Mopping the light sweat from his brow, Steven pushed his tired legs farther. His calves had protested after a mile, having nearly forgotten the feel of a good hike. The twinges of discomfort faded close to the second mile, giving way to the familiar satisfied burn of hard work.
Yes, it had been too long since he felt the rugged earth beneath his feet this way, each stone and twig pressing into the heel, the arch, the ball. His toes spread, gripping against the soles of his shoes, keeping him steady on the uneven terrain. Now, roughly two and a half miles from where he had parked, he finally stopped and surveyed the land.
There was enough clear ground between trees for a suitable campsite. All he needed was space enough for his tent and a small fire. The sun had already dipped below the treetops and was filtering through spindly branches and trunks. Just enough time left to pitch the tent and gather kindling before his surroundings faded into murky twilight.
Shrugging the pack off his back—he had also forgotten just how heavy his gear could be—he took a moment to stretch his arms and shoulders.
Man, so much for being in shape. To his benefit, a trek into the woods under twenty or so pounds of gear had never been a piece of cake, even when he was in the habit of doing it once or twice a month. But still, he made a mental note to start hitting the weights four days a week instead of just two. Thank God he lived in an apartment building with a 24-hour fitness center. It was the only thing that saved him from packing on an extra fifteen or twenty pounds during his last two years in college, when takeout and a six-pack were his weekend routine.
Two years.
That was how long it had been since his last camping excursion. Well, not quite, but what did it matter? It was still too long.
He began inserting thin support rods into the channels on the tent. Luckily, his gear was still in good shape. He had checked this tent, at least, and it didn’t appear to have any tears or holes in it. The weather was supposed to be good tonight, but he hadn’t wanted to take any chances by not inspecting his gear first. It would be just his luck, to end up with a torn roof in the middle of a downpour on a night when the forecast was supposed to be cool and clear.
He was having some shit luck lately, too. He couldn’t figure what karmic sin he had committed, but it must have been something big because the universe was really dumping on him this time. Or his misfortune was just a way for God to tickle a sick sense of humor. Who would’ve thought the Big Guy could be so warped?
It seemed every break he caught came at a high price.
He was stoked about his new job. Archersburg High was in one of the best school districts in the state and had some of the best and brightest students around. Not only that, but he was actually teaching in his field. He knew too many education majors he graduated with who ended up having to take jobs at the elementary school level when they wanted to teach older students. Or who had only been able to find jobs teaching General Science when they were really passionate about some other subject. He was lucky in that respect. But the job came with its trade-offs as well.
Like a passive-aggressive coworker who insisted on dropping not-so-subtle hints that she was both available and interested. Quite frankly, she terrified him.
As he drove the last yellow stake into the ground, thereby securing his sleeping quarters for the night, he imagined that Korinne Graymore—who the hell spells it with a K?—was preparing for tonight’s Homecoming dance and thinking of him. Not that he could blame her. Why wouldn’t she think of him? Lots of women did, he was sure. But she was no doubt scheming up her next plan to snare him in her web.
She’d been assigned as a faculty chaperone for the dance and had asked him the week before if he would accompany her. As her date. Could chaperones even bring dates? He didn’t know. Either way, he’d politely begged off, insisting he already had plans. Which wasn’t exactly true at the time.
He hadn’t planned on this camping trip, but when Korinne wanted to know what he could possibly be doing that would keep him from escorting her to the dance, camping was what came out of his mouth. And after that, he just couldn’t shake the idea. Everything around him seemed to hint at it. October’s fiery foliage seemed brighter, the breeze that rustled it muskier, enticing him away from the metal and concrete and into the quiet of Sagamore State Park.
Steven pushed Korinne Graymore out of his mind and set to work digging a shallow hole in which to build his fire. He had only a small hand trowel to break open the hard-packed earth, and it took him longer than he would have liked. When the hole was deep enough and wide enough, he cleared away the leaves and debris and lined the perimeter with some large rocks.
