by Pete Hautman
“No clouds,” she says. “Do you know what that means?”
“No rain?” The sky is deep blue above, becoming the color of a ripe peach where it touches the horizon. I wonder how the blue becomes orange without any green in between.
“It means it’s going to be a chilly night,” Allie says. “Do you have a sleeping bag?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say. I threw one in the trunk when I was packing, just in case I decided to camp out. I’m not sure if she is asking me to stay with them, or how that would work. There are only two tents. “It’s in my car,” I say.
She is still looking up at the sky.
“Is Bran your boyfriend?” I ask.
“He wishes he was,” she says. “I don’t actually know him that well. Like I said, we just met him up in Iowa. He was on the cleanup crew. Anyway, it turned out the three of us were all going to the Louisiana fair, and we had no in-between plans.”
“So, you and Randy?”
“We’re just friends now.”
“Oh.” I try to imagine being just friends with Gaia. Sleeping in the next tent.
“So, you had a girlfriend back in Minnesota?”
“Not anymore.”
“But you have friends?”
I think about that. I did have friends from back in middle school, but I quit hanging with them a year or so ago. My oldest friend, Jimmy McCarthy, got into smoking weed, and I didn’t like getting high, or the guys he started hanging with. Fonzo Garcia hooked up with this girl Annie and pretty much spent all his time with her. Van Johnson’s parents sent him to a private school in Hopkins, and he acquired a bunch of rich friends. Geoff Kinney, when we were in ninth grade, borrowed my Darth Vader TIE fighter and broke it and never said he was sorry or bought me a new one, so he was history too.
Then there was Garf Neff, my newest friend and the only guy I’d been hanging out with lately, but after the last time I saw him, I don’t think he’d call himself my friend anymore.
“I don’t think I have any friends.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Yeah, right, because you know everything about me.” I don’t mean for it to come out mean and sarcastic, but it does.
Allie is not fazed. “You have friends,” she says confidently. “You just don’t know how to let them be your friends.”
“They need permission?”
Allie sits up and leans forward. The canoe rocks.
“What do you think a friend is?” she asks.
I think for a moment, then say, “Somebody who doesn’t screw you over.”
“Friends can screw you over.”
“Then I’m not friends with them anymore.”
She looks at me for a long time, then says, “That’s kind of sad. Forgiveness is what makes friendships solid and real.”
“I can forgive people. I just don’t trust them after that.”
“After what?”
“After screwing me over.”
“What about you? Have you ever done something to one of your friends and had them dump you just because of that one thing?”
I think about Gaia, and I think, I must have done something. I think about Garf.
I nod.
“Then maybe they weren’t really your friend. You know what a friend is really? It’s somebody you can let help you.”
“You mean anybody that helps you is your friend?”
“No.” Her brow furrows, and she stares at her clasped hands. Like she’s thinking hard, wanting to get it right.
She says, “It’s somebody you let help. Because it takes two, you know? The helper and the one who invites her—or him—in. Like in vampire movies. The vampire can’t come into your house unless you invite him.”
“The helpful vampire?” I say.
“More like Jesus,” she says, completely serious.
I had a feeling this would get religious.
“Jesus was a vampire?” I ask, hoping to derail her.
“He did come back from the dead, right? But he had a lot of friends.”
“Yeah, twelve. And one sold him out.” I spent most of my church time ogling Cella Kimball’s ponytail, but I must have learned a few things.
“Actually, three of them did—Judas, Peter, and Thomas. I mean, Peter denied knowing him three times, and Thomas didn’t believe the resurrected Jesus was real until he met him in the flesh. But Jesus forgave them, right?”
“So are you, like, really religious?”
“Not at all.” She unclasps her hands. “I think the Bible has some pretty good stories, but that’s all they are. Stories.”
“Is Bran a friend?”
“Sure he is. But, you know, different rules for different friends.”
“He doesn’t like me much.”
