Campfires and Starlight - a novella - 3. Chapter 3

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Campfires and Starlight

Chapter 3

Knowing they only have a couple hours of daylight remaining, the drive down the narrow woodland path to the shore is bumpy and quick.

Lee resists the urge to ask his best friend where the fire is, because when Chuck’s like this, in full-on deadass mode, nothing gets between him and achieving his goal.

Chuck’s playlist winds up going full circle and starting again with the orchestrated opening of Moody Blues’ Days of Future Passed. To Lee’s ears, it smacks of old movies, specifically the tunes for 2001: A Space Odyssey, which came out about the same time as the record. His buddy cranks the volume again.

“You know,” says Lee shaking his head, “I haven’t heard this since—”

“Our last camping trip,” Chuck interjects with a chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Joking in his dry as a bone way, Chuck tells him with gravity, “We can listen to your K-tel Bad Mama Jama album later, buddy.”

“Gee wilikers! Fuck you!”

“You’re welcome, pal.”

Just as the road opens up and smooths out, the trees step back and allow a breathtaking vista of the ocean.

Chuck grips the wheel to lean forward a bit. “Oh, no….”

“What?” Lee doesn’t see anything.

“The Gods of Good Weather have turned their backs on us.”

The winds are not whipping from offshore as strongly as before, so the intermittent clouds of the afternoon have resolved themselves into a gray blanket. The perfect disc of white sun heads to the western sea behind it.

Chuck recites the lines of the poem on the album. His timing was uncanny.

“Colorless disc, removing the light,

Yet we determine what is right,

Forsaking those grim delusions,

Scheming like foregone conclusions….”

Lee casually observes, “They don’t seem too bad, not like storm clouds.”

“A storm!” Chuck freaks.

“No, no. I mean, they don’t even look like rain clouds. They just, whatcha call ‘em—seem like accumulated, accimbus something or other.”

Chuck gapes at his friend; he’s not buying it for a moment, but to Lee’s sixth sense, he can perceive a certain level of appreciation for attempting to put Chuck’s mind at rest.

“Oh, well,” his buddy says with a shrug. “The faster we’re down on the beach, the quicker we can get the fire going for the sacrifice.”

“How did we start doing this whole, pardon my French, pagan ritual in the first place?”

“You don’t remember?” Chuck’s astounded.

“Um, no. I guess not.”

“Back the very first time, next to the railroad tracks, we poured a little bit of our Busch into the flames. You really don’t remember?”

Lee shrugs.

“Well, that’s just fine, considering how it was your idea in the first place.”

Lee stays quiet, watching the moving scenery as he hopes his buddy won’t press him further about the forgotten memory.

“It’s OK, you just forget the most important part. No biggie.”

Chuck’s tone had been over-the-top, so Lee laughs and delivers a gentle knock on his buddy’s arm. “I remember plenty, like how you get when you’re drunk. How all the lowkey secrets come out then.”

Lee knows he’s said too much; or said it in a way too open to interpretation.

Chuck keeps eyes on his driving, but even so, Lee sees the mood of his best friend become reflective. The driver leans closer to the windshield again. “Hope the rain holds off.”

“Me too, buddy. Me too.”

About ten minutes later, the car slows and pulls off the blacktop along the beach. Not into a parking space per se, but the low foliage growing up against the pavement suddenly steps back with room enough for a few cars to park. Heading towards the sea, a wide strip of scrubland levels off with the road and offers a place for hearty plants to eke out a living. Beyond this, gorgeous white sand gradually slopes down to the line of breakers cresting in from the Pacific.

It matches pretty well his buddy’s earlier description of this being among the most beautiful spots to camp in the world. The beach is a perfectly isolated stretch about a mile long, bound at both ends by verdant hills jutting directly into the ocean. The grouping on the right forms a series of camelbacks, undulating smoothly. But the boundary on Lee’s left better resembles those old-master Chinese paintings of craggy mountain peaks sticking straight into the air and having living green plants clinging to their sides.

“Well, here we are, buddy.”

Lee mumbles in admiration, “Fuck….”

Failing a response, Lee turns to find his best friend simply smiling like he’s done good; in Lee’s mind, he has. Opening the door, he says, “Let’s set up!”

They first grab the bags holding the tent fabric and poles, plus the hammer Chuck had brought to drive the stakes.