He was surprised at how easily it all came back to him, and how good it felt. The Boy Scouts had instilled in him a strong set of survival skills, a deep respect for nature, and a great love of putting the two together. As a boy, he camped with his troop and also with his family. When he moved from Atlanta back to Archersburg, he continued camping on his own. As a freshman, he went as often as he could, trying to cover every square mile of Sagamore State Park, Timberwood Trails, and any other cluster of trees big enough to explore.
He found that these solo expeditions often had cathartic qualities. He could clear his head, work through any issues he was facing in his life. The difficult professor. The clingy girlfriend. The stresses of final exams. And of course the existential inner conflicts that plague every young person at one point or another. Even if he didn’t come to the woods with the specific purpose of dealing with these problems, he always came out with a fresh perspective on things. But as his studies became more demanding and his social life more exciting, he found less and less time for camping until he stopped altogether.
He had a small flame going now, with the help of a commercial fire-starter. He used to make his own, packing newspaper and other material into cardboard egg carton cups. That, too, was something he hadn’t done in quite some time. He added small kindling slowly, careful not to smother the orange flames, then worked up to larger pieces. The branches snapped, shifted slightly as the fire ate away at the teepee-like structure.
This was where he felt alive. Here, with the fire and the trees rustling overhead. The moon rising. The air tasting of loam. Here, with the green and brown earth beneath him and the cricket violinists creating a cocoon of sound around him.
He’d never thought of himself as a macho manly man. Nor would he describe himself as a crunchy granola type. But somehow, on a dark night in front of a campfire, he was both.
He felt strong and powerful, like the simple act of breathing was enough to build rippling muscle. That same breath seemed to bring him into harmony with his surroundings, grounding him to the extent that he felt he was an extension of the earth and it of him. When he breathed, the earth heaved with him. When he listened to nature’s soundtrack, his heart pulsed in time.
It was an exhilarating feeling and he had forgotten just how sweet it was. Few things could make him feel so vibrantly alive. He had grasped that feeling, fleetingly, a few times over the summer.
It came in the form of a slow, sweet smile. And a sharp tongue.
Charlotte.
She was the reason he was seeking the wisdom and clarity of nature. Because she made him feel alive like he hadn’t felt in a while. And because he wasn’t allowed to pursue that feeling.
Another nasty cosmic prank, no doubt. He wouldn’t have been surprised if God popped out from behind a tree, all flowing robes and halo, with a TV crew to tell him it was all part of a new hidden camera show called Holy Crap! Charlotte would be there, and Korinne Graymore, clapping him on the back and telling him what a good sport he’d been.
But that would be too easy. He combed his memory for something—anything at all—he might’ve done to deserve this cruel twist. But he couldn’t think of one thing. Maybe it was just his turn.
It had been difficult to push away the relationship he felt they were building when he took the job at AHS. It was still difficult. More than once he found himself dialing her number as he sat on his couch with a microwave dinner. She didn’t answer, of course, and he would hang up as soon as he realized his mistake.
And seeing her in class was frustrating, to say the least. She laughed with her friend Lora, but her expression would turn to stone the moment she saw him. There were no more sideways glances. No smiles flashed in his direction while she was working. She just didn’t look at him the same way. He couldn’t get a read on her anymore.
Not that he really could before. Her defenses took longer to get through than airport security on a holiday. But at least before all this she had looked at him like she wanted him to try.
Steven stared at the dancing flames, mesmerized by the heat and light. He probably shouldn’t think about Charlotte too much. Couldn’t be good, could it? In any case, his growling stomach pulled his thoughts away from her for a while.
Fire roasted hot dogs were the best camping meal ever. No tin-can beans here. He retrieved a metal skewer and a zip-top baggie of hot dogs from his pack and sat on an old pillow in front of the fire. The fire had created a bubble of warmth that extended out a few feet. Beyond it, the air was thin and chilly. He draped a blanket over his back and shoulders to keep his other half warm.
The fire was small, but it cooked his hot dog quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. Charlotte would probably laugh at his hot dog roasting technique, too.
Damn. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of her.
Dinner. Think of dinner.
