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  Chapter Five

  It was now Friday morning and my duties pertaining to the weekend were finished. All that remained for me to do was wait for Connor and the girls. The rest of the crew would meet us up at the lake that night.

  I had about four hours to kill before they arrived in Connor’s four-runner, so I decided to lounge at the pool to escape any more media shit on the Reaper. The day couldn’t have been more perfect. The sky was an intense blue, like the water. A soft breeze fluttered through the forest. My palm stroked the grass as I sat cross-legged on the lawn. My anxiety diminished.

  Connor and the ladies arrived right on time.

  “Ready to roll, Joel?” Julia sat on the diving board and splashed her feet in the water.

  “Just say when.”

  “I loaded all the stuff you had in the front hall into the back of the truck, buddy,” said Connor. “Beer in the fridge?”

  “Uh, yeah, it’s in the basement fridge. There wasn’t enough room in the kitchen.” I closed my arms around a smiling Sara and kissed her.

  “You ready to go, lover?” She grinned.

  “I’m ready if you are.” I stared at her face- she had such beautiful green eyes.

  “Oh, I’m ready,” she answered. She turned toward the truck, but I caught her hand and spun her back to me.

  “You know, you’ll never want to leave. Nobody ever does.”

  “Then maybe we never will.”

  Once the truck was loaded we paused for a beer, and soaked in the last of the sunlight, faces angled upwards, eyes closed. Then we were on our way.

  I settled into the front passenger seat. Just as we were backing up, I glanced toward the side of the house and saw the three legged skunk. He was staring at me, singling me out as if to say, I’ll see you when you get back. I’ll be here, waiting. It almost made me sick, literally. I turned to Connor. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  “I hear that, old man, I hear that.” He backed out and took the corner just a little harder than usual, and I left the skunk and the Reaper and thoughts of report cards behind me. I’d deal with all that crap later.

  *****

  The drive seemed longer than I remembered, but I willed myself to be patient. Soon we’d be setting up camp and opening our first pints around the lake. The thought made me smile with anticipation. God, how I needed to get away.

  Finally we approached the long-hallowed spot. The lake glistened as the moon rose and the sun was put to bed. Trees surrounded us: we passed one that I knew bore my and Jill’s initials. Jill had been a sweet girl, but Jesus, what a temper! And jealous! She blamed our breakup on another girl. Of course she did- she never considered that her attitude might have been the issue.

  Connor found the perfect parking spot and we eagerly hopped out. The full moon illuminated our way as we ran to the lake’s edge. Pines towered above us, leaning precariously over the water, their roots strangling rock as they dipped their branches into the lake. The air smelled of fresh dirt and sweet pine, and all was still and quiet save the loons calling in the distance. Stopping where water met land, we stood and silently reflected.

  “This is the place!” Connor finally shouted at the top of his lungs, arms stretched out as if to pull it all in. A smiling Julia joined him and rested her head against his shoulder.

  I took Sara’s hand and walked the last few feet to the stony beach. Reaching down, I cupped the water in my hands and splashed it on my face. “Refreshing.” I straightened and turned just in time to catch Sarah lunging to push me in. I chuckled and caught her wrists.

  “You want to play that game?” I laughed. Picking her up was easy, as she couldn’t weigh more then 110 pounds, but she was a feisty one and nearly kicked out of my arms twice. In a third and final attempt to break loose, she sent us both tumbling into the water.

  “COLD!” She shrieked as she splashed for shore. I dragged her back in and ran. Laughing and coughing, I stripped to my boxers and tossed my wet clothes onto the rocks. Sara followed suit, dropping her outer garments on top of mine. God, she was a vision. I tried not to look too impressed. “Don’t stop on my account,” I teased as I threw her a towel.

  Connor and Julia had unpacked the tents and begun setting up a few feet from his rear bumper. Sara and I hopped into the truck to change. When we emerged in dry clothes I offered to dig the fire pit while Sara collected rocks to rim it.

