Ray Vs the Meaning of Life

by Michael F Stewart

  “Why isn’t Tina religious?”

  “She doesn’t find meaning in it.”

  “That’s okay?”

  “It is. Belief without meaning is a lie.”

  I pause. Trying to combine everything I’ve heard from Dalen, from Salminder, but it’s still not clear. “What would you do with a million dollars?” I ask.

  “Really, boy? Who says I don’t already have a million dollars? Stop assuming. Trust your gut. I believe in you.”

  Salminder’s a trailer-park millionaire? “Grandma believed in me. Enough to write it into a will. I’ve only known her as a crotchety, ancient woman who sometimes came to my defense. How’d she know to believe in me? The gaming? Was it the wood chopping? Was that some sort of crazy test, moving my hand before it was chopped off?”

  “She was old when I came here, too, but maybe she saw some of her younger self in you.”

  “Really? That’s a good thing?”

  “I wasn’t here at the time, but I heard about it. Your grandma had been a nurse. Her husband died at forty-five from a heart attack. She’d been working hard, late shifts, never around for the kids, and his death had been a wake-up call. She bought land after he died and opened the campground to anyone else who needed a retreat like she did at the time. I’m not sure she knew what she was doing. She was a mess. Those who took her up on it weren’t in need of only peace, however; they wanted homes, and so your grandma pulled from the back forties of local farms old, rotting trailers. That first summer five women slept here. That number would grow to dozens.”

  Those signatures on the trailers, I realize, they’re not from just any campers. Most of them are from people Grandma helped.

  I’m stunned. I’m so stunned that I don’t move when Tina slips out of the trailer and walks past us toward the washrooms.

  Salminder’s head seems loose on his neck. His eyelids droop. I should leave and let him rest, but I have one more question.

  “What happened? Why did she turn it into an RV park?” I ask.

  “You arrived. And your sister. Your mom needed help, and they needed money.”

  Grandma was a saint, at least for a bit. A shadow that my mother could never climb out from under.

  I thank the dozy Salminder and try to catch up with Tina. But she’s too far ahead and disappears into the washroom. I’m pretty sure it would be creepy to stalk her by waiting outside, and even creepier to actually go inside, so I change direction and head to the fire.

  Uncle Jamie’s there and he’s grinning as though he has a secret. He holds out a bag of his sachets to Penny. Her mother rises from her log and frowns at him.

  “I said no playing with fire, Mr. Saintbury.”

  He nods. “I know. Go on.”

  Penny looks to her mother. “They’re safe?” she asks.

  He reaches inside and pulls out a tiny bag. These are packed tighter and smaller; there’s a twist of paper at the top, and they remind me of Hershey’s Kisses. He’s dyed each package what I suspect is the same color as the flare. Instead of tossing it in the fire, he throws one into the air and holds out his palm. The packet lands dead center and bursts lime green with a violent snap. He shakes out his hand, but he’s smiling.

  Penny whoops, and she reaches out even as she looks up to her mother. She sighs her acquiescence.

  The girl picks through the colors and starts setting them off one after the other, dropping them at her feet.

  She giggles. “It’s like . . . like unicorn farts.”

  Her mother gasps. “Penny!” But then she covers her mouth and laughs along.

  “That’s it,” Jamie says with one fist punched in the air. “Grandma’s Unicorn Farts. It’s perfect.”

  He runs off as if he needs to write it down, and I’m left wondering what Grandma had to do with any of this. I’m smiling when I look up to see Charlie, mouth pursed with worry.

  “Dalen’s not back yet, is he?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I’m worried, Ray. He might be lost.” She clutches her elbows, chilled on a warm night.

  I see the unspoken question.

  Are you a good man, Raymond? But it’s dark. Very dark.

  Chapter 42

  “It’s too late,” my mom says.

  “It’s late for Dalen, too,” I reply.

  Tina’s arrived, helping Salminder to sit on the log.

  “We don’t want more people lost,” Salminder says.

  Charlie is still looking at me.

  “Crystal,” I shout.

  She comes out of the office trailer and stands in a nightgown. “What?”