Going down the path through the scrubland patch, the sand felt pretty firm underfoot, but once they hit the silky-smooth incline down to the waterline, Lee kicks off his flipflops for better footing; he’ll pick them up next trip to the car.

Chuck takes the lead, and a couple hundred feet along the beach from the trail claims “Our spot!” He drops his hammer and tent bags. “The wind’s blowing to the car, so let’s set the shelter here, and I’ll dig a firepit a little farther back along the path.”

“Sounds good,” Lee says.

From there, the boys go about their tasks with silent concentration. Just when Lee gets the body of the nylon shelter assembled, he glances over to see Chuck had not only excavated a 24-inch circle, but had gone back to the car for the load of firewood and tinder they’d brought. He starts to build the fire.

Having staked the tent, Lee trudges along the sand, past his buddy, and up the trail, nabbing his thongs along the way. At the car, he grabs their sleeping bags and pillows, noticing how the light is fading. It’ll be twilight soon. Back outside the open tent door, Lee lets his flipflops go, and kneels with the bedding hugged to his chest. He brushes the warm sand off his feet and goes inside to work.

While he does, Lee thinks back over the day. He tries to act “the same” around his buddy, but knows somehow, something has been left unsaid. It eats him up, this wondering just how bad he’d hurt Chuck with his coming out, and questions of what to do to make it better. In the car on the drive down here, Lee’s lead zeppelin of a joke suggesting Chuck has some hidden secret was too much. Lee chides himself as a rotten friend if he’s unable to edit the crap swirling in his brain before it comes farting out of his mouth.

As Lee completes his task by fluffing the pillows and setting one atop each sleeping bag, swirling of a different kind comes to his consciousness. Namely, the wind in the trees by the Altar Stone. Through the warmth of evening, a few goose bumps arise to remember what the howling sounded like; how voice-like it seemed, and how unmistakable its message.

“Hey.” Chuck stands at the entrance, hands on top of the tent, crouching down to peer in. “No, no, Lee. Not like that.”

He puzzles, his mind still far up the green slopes behind them. “Not like what?”

“It’s gonna be cold tonight. Always is with beach camping, so—do like old times’ sake.”

A smile appears on his best friend’s face. Lee looks down, confused by the bedding arrangement, and suddenly gets it.

Chuck walks away just in time to let Lee sniffle back emotion. Then the young man does as instructed and unzips both ‘bags.’ One he lays out flat to form a mattress, while the other will serve as the boys’ common comforter. They’d always slept this way, and for Lee to know things weren’t any different now was almost enough to bring a tear of gratitude. He completes his task by setting the pillows side by side.

Lee’s reverie is broken by a sharp whistle outside the tent, and Chuck’s voice calling, “Come on, lazy bones!”

Nearly dark now, his buddy’s grin and akimbo stance are burnished by the firepit’s glow. Chuck suddenly hops on one foot, kicking his other heel into his palms. In a flash, he takes off his sneaker and sock.

Still puzzled, Lee watches Chuck do the same to his other foot. “Whatcha doin’?”

Chuck crosses hands in front of him and pulls off his tee-shirt. “This!” The Army PFC starts jogging towards the surf. At the same time, he opens his fly and turns back. “Time for a swim. Last one in is a rotten egg sucker!”

Lee’s laugh accompanies a rapid de-shirting of his own as he starts to run too.

Chuck, fifty yards farther down the beach, pauses again to pull down his jeans and boxers. His buddy’s ass appears to moon him, increasing Lee’s determination to beat Chuck to the water.

After yanking down his own shorts and drawers, Lee runs all-out for the bubbling surf.

Catching and being nearly passed by his best friend, Chuck straightens up and cries out, “Oh, no you don’t!”

The young men begin deflecting each other’s attempts to grab on, and end up high-stepping it into the water arm in arm.

Boyish, carefree laughter comes up with them for air. The water is warm, and Chuck shakes his blond velcro like a dog; Lee uses his hands to slick the seawater back through his hair.

They swim leisurely together, going a bit farther out where the swells and inbound currents let them bob on the surface.

The cliffs demarcating the two ends of the beach appear like darkening shadows now but are even more majestic seen from sea-level.

“Imagine,” says Lee, “being the first to see this paradise coming ashore. A wonderland where even imagination pales.”