“He’s a lot like you.”
“Bran? No, he’s not.”
“You know that thing you said about a friend being somebody who doesn’t screw you over? That’s something Bran would say. He always expects the worst from everybody. He doesn’t think he has any friends either.”
Past
I knew I’d acted like a jerk at the park over that bench thing, but Gaia must have forgiven me, because the next time I saw her, everything seemed cool. We did stuff. I saw her nearly every day. Neither of us had much money, so a lot of times we just sat around doing nothing—just talking, or her reading a book and me pretending to read, like old people. It was kind of boring, but I liked it.
Of course, I would have liked it better if we’d been having a lot of sex, but we weren’t. We weren’t having any. Except for making out, but that was hard because it just made me want more. Gaia had decided we should take it slow. Frustrating? Yes, but I figured I could wait.
She liked to talk about art. I asked her if she wanted to be an artist, but she said she didn’t.
“I’m not talented,” she said. “I just know what I like.”
“What do you like?”
She shrugged. “I like Georgia O’Keeffe. I like Frida Kahlo.”
“How come you only like women artists?”
“I like van Gogh.”
“But mostly you like women.”
“Well, I like you.” She grinned. Gaia had a special sort of grin—chin down, eyes looking up, a dimple at the left corner of her mouth. She didn’t do it often, and it always made me feel tender and confused. It took me a second to remember what we were talking about.
“I mean you like women artists,” I said. “Are you a feminist?”
“Are you a masculist?”
“That isn’t even a thing!”
She laughed. “Actually, I think I’d like to study art. Not to make it, but just to learn about it.”
“Like your dad?”
“No, not like him.” She looked away. “I don’t know what I want.”
• • •
Because I was spending so much time with Gaia last summer, I didn’t see much of Garf. I figured he was just hanging out at Brain Food or playing Hearthstone or doing other Garf stuff without me. I didn’t miss him.
I was with Gaia one time at the Main Squeeze. Gaia was standing at the counter looking at the menu. It’s huge—they sell every sort of drink you can imagine, including their version of a Black Mamba, which I was definitely not ordering. I just wanted a latte. Boring, I know, but it was what I wanted. Gaia had to read every single item on the menu board before deciding.
I spotted Garf sitting at one of the tables in back with Geoff Kinney, the guy who’d busted my Darth Vader TIE fighter back in the ninth grade. That bugged me, Garf being friendly with Geoff. They made for an odd-looking pair: Garf all lanky and pointy, and Geoff doing his impression of a potato. I walked over to their table.
“Frick and Frack,” I said.
It was something my dad used to say. We had a couple of neighbors, Robert and Jonathan, who were always fixing their house and borrowing Dad’s tools. Half the time he’d have to go over and help them, because they didn’t know what they were doing.
He called them Frick and Frack, but not to their faces. I’d see him coming out of the garage with his toolbox, and he’d say, “Frick and Frack have a leaking toilet.” Then he’d go help them fix it. When I was little, I thought that “Frick” and “Frack” were their real names. Later I thought maybe it meant they were gay. But then I heard him use the phrase to describe other guys who weren’t gay, so I figured out it just meant they were incompetent.
Garf looked up and said, “Huh?” Like he’d never heard of Frick and Frack, and maybe he hadn’t. He was drinking bubble tea. Geoff was sucking on something that had a four-inch cap of whipped cream on top.
“Frick and Frack,” I repeated. “You guys on a date?”
Geoff thought that was hilarious; Garf took it literally, as Garf would do.
“No. Geoff was just telling me a trick for winning at Hearthstone,” Garf said.
Hearthstone is an online game Garf and I played once. I was no good at it, so I quit, but Garf liked it.
“You got to use the mill rogue deck,” Geoff said. “Get ’em drawing cards, that’s the secret!”
I wasn’t completely sure what a “mill rogue deck” was, and I really didn’t care.