  I used Connor’s army shovel to dig. He was in love with army stuff. All of his wilderness gear was from a used surplus store in town, so he liked to brag that everything he owned had seen ‘action’ at one time.

  The shovel’s story should have started here, at this spot, where so many new stories would begin, stories of struggle, horror and survival, stories of war.

  *****

  The evening cooled down quickly, enough to warrant starting a fire before the others showed up. Seated on our blankets, we shut off the radio and tuned into nature’s own special brand of acoustics. I lit a Bob Marley joint I’d rolled on the way up. It took me the better part of twenty minutes to roll it: the monster consisted of ten papers and almost a half a quarter of pot.

  Connor put out his hand. “I’ll light that bad boy up for you, old man.”

  I handed the blunt to my friend and tossed him my lighter. The buck was passed around our small semi-circle several times before it simply had to be put out.

  An hour passed. Then we heard vehicles labouring their way through the last stretch of road. Connor and I staggered to our feet and ran to greet the new arrivals. I broke open one of our flares and waved it. Horns went off in response and everyone rolled down their windows as if on cue. Like a chorus, the occupants broke into excited war cries and screams. They parked beside us and joined the party, camping gear in one hand and beer bottles in the other.

  All the tents were erected around the crackling fire, which offered us light, warmth and, of course, the means to cook, which came in handy once the munchies had taken hold. Hot dogs, popcorn, sausages, and toast were prepared: someone even cooked eggs and bacon. Fire really meant life, but it had to be respected: it was a force, and an unpredictable one at that. I knew how quickly something good could turn bad.

  Wincing, I shook my head to derail such thoughts. Why be so morbid? I was with a solid group: many of us had been friends since the sandbox. All were the best kind of people, the type you’d want to spend your last time on earth with.

  Kevin showed up at ten, and with him came someone especially unexpected. Uninvited was a better word, and for good reason: no one wanted to babysit a drug fiend during one of the best party weekends of the summer.

  Jake.

  Kevin explained sheepishly that he’d felt bad for the guy. “He was just sitting there on your front porch, wondering where you had gone. I would have lied right off if other shit wasn’t on my mind. Anyway, he looked so pathetic I panicked and figured ‘what’s the difference’, and invited him to come up with me. I had no passengers, so I thought maybe it would be nice to have a little company, but the fucking guy slept the whole way up here.”

  I started to laugh. “What were you thinking, man? Connor! Could you fix Kev a strong drink? He’s had a long drive.” A thumbs-up sent Kevin hurrying gratefully toward him.

  Sonny arrived a little later with Tom and Sidney. Tom was a good guy. Not much to look at, or so the girls told us, but a stand-up person, pale, thin, with ears that stuck out a little too far. He and Connor had known each other since kindergarten, but I met him only two years ago. A shy kid, Tom made you feel kind of awkward in a one-on-one situation. He and Sonny got along well, though. We figured that Sonny liked having someone to protect, and guys like Tom just seemed to attract bullies through no fault of their own. Suffice it to say that no one in our school had the nuts to insult Tom to his face, knowing full well they would incur Sonny’s wrath.

  “Hey, Joel.” Sidney approached. He was a handsome, light-skinned African-American with a bulldog build and infectious smile. Two days ago he
had returned from England after taking part in an exchange program. The ‘bloke’ our school got in return was cool and the ladies loved the accent, but we missed having Sid around last semester.

  I slapped him on the shoulder and helped myself to a pint from Sonny’s cooler. We spent several minutes comparing the finer points of foreign women. Then nature called, so I excused myself and headed for the woods. I was still bleary-eyed, so unbeknownst to me, I walked through the fire’s smouldering edge, emerging with a lit shoe. Not noticing the small flame burning a hole in the toes, I continued to the edge of the trees to relieve myself. Ten seconds into a good piss, I finally saw what had onlookers in hysterics and kicked the shoe off before putting the fire out with what remained in my bladder. Honestly, that’s the last thing I remember of that night.