“Yeah, buddy, a beautiful thought.”

Suddenly, a faint blue light arises around their bodies. It also crests atop the breaking waves.

“Plankton,” explains Chuck, scooping up a handful and letting the living bioluminescence run down his arms.

“It’s fucking amazing.”

“It’s a thing out here in Hawaii. It’s lit, literally.”

The boys laugh, already drunk on the experience.

Chuck looks up. “The stars may not be out for us yet, unless our sacrifice later pleases the Gods, but maybe this swim is a little lesson on how the stars are always around us anyway.”

Lee chuckles. “Sentimental much?”

The soldier splashes blue fire-water at his friend. This starts a round of roughhousing that goes on for a few minutes. In fact, goes on until Lee sues for peace. “OK, OK, I’m sorry. I know what you mean about the stars, but I gotta say this reminds me more of our midnight skinny dip at Lake of the Bays.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

The impetus to horse around fades, and both return to quietly bobbing on the surface, enjoying the buoying light of the sea supporting them.

After a while, Lee tells his buddy, “Seems like the fire needs tending. Maybe we should head in.”

“Yeah. Better do it while there’s still light enough to find our clothes!”

A final laugh precedes their swimming ashore.

Two hours later, it’s completely dark and the boys sit around the campfire roasting wieners. Their clothes are back on, and each has packed a couple of beers in him.

Lee hears Chuck sigh. “What’s up, fam?”

“I didn’t have time to do the dogs up right.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, marinate them like old times in teriyaki sauce and liquid smoke.”

Lee’s heart sinks, that and feels elated too. “Dude, we got the sauce right here. They’ll be great hotdogs—like they always are.”

After another minute of silent weiner-roasting, Lee’s best buddy sighs again.

“You sure nothin’ else is up, Chuck?”

“These damn clouds is what’s up. I want them to go away.”

“We poured our first sip of beer on the fire, right? We asked for clear weather, didn’t we? So give it time.”

“Maybe, but I just want this camping trip to be perfect. You know, beyond memorable.”

“Relax, Chuck. If you’re worried about me, don’t. I’m having a great time. It makes me realize how much I’ve missed doing stuff with you. Just being together, the basic things.”

“I know, me too. Even though we’re in touch daily about what’s going on, calls and emails—even video calls—they can’t replace the basic-bitch honesty of being face to face.”

“True that.” After a few moments, Lee chuckles. “Basic-bitch honesty. That’s a good one. Consider it officially lifted.”

“Yeah. Glad you like it, and heist the hell outta it if you want. I give it to ya.” Chuck takes a swig of beer, and appears reflective to Lee. Suddenly, the corner of the Army man’s mouth rises. “You remember that first day we met, age fourteen?”

“Sure I do,” says Lee. “It was the first day of high school, at lunch. I sat at a table with a couple guys from my old school, and you were there too with a few of your boys.”

“Yeah, that’s the meeting in question. I wouldn’t really have noticed you except Father Macklemore came up and smacked you on the shoulder.”

“Oh, fuck, I forgot.” Lee laughs openly. “Who wants the principal coming up and singling you out for ‘small talk,’ first day of classes.”

“Oh, man! You had this expression on your face: Just go away! Just go away! It was so funny.”

“Yeah, thanks. It wasn’t funny to me at the time. But I noticed you right away.”

Chuck scoffs. “The hell you did.”

“I swear it. You…a. You were, what they call it? A standout. All the other guys at that table fell into two camps. Those pretending not to be afraid of the unknown with fake-ass confidence as stinky as their Axe body spray, and those like me, scared shitless.”

Chuck puzzles, rotating his dog. “I never wore Old Spice or that crap.”

“So, I stand corrected; three camps. But you were the only guy there who was actually not afraid. You were just yourself, and I thought ‘I’m gonna make him my friend, cuz he’s cool.’ Turns out, I was right.”

Chuck’s eyes dart over the fire. “You noticed me right away. Really?”

“Yeah, dude. I guess you could say I took an instant liking to you.”

Chuck’s reaction is to pause and be perfectly still.

It makes Lee hurriedly add, “Not in a weird way. I’m just saying…like, you know.”

“Yeah, calm down, bro. I get it. I was just kinda hesitating to tell you that when I first saw you, I thought you were a bit weird—well, different for sure.”