“Wow. That’s so amazing,” I said in my most unamazed voice.
Geoff continued, oblivious. “They got a full hand, but they keep drawing anyway, and every time they do, one of their other cards is destroyed, but by the time they realize what’s happening, bam! They’re out of draws and you got ’em. Works every time. Try it!”
“Yeah, next time I decide to dork out, I’ll for sure give it a try.”
Geoff didn’t blink. For him “dork” was probably a compliment, but Garf was giving me this hurt look. I didn’t care.
“You ever gonna replace my TIE fighter?” I said to Geoff.
He blinked that time, and sat back. “That was two years ago!” he said, his cheeks turning pink. “Besides, it was broke when you borrowed it to me.”
“I didn’t borrow it to you. I lent it to you,” I said, channeling my dad, the grammar cop. “And it was in perfect condition.”
Geoff giggled. Maybe it was just a nervous giggle, but it got to me.
“Why are you hanging out with this fat asshole?” I asked Garf.
Garf stared at me as if he’d never seen me before. Geoff’s whole face was red. I really wanted to grab his whipped cream drink and pour it over his head, but a little voice inside reminded me that Gaia was probably watching, and I’d already gotten us kicked out of Wigglesworth’s.
“You guys deserve each other,” I said.
Garf winced as if I’d slapped him, and for a moment I felt bad. I turned my back on them and walked over to the counter. Gaia was talking to the counter guy. She hadn’t been watching at all. I should’ve tipped that drink in his lap, I thought. At the same time I was a little proud of myself that I hadn’t.
“What are you getting?” I asked Gaia. My voice sounded weird.
She frowned at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look mad.”
“It’s that guy sitting with Garf. I don’t like him.”
She looked over at them. “Geoff Kinney? Why don’t you like him?”
I was not about to tell her the whole stupid ancient TIE fighter story.
“Never mind,” I said. “Look, can we just go?”
“I haven’t ordered.”
“Let’s go to the Starbucks.”
“Why?”
I couldn’t make any words come out.
“God, look at you. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I wasn’t okay. I was angry and I was embarrassed.
She took my hand, and we walked out of the Squeeze, across the street to the little postage-stamp-size park, and sat down on the bench by a statue of some guy on a horse.
“Talk,” she said.
“He just really bugs me,” I said. “That chunked-out moron sitting there with Garf.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you jealous because you’re not Garf’s only friend?”
“Yeah, right, like I care who Garf’s friends are.”
She laughed. I laughed too, but I don’t think either of us thought anything was funny.
“You should call him. Go hang out at the comic shop or whatever it is you guys used to do.”
“I thought you didn’t like Garf.”
“I don’t like or dislike him. I hardly know him. I just . . . what I said before, I just didn’t like him having us—you know—on replay in his brain.”
I imagined us, on my bed, living in Garf’s brain.
“But I’d say that about anybody,” she said.
“One of These Days”
Pink Floyd
5:58
It’s getting dark. Allie and I paddle back to shore and hide the canoe in the brush. On the way back Allie clasps my hand. Her palm is warm and moist. She holds on as we follow the path, but lets go as soon as we reach the camp. Randy and Bran are sitting by the fire drinking beer. Bran is smoking a cigarette. Randy looks sleepy, but Bran’s eyes flash in the firelight; I can feel them stabbing at me. He flicks his cigarette into the fire, sending up a spray of glowing ashes.
“You guys have a nice time?” he says in a splintery voice.
Allie smiles. I’m coming to realize that her smiles do not mean she’s happy. I can tell she’s uncomfortable.
“Cut it out, Bran.”
He snorts. “The queen of the camp speaks.” He elbows Randy. Randy doesn’t react. Bran goes back to the cooler for another beer.
“You should go get your sleeping bag,” Allie says to me quietly. “Don’t worry about Bran. It’s just how he is.”
“Okay.” I’m glad to be leaving at that moment, and not entirely sure I’ll be coming back.