  “Dalen’s lost in the woods,” I explain.

  “It’s too dark,” she says and turns back around.

  “Do you have lights?” I ask.

  “Of course I have lights, but it is too late and too dark to go out after him now. Do you even know where he started?” she demands, and I look at Charlie, who shrugs. “Then how are we going to track him in the dark? If he’s unconscious somewhere, you could hike by him all night and never see a thing.”

  Everyone looks to me now.

  “Don’t we have to try?” I ask.

  I peer beyond the campfire light, but the woods are a moat of darkness. The fire’s warm, the lethargic heat radiating from deep orange coals. Coals perfect for marshmallow roasting. For ghost stories of naïve campers lost in the woods.

  “It’s only been since when? Morning?” Obelix says.

  “Not supposed to be cold or to rain tonight,” Penny’s mother says. “He shouldn’t get hypothermia if we wait.”

  Shouldn’t. This isn’t about Dalen. It’s about protecting me.

  “I’m scared,” Penny replies.

  It might not be raining, but the swamp’s wet. I’m terrified of the thought of entering the bush at night. I am happy to be talked out of this. With the clouds it’s nearly pitch black. Why would he run off into the woods?

  Because I accused him of being a fraud . . .

  Tina moves forward to me and whispers, “What about the bear?”

  I can feel the blood run from my face. I’d forgotten about that.

  Crystal wanders closer.

  “What was he wearing?” I ask Charlie.

  “Shorts and a T-shirt.”

  “So Dalen is freezing, probably soaked through in the swamp, and likely being eaten by a bear.” No one corrects me. Wet, bear, my fault. It’s Grandma all over again. My video game. My fireball. “That’s it, I’m going.”

  “You can have my gun,” Obelix says. “I think I’d only slow you down.”

  Penny hugs her mother. Tina stands by her dad. She’s not coming.

  “I’ll come,” Charlie says.

  “And me,” Crystal grumbles, stepping into the light. “No way I’m letting you shoot my bear. Yer always stealing crap from me.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “You, yer always getting everything for doing nothing,” she snaps.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just shut it, all right?”

  Obelix breathes heavily as he returns from his trailer to hand me the big revolver.

  “Loaded,” he says and gives me the holster for it. The belt’s so big I loop it over my shoulder.

  “Just don’t be firing that near me,” Crystal says and huffs off, hem of her dressing gown wafting. When she returns she’s changed and carries two rifles, one a high-powered gun, the second her .22, which might tickle the bear, but won’t slow it down any. She hands that one to Charlie, who holds it with her arms out at full extension.

  “Not loaded,” Crystal says. “Go get some boots, flashlight, food and water. Don’t just stand around.” My mother’s following all this with a strange grin. Crystal shouts at me, “You, too. Go!”

  I run back to my trailer, gun slapping at my stomach. I pull a knapsack from under the bed, cough at the litter of dust bunnies that comes with it, and search in my fridge for something to eat. Half a stick of butter. I drink what is left in
the plastic milk jug and fill it with water before stuffing a headlamp, matches, and rope inside. The straps bite at my shoulders, but the weight will lessen as I drink the water.

  Back at the fire, Charlie’s wearing a pair of designer hiking boots and a Canada Goose parka. At least she’ll be warm. “Let’s go,” I say, and I feel good. Really good. Like I have purpose.

  Everyone wishes us luck. Mother squelches a radio, and it seems to remind Crystal to hand me one. “We’re on channel six.”

  I’ve used these before and swing its holster around my other shoulder. At the edge of the firelight, I hesitate.

  “Come on, cowboy,” Crystal says, and I step into darkness.

  I switch on my headlamp and draw a deep breath in its white light. The mosquitoes have dwindled in the late hour. We return to the bus. From there Crystal scans the ground for tracks, skirting the shoulder of the road and the fringe of swampy woods. Eventually she shrugs and starts in.

  “Did you see something?” I ask.

  “No,” Crystal says.

  “Then why are we going this way.”

  “Lived here all your life and never been in Grandma’s bush, have you?”

  Charlie cocks her head at me.

  “It’s wet in Grandma’s bush,” I say.