  *****

  The group began to surface early the next morning, cooked out of their nylon ovens by the heat of the day. John and Caroline emerged first, toweling the sweat from their brows. They had been a couple since the ninth grade, and were straight shooters: they rarely drank, never mind smoked up. Next were Gil and Seth: these two were inseparable on weekends. All they did was fish. Between them they’d bought a canoe a couple years back for the express purpose of fishing. Gay or straight, who knew - who cared, just a couple guys who enjoyed each other’s company more than they did a woman’s.

  Freddy had been up earlier than anyone, riding his mountain bike through the endless trails and old logging roads. Binge and purge: that was his motto. He could be living in hell and still use a sauna now and then.

  Connor crawled out of his personal hothouse with Julia behind him. “Set me up,” he said, pointing a shaky finger at the frosty pints in our hands. “That tent’s a hotbox in the morning.”

  Before we could continue our conversation, we heard Earl’s truck roaring toward us. We knew it was Earl: his truck was as distinctive as he was. Sounded like he was still in third gear, not exactly a recommended gear at this point in the drive but Earl was a bit of a speed freak.

  He stopped just short of the campsite, spilling dirt over everything and everyone. The girls were furious and with good reason, as they were just in transit with what might have been breakfast. As Earl jumped down from the lifted truck, we applauded his successful negotiation of the ancient roads, and he took a well deserved bow.

  I guess that the noise of Earl’s arrival woke Jake. Either that or the blistering sun. He dragged himself out of Kevin’s car, where he had spent the night passed out across the back seat, and joined the circular feeding frenzy. Sara set him up with a burger and orange juice.

  “Screw the o.j.” I snagged him a beer. “Take this, Jake.”

  He perked up a little and accepted the gift. Others eyeballed me, silently reminding me that Jake was an addict and feeding him alcohol might create problems later in the day.

  “Thanks, Joel.” He cracked it open. “I owe you one. I’ve got lots of pot and shrooms on me- you guys can dig into my stash.” He took a shaky sip of the beer and focused on the ground, declining to look at or talk to anyone but me. Jake knew he was unwelcome here. God, I felt bad for him. I hated that he had become this person.

  After lunch, I grabbed the inflatable from the back of Earl’s truck. He insisted on being the co-pilot. We took all of five minutes to pump it up and load a few beers into his backpack.

  “I want to make it to the little island, set up there for awhile, and smoke a big fat joint,” I said.

  “Hell of an idea, Joel,” Earl replied. “It’s good to go.”

  We carried our gear to the lake. After waving to the remaining group at the fire, Earl and I tossed the dingy into the water, put our bag in, and pushed out into deep water before hopping in. We each picked up a paddle and headed for an island that we had visited the last time.

  The weather was perfect for the first twenty minutes of our voyage. However, northern storms tend to blow in rather quickly and violently, and the one we were about to face did just that.

  Earl enjoyed the odd cigarette when under the influence, and pulled out a pack he’d bought especially for the weekend. I told him to wait until we’d made it to the island. He became somewhat ornery and threatened to stop paddling until I handed him a light.

  “Earl, shut up and paddle the damn boat to shore!” Now I was getting pissed. Rain was starting to fall and we were a good distance away from any land. Earl was drunk, so debate and logic were lost on him. If he was ignoring the approaching storm, then he wasn’t going to listen to me. Next came the white caps, and I began to worry.

  “Alright, you moron. Here.” I passed him my lighter. “Light that thing and start paddling.”

  Too late- our dingy veered perilously to the right, and without Earl countering my own paddling, a wave hit us hard on the side and tossed the boat over in seconds. Our beer, his cigarettes, and my joint vanished beneath the choppy surface. We swam the remainder of the way to the island, towing the boat behind us, and made it to the rocky shore just as the rain really started to fall. Finding shelter under a tree, I quickly assessed our position.

  “What the hell are we doing under a tree in a storm? Let’s get in the open and pull the dingy over us.” Now I was yelling: the thunder crashes were right on top of us. With the rubber boat firmly held over our heads we sat out the weather.