“Don’t get lost!” Bran calls after me. “There’s bears out there!”
I don’t think there are bears, but I am a little worried about finding my way back to the parking lot. It’s almost completely dark. I follow the trail through the woods and out into the open area. I can see the causeway, and lights on the far side of the lake. It only takes me ten minutes to get to the parking lot. There are no other cars. I open the trunk and take out the tightly rolled sleeping bag that I haven’t used since Dad took me camping when I was twelve. I hope I still fit.
I balance the bag on the spoiler and get in the car behind the wheel and try to think. Am I crazy to camp out with them? Allie is nice. Randy is practically inert. Bran makes me nervous.
I turn on the stereo and scroll through the iPod looking for some big beats and find an old song by Pink Floyd, mostly just wind sounds and a heavy bass line—with the volume up and the subwoofer booming, it’s like a thunderstorm happening inside my chest.
Maybe I’d be best off just driving away. Find another cheap hotel, or sleep in the car. On the other hand, I’m really tired, and even though Bran is a jerk, I don’t think he’s dangerous. It’s not as if they’re shooting heroin or sacrificing babies or anything like that—they’re just college dropouts working Renaissance Festivals and trying to get by.
And then there’s Allie, with her red hair and freckles and her liquid body and that smile. So different from Gaia. Allie doesn’t seem quite real. Gaia was totally real. Allie is more like an idea than a real person. In a way that makes her even more attractive, more sexy, like an actress in a movie, or a model on the pages of a magazine. The thought of touching her tingles my entire body, and I’m pretty sure that if I go back, I’ll be touching her.
I make a decision. Maybe it’s my body that makes the decision. I shove the iPod and the earbuds in my pocket, get out, lock the car, grab my sleeping bag, and walk back over the causeway. I cross the open area, and I’m looking for the path into the woods when a figure emerges from the trees.
“Dude! Hey, dude!” It’s Bran. He looks bigger because he’s wearing his backpack.
“Hi,” I say, a
little nervous.
“Thought maybe you’d gotten lost.” He seems friendly enough. A little drunk, though.
“I had to fight off some bears,” I say.
He laughs. “Look, I just want to say, Allie really likes you, y’know? And it’s cool. She’s cute, and I think she wants to do you. I know I was kind of unfriendly before, but that’s just me being an asshole. I’m sorry.”
I’m startled by that. Assholes rarely admit to their own assholery.
“That’s okay,” I say.
“Listen, I left a carton of cigs in your car.”
“You were smoking at camp,” I say.
“Yeah, I ran out. I’m having a nic fit. Is your car locked?”
“Yeah, of course it is.” I turn back toward the causeway. “Okay, let’s go get your cigs.”
“Whoa, hey, you don’t have to walk all the way back there. Just give me your keys, and I’ll go.”
I hesitate.
“What, you think I’m gonna steal your car? Dude! We’re camp buddies. Anyways, I don’t even have a license. Besides, I’ve had, like, six beers. I mean, come on!”
I don’t really want to walk all the way back to the parking lot.
“Besides, Allie is expecting you. She was in her tent moving things around, making room. She has the hots for you.”
I hand him the car keys.
“Thanks, dude.” He grins, but in the dark it looks more like a snarl, white teeth set in a dark face framed by oily strands of even darker hair. “See you in a few.”
He heads back toward the causeway. As his form fades into the dark, it occurs to me to wonder why he’s wearing his backpack.
• • •
When I get back to camp, Allie and Randy are sitting by the fire talking in low voices. Randy’s arm is wrapped around Allie’s shoulders.
“Hey,” I say.
Allie looks up and smiles. I think she smiles more than anybody else I’ve ever known.
“You found your way back!” She frowns. “Did you run into Bran?”
“Yeah.”
“Was he . . . was he acting okay?”
“He seemed fine. He said he had to get something out of my car.”
Allie and Randy look at each other.