  “Parts of her bush are dry,” Crystal replies.

  Charlie covers her mouth with her palm.

  “What’s so funny about Grandma’s bush?” Crystal asks.

  I snort.

  “Don’t be gross.” Crystal shakes her head, but there’s a smile on her face as she marches farther into the woods.

  “Why are we going this way?” I ask again. The last time I hiked this far into the swamp I met a pack of wolves.

  “Because everyone goes this way.”

  “How—”

  “Because it’s toward Big, you watch. Anyone leaving camp for a hike heads toward Big. Why? Because it’s there. Besides there’s a hump here, can take us through the swamp dry.”

  “But—”

  “I brought two radios for a reason. A half mile in this trail splits. If we don’t see tracks, then . . .” She leaves it unsaid with a wink. She knows the dark’s a problem for me. She’s enjoying this.

  “How much food you got?” she asks.

  “Huge jug of water,” I say.

  She stops short. “Nothing to eat? You idiot. And what about you?”

  Charlie turns to show her pack. “Power Bars. Whole box of them. Strawberry flavor. No water though.”

  “Yer not even ready for a yoga class.” Then Crystal curls her hand around her mouth. “Dalen!” We all jump. “What, we’re not sneaking up on the guy, are we?” Crystal asks.

  “Sorry,” I reply. “You’re right.”

  Between calls we walk in silence, listening. Only the woot, woot, woot, wooooot of a barred owl replies to our shouts. Charlie wanders off path and swears at a soaker.

  My mind begins to run back to the campfire and the twist of hatred I’d caught on Crystal’s lips. “What did you mean when you said, I get everything?” I ask her.

  Crystal sniffs. “Listen, I don’ wanna get into this.”

  “Come on, it’s obvious Mom likes you best, how do I get everything? I get nothing.”

  An argument’s a welcome distraction from the curtains of shadows that seem to shift and grab. Crystal tromps a few more steps before responding.

  “Which is why I’ve spent five years cleaning toilets?”

  “At least you have someone to talk to.”

  “You have yer gaming geeks.”

  “It’s not my fault.”

  “Well, it’s sure not mine neither.” She shakes her head. “You’re the one with a chance at a million.”

  “This is about the money?” I ask.

  “Yes, it’s about the money.” Thump, thump, thump. I’m pretty sure it’s my imaginary head she’s squashing beneath her boots. “Grandma said it was too late for me already. You remember that in the will?”

  “I didn’t ask for the money and, you know, maybe Grandma shouldn’t be listened to.”

  She’s silent for a moment. Charlie has fallen back a few steps as if to let us hash this out.

  “It’s about how Mama never made you do nothing,” Crystal continues. “About how my college money went to your hockey practices that you did nothing with. About how you get a trailer and I get nothing. About how you get money from Salminder and I get nothing.”

  “What?” I halt, but she keeps trudging. “Mom made me do hockey. And she’s not forcing you to stay anymore. You’ve got three options. Leave. Change the situation. Or accept it.” I jog to catch up.

  Crystal’s silent, this time for a minute and then says, “I don’t know what to do, Ray, I seriously don’t.”

  I swallow, realizing that she’s really asking me. “When are you happy?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes, but answers anyways, “Hunting.”

  “Why hunting?”

  Her face reddens under the light of my headlamp.

  “Because I get superpowers.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “You don’t get it. In here, I am in control. I can feed myself for weeks. I can make a lean-to, dig myself in, start fires with sticks. And it’s like my eyesight sharpens, hearing too, even smell sometimes, like I’m this alpha-predator.”

  “Alpha-predator,” I repeat.

  “Yeah.”

  There’s a distant look on her face. It’s an expression I’ve seen on Dalen. Crystal, I realize, is enlightened when she is hunting. She’s present. She’s aware of everything, and not thinking about the past or the future. At peace, with a gun in her hand.

  “That’s why you stay,” I say. “Figure out a way to hunt more.”

  “Whatcha mean?”

  “You stay because this is your home. If you left and got some job in town bagging groceries or something, you wouldn’t be able to hunt. Not as much.”

