It would've taken me at least three hours to measure everything and get the numbers exactly right.
“I’m just gonna do some measurements, and I’ll have a quote for you in no time,” I said to the guy.
“Alright. Thanks,” the guy said.
I'd just call Smitty and ask him what we charged the Moore’s down the street for the molding and woodwork we put up over there. Then I’d walk around, pretend to do a thorough job, and get the hell out of here. I wasn't going to let that house get in the way of my weekend.
“Hey, Smitty…got a question. Look up the Moore file and tell me what we quoted them for the molding and woodwork…and then what it actually cost.”
It was just a summer internship anyway. They always made me do the measurements at least twice, and half the time they sent someone out to re-measure before they gave the final quote. I’d just tell this rich sap what we quoted the Moore’s, go back to the office, avoid Flannigan, and tell him I must’ve left the paperwork in the truck if he called me later that afternoon.
“We quoted the Moore’s at thirty-five hundred? Alright. Thanks, Smitty. So, Flannigan won’t let you out at noon? I don’t think we’d fit the three of us in the truck anyway. Make sure you’re on the road by five. Me and Leo should get up there by four. Don’t forget the tarp. Alright, man…later.”
So I broke out the old tape measurer, did a little bit of this and little bit of that, and by eleven I walked into the kitchen where the rich sap was reading the Wall Street Journal.
“Looks like it’ll be in the neighborhood of thirty-five hundred,” I said. “Could be a little higher, could be a little lower…I’ll probably have to make another trip out on Monday.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “Just give us a call before you head out. I should be here all day.”
What a bastard. The guy sat around in his linen pants and silk shirts reading about his millions of dollars all day. I should’ve quoted him at forty-five hundred—just out of spite.
Out the door, into my truck, onto the road, back to the office, successfully avoided Flannigan for thirty minutes, and I was on my way to get Leo. That trip was just what we needed.

SMITTY
105 lines. That was my high score in Tetris and it was only 10:30. Bengi always got to go out and do the measurements. I knew that S.O.B was probably hanging around Speedway, sitting in his truck, listening to Mike and Mike in the Morning, while I was sitting in there, at that desk, waiting for Flannigan to yell at me again. It was only a summer internship, what did that guy really expect from me?
“Smith!” Flannigan yelled from his office.
I closed the Tetris screen on my computer, got up, and walked over to his doorway. “Yes, Mr. Flannigan?”
“I need you to get all of these quotes and end costs into the computer, and filed by the end of the day,” he said and pointed to a stack of yellow files on the end of his desk. There must have been at least fifty there.
“Yes, sir.”
There went my chance of getting out by noon. Bengi always got the breaks. He got to go out in the field, do the measurements, and pretty much screw around however he wanted, and I got stuck in that cave, within Flannigan’s sight all day.
I went back to my desk. My phone rang and it was Bengi.
“Yeah? The Moore file? Cutting corners again, huh?”
Not only did this guy get out of the office, he didn't even do his job when he got to the site. That was the fourth time that week he called me for a quote on another house. I dug through the stack of files, looking for Moore. I couldn’t find it. Thirty-five sounded like a good number, so that's what I told him.
“Thirty-five hundred. Yep. No getting out by noon. Flannigan just gave me a stack of files—three feet high. I’m leaving straight from the office. The tarp is in my trunk. Later.”
I hung up. Then my phone rang again. This time it was Mandy, my girlfriend.
“I’m at work, what? Of course I have something planned for the weekend…Yeah, like I’d forget that tomorrow was our anniversary. We’re goin’ camping. Up at Appache. Just the two of us. So be ready by 5:15. Love you. Bye.”
Bengi was gonna kill me. What could I do? It was our anniversary…whatever that meant. Could've been fourteen months since we first kissed, could've been seven months since I first said I love you to her, which she really suckered me into by the way. It seemed like we had a different anniversary for something every two weeks. I was so toast. Right from the beginning. If Bengi didn’t kill me, Mandy would.

MANDY
I wondered what Mark was gonna do for me over the weekend. I was hoping it would be romantic. It was our first anniversary. He was clumsy and he forgot a lot of things, but I was sure he’d remember and plan something. I didn’t expect a lot. I just wanted it to be just the two of us. I wanted it to be special and memorable. So I called him. I didn't care much for surprises. Okay, I'm lying. What girl doesn't love surprises. I just figured I'd better remind him in case he did forget. I at least wanted a present.
“Hey honey, whatchya doin? Oh. So do you have anything planned for the weekend? You do? Because tomorrow is our anniversary and I was hoping for something special. Camping? I love Appache. Is anyone else goin, cuz I was kind of hoping it would be just the two of us. Perfect. I’ll be ready by then. Love you, too. Bye.”
I was really impressed. I had to hand it to him. A nice romantic weekend, just the two of us, camping. I actually hated camping—sleeping on the hard ground, and not showering for days, but it was the thought that mattered. I knew he wasn't made of money, so I wasn't expecting him to take me to the Cayman Islands or anything. But that would've been nice…the Cayman Islands. By the two-year mark we'd be ready for that sort of trip. He’d be graduated by then and should have a real job. Maybe we’d even be engaged by then, I thought. Two years. If we’re still together by the two-year mark I'd expect a ring.
There I went again. I was always getting ahead of myself. I needed to enjoy that weekend first. Our Weekend. Just the two of us. I really hoped he'd take me to the Cayman Islands the following year. I figured that may be when he’d give me the ring. It would be so romantic. Our two year anniversary, on the beach, sun setting, and all of a sudden he'd get on his knee and take the box out of his pocket. I’d say yes. In a heartbeat, I’d say yes.