He rotated the skewer to get an even char. After another minute, he decided it was crispy enough. Looking around, he didn’t see the other bag he needed.
“Oh, damn it,” he grumbled to himself. His voice sounded strange in the still night. “I left the buns at home.”
Buns. God, he was thirteen years old again. He didn’t mean to think of Charlotte just then, but he did anyway, and laughed to himself. She would probably be insulted. Or at least pretend to be.
It was more than the physical attraction that drew him to her. He hoped she knew that. Not that physical attraction was a bad thing. He certainly didn’t mind it; not one bit. In fact, he tried to imagine how she looked just then at the dance.
He had heard her and Lora gushing over the dresses they’d be wearing. She must look stunning. Maybe he should have taken Korinne up on her offer, if for no other reason than to see Charlotte all dressed up.
Ah, Charlotte. He just couldn’t get her off his mind.
He bit off the end of the blackened hot dog and chewed it slowly. It wasn’t nearly as good as he hoped it would be.
Steven let the fire die out on its own, then buried the warm embers under the dirt he had dug out of the hole. Now lying on his back, zipped up in his warm sleeping bag, he stared up through the mesh roof of the tent. The trees were halfway through the process of shedding their leaves. Dark sky peeked through the bare spots. A patchy cloud cover had rolled in around midnight; moonlight was minimal and stars scarce.
Despite the soothing sounds of crickets and whispering leaves, he was restless. No matter how long he laid there, eyes closed, sleep eluded him. So instead he looked for clarity in the trees. His thoughts returned to Charlotte time and again.
This wasn’t what he hoped for when he set out for the park the previous afternoon. He wanted to clear his mind, not confuse it further. If he could just get to sleep, morning had to bring something better.
Next to his head, his cell phone chirped to life.
He flipped it open, the bright display screen illuminating the whole tent, and gawked at the number that appeared.
“Please tell me this is a dream,” he said into the speaker. Just silence. Maybe it was a dream. “Hello?”
“I need you to come get me.”
He sat up and held the phone in front of his face to check the time, even though he already knew. Holding the phone to his ear again, he sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just… I need a ride.”
“Where’s Lora?”
“Steven!”
Ah. It had been a while since she addressed him as anything other than Mr. Patria. It was nice to hear again.
“I’m asking you, okay? I need a ride home, that’s all.”
He heard her sniffle.
“Look, don’t…” She knows what it does to him when she cries. She knows it. “Just tell me what happened, Charlotte. What’s going on?” Since when was he Charlotte’s first call when something went wrong? He couldn’t imagine what might’ve happened that she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—at least try Deb first.
“I know you’re probably sick of hearing this from me, but please don’t ask questions right now.”
Classic Charlotte. He clenched his jaw. He should’ve known this phone call would only be another frustration to add to the heap. Not quite the late-night confession of love that he certainly wouldn’t have minded. Only more stubborn tactics, expecting him to play the game by her rules, crossing boundaries on her terms. Usually he didn’t mind obliging her, but it was exasperating after a while. Especially tonight.
“Look, I’m not even at home right now. It’ll take me over an hour to get to you.”
“What? Where are you?”
“No. You don’t get to ask questions that I can’t ask, got it?”
Charlotte huffed on the other end.
“You’re okay, at least? You’re safe?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Are you coming or not?”
Did she ever doubt that he would?
He had never packed his gear so quickly. He emptied the gallon jug of water he’d brought, pouring it over his buried campfire. It lightened his load and ensured that there would be no flare-ups after he left. The last thing he wanted was a forest fire added to his mound of bad luck.
He pulled on a sweatshirt and knit cap against the cold pre-dawn air before strapping his gear on his back. He just had to make camp two miles from his car, didn’t he? There was his shitty luck again. The beam of his flashlight bobbed up and down as he maneuvered through the trees, making his way carefully over hills and rocky paths. The tent and gear felt heavier on his back this time. His legs ached after the first mile, but he didn’t slow down. By the time he pulled the car onto the highway, a light rain had begun to fall.