  She stops, pushes out her lips in thought and says, “Yep. That’s part sure.”

  Then she keeps walking.

  “That’s it? I figure out your meaning of life and all you say is, yep?”

  “You’re still a twerp.” I’m about to say something more, but she holds up her hand. We halt. “We’re here.”

  Sure enough, the birch trees that grow away from the water lead off in two prongs of a ghostly fork.

  “It’ll be okay,” Charlie says with a hand at my shoulder.

  I’d been shaking my head and not even realizing it.

  I shout for Dalen, but . . . nothing.

  “Fear is nothing to be afraid of. Letting it control you is the problem,” Crystal says. “Or so I hear.”

  I frown. “Salminder said that.”

  “Nope, Dalen. I’m sure of it.”

  Huh.

  “Charlie,” Crystal says. “You ever fire a gun?” Charlie shakes her head. “Then yer with me.”

  “You’re leaving me alone?” I ask and hate how my voice cracks.

  Crystal hands me the .22. “You won’t hit a damn thing with that big handgun. Take this. The .22’s a varmint gun, but it can do the job of a more powerful gun if you aim right.”

  The circle of light cast by my headlamp makes the darkness beyond darker. Crystal nudges Charlie down her stretch of path.

  My pulse quickens as I walk down my path, alone.

  The radio squelches. “Good luck, little brother.”

  Next time I hear her, she’s calling for Dalen. She sounds so far away.

  Chapter 43

  I made a few mistakes back at the fork in the trail. I didn’t get more batteries, and the light of my headlamp has gone sallow and, although I’m not thirsty, I’m really hungry. I’d even eat a strawberry Power Bar, but they’re filling Charlie’s pack, not mine.

  A branch cracks, and I whirl. But the weak light can’t penetrate far enough. “My headlamp’s almost out,” I say into the radio.

  “Dark don’t kill,” Crystal replies.

 
The light fails. Immediately I forget which way I’m facing. Darkness envelops me. Had I whirled to the right, or to the left? Another snap and I hold my breath. Something skitters up a tree. “Probably a squirrel,” I say to myself. Everything sounds louder in the dark. “Light’s out,” I speak into the radio.

  “Geez, jes wait for yer eyes to adjust.”

  I double squelch back. The sound’s loud in the swamp-dampened woods, but night rushes back in.

  Crystal’s right. There’s not much light, only a fog of it fighting through the clouds, but the darkness isn’t complete. Soon I make out birch trees, then the black pines beyond. I might even be able to see farther now than with the light.

  A coyote howls, its call answered in the distance. “Coyote, you sure that’s a coyote?” I ask the radio.

  I flash back to the tracking wolves and shake it off.

  “It’s the bear you should be worried about.”

  “Thanks, thanks a lot, sis.” I start forward and drop into mud. Water seeps over the tops of my boots as I first wrestle one boot out of the muck and then topple free of the second, bare foot in the air. I flounder for the buried boot, but it’s already covered in water. I feel for it, fingers tracing roots and twigs, something slimy, and finally a lace. I pull, and the boot comes up slowly. Finally, it yanks free.

  I’m grateful for the darkness. I scrape the worst of the mud off and shake out the water, before pulling on the soaked sock and then the boot. It’s wet and cold and weighs five pounds more, but it reminds me that somewhere out here Dalen’s lost, perhaps hurt.

  I squelch on. Still jolting at every sound. The darkness magnifies it, or perhaps it’s because I’ve never really listened this hard. Crystal’s superpowers.

  I freeze mid-eye roll.

  Something snuffles.

  “Dalen!” I shout. For a second, as the call echoes from Big, the snuffling stops. But then it comes back.

  Closer.

  I back up a few steps, my heel pressing into softer earth. I edge along the swamp, deeper into the forest. A twig breaks. Maybe it was a branch. I fight the urge to run.

  I unshoulder the gun. Open the chamber and try to plug in a cartridge, dropping several before I get one in. The others are lost to rich earth. “It’s okay, Ray, not like there’s a man-eating bear out here,” I mutter under my breath. “Oh yeah, there is.”