  “If that damn smoke didn’t mean so much to you, we’d have been set.”

  “Sorry, man.” A sudden shiver overtook him. “Sorry. We could have drowned.”

  “You’re fuckin’ right we could’ve.” I wasn’t going to let him off too easily. We’d both lost any trace of our former buzz, and a whole morning and good portion of the afternoon was lost thanks to our nautical disaster.

  It was a good gale though. Of course, this was not how I liked to approach a storm of this magnitude, but I did enjoy it. Thunder crashed overhead again and I yelled, “Is that all you got?”

  Mother Nature answered immediately. The sky opened up and sent down great balls of water the size of marbles. The downpour lasted all of fifteen minutes. When the big black cloud trailed off into the distance, we crawled out from under the dingy, peeled off our soaked shirts, and began exploring. As fate would have it, Gil and Seth were on the other side of the island. They’d tied the canoe to a pair of trees to keep them dry as they rode out the storm.

  “You guys were over there?” Seth asked, popping open his cooler and handing us a couple of beers. The island wasn’t large, but the trees and brush in the middle were dense enough to have hidden us from each other.

  “Yes, freezing our bags off,” added Earl. We took the drinks and sat down. “Gil, you got a cigarette for me?”

  Gil handed him a butt from his plastic bag- what a Boy Scout. We sat for a while, watching them fish as the sun reemerged, warming our skin and soothing my temper. Seth had caught two fish already, one perch and one large mouth bass. An impressive pair too, fatties.

  “If we catch a few more we’ll feed the whole crew tonight,” declared Seth.

  We fished for another hour, as Gil had two extra rods to lend. I never caught a damn thing but Earl rivaled Seth’s talent for the hunt. The day was back on track: we were well into our fourth beer and the sun had burned away what precipitation remained on our rocky shores.

  “Joel, grab the net!” Gil cried.

  I leaped into action when Seth dropped Earl’s catch into the bucket and handed me the net. I ventured into the water up to my knees to get some leverage on the approaching fish.

  “Can you see it, Joel? As soon as you do, scoop him up. It’s a big bitch, man.” Gil was leaning his full weight into the struggle, the rod mimicking the arch in his back.

  “I see him now, Gil, reel him in a little more...”

  The fin was showing and the tail began to whip back and forth violently just above the surface. Suddenly the fish hurled itself out of the water and headed right for Gil’s face. Flinching, he dropped the rod and raised his hands to protect himself from the sharp fins
. The fish sailed past him, landed in the water just beyond a large boulder, and continued swimming with the hook still firmly in its mouth. The rod was hung up on some foliage. Gil reached over to cut the line with his Swiss army knife.

  “It was the right thing to do, man,” I declared. “That fish fought the good fight; I’d have let him go too.”

  Gil peered over his shoulder at me. “Hey, I just didn’t want to lose any more line,” he smiled, and we both started laughing. I knew why he did it: we all did.

  The lake was calm again, offering a smooth paddle back to the mainland. Earl sat in the mid-section of Gil and Seth’s canoe as I lay in the dingy being towed behind them, hands clasped behind my head and staring up at the warm blue sky as I wondered whether life would always be this perfect.

  Chapter Six

  Back at the camp, everyone was relieved to see us. Gil and Seth skinned the fish on a large rock slab a few feet from the fire. Blood ran off the stone and was swallowed up by a thirsty earth below as though we were appeasing an angry god. Shirtless and huddled around the stone, wielding knives like ancient priests at a sacrificial alter, Gil and Seth seemed to transform before my eyes. Suddenly they were wearing feathered headdresses and loincloths, and had painted faces. I turned away, blaming the vision on whatever we’d smoked out on the island, and began stoking the flames and preparing the pans.

  As dusk set in, conversation around the fire progressed from mellow dinner talk to a confrontation between Earl and Caroline over world issues. Caroline disagreed with him on the necessity of war as the great leveler. Practically every time we had a weekend away, Earl got into a debate with someone on this subject.