Lee had always known that, but he smiled. “Ah, gee. Thanks, buddy. Way to make me feel chary.”

Chuck laughs. “I said, that was then, OK? I admit it, I was a pretty lame kid, but you’ve grown on me since then. In fact, a lot.”

Lee’s not too sure how to react. A part of him acknowledges the heat he’s just heard in his best friend’s words, but a larger part brushes them off as simple banter; the way friends on the road-to-tipsy talk sometimes. Lee takes a sip and says nothing.

Chuck continues in a more measured tone. “But I remember the day things changed too. The one where I thought the same ‘gonna make him my friend’ sentiment.”

“When?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“That lunch period we talked about earlier. How, months after we met, we ate and started talking about God and shit, and then wound up spending the entire rest of the hour in an assembly room, just you and me, just talking. I know you remember that.”

“Yeah, Chuck, I remember.” And Lee does too; there are few times in a person’s life when their life itself seems to change, and for him, it was one of those.

“It was…” Chuck hesitates. “Special.”

“Yeah.”

Chuck takes a big gulp of air. “So, emails and shit—it’s all right, but just not the same as face to face.”

Lee believes he finds pieces of the puzzle start to fit together. It makes him sad, but determined to apologize correctly. “Look, about that Skype call, my bad. I sprung it on you, and it was late and I was drunk and fucking depressed at school, experiencing searing pain in my guts from all the tension I was carrying around on my own, lonely, on-edge, scared to be out at such a small school. I…I turned to you, Chuck, because you…you’re my best friend. It was time to come clean and stop using the secrecy as a weapon to beat myself up inside. But, obviously, I could have done it a lot better. Done it in a way where it didn’t put you on the spot like that. I’m sorry.”

Chuck’s silent.

Lee presses on. “Look, the next day, I get up—hating myself for my crap behavior—and find a long, considerate, loving email from you. And I read it through my hangover, knowing my best buddy went out of his way to say nothing was changed between us.” He sees Chuck watching him now, and Lee chokes up a bit. “You were great, man, even though I dumped on you like that. You handled it with class, and I thank you.”

Chuck’s tone becomes keen with no-nonsense. “Honestly, bro, it makes me sad to think you were afraid to tell me. I mean, I’m assuming you knew way back in time.”

Lee nods. “Look, it’s not exactly that I was afraid to tell you. Not fear, but things have to work out their own course. That night on the video call, I was drunk, but the time was right. I needed to open myself up. I came out to my folks the next day—”

“So, I was first…?”

Lee grins. “Yes, buddy. Absolutely first.” He holds back adding “…in my heart.”

Chuck sighs again, growing pensive and withdrawn. He drains his can and crushes it.

Lee tries to reassure him. “You can ask me any question you want. We’re fam, one hundred percent. You ask, I answer; no holds barred, I promise you that.”

“What makes you think I have something to ask—”

“About me coming out? About me being Gay? Come on, it’s natural to want to ask stuff. So, go on. You have my guarantee I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Silence follows from Chuck, with his friend just staring at Lee across the edge of the firelight. At last, the soldier appears to wipe a tear and say, “Okay, queer boy—riddle me this—if you’re Gay, then why the hell did you laugh at Monty Python so hard?”

Stunned, Lee racks his brains. “Monty Python?”

“Yeah, dude. The skit with the soldiers swishing around, acting out all the worst stereotypes of your people. If you’re Gay, why’d you laugh?”

Lee props his hotdog stick on a stone holding it in the fire. He stands and goes over to his friend, crouching down so his eyelevel is aligned with Chuck’s. “I laughed because it’s funny.”

Lee pops to his feet, traipsing behind his buddy, a hand lingering across Chuck’s shoulder. “Besides”—he lisps—“that skit has a name, soldier boy: Close Order Swanning About.”

Chuck watches, his eyes amused.

“Oh, come on!” Lee screeches, posing like a little teapot. “You remember how it goes; we must have seen it a hundred times in your basement.” Lee snaps to attention, salutes and marches, one hand outstretched for a kiss. “Oooh, get her! You can’t afford me, ducky, two, three. Oops, four, five, I’ve your number”—points at Chuck, and slows down each syllable—“you military fairy—”

Chuck jumps up, laughing and tackles his buddy to the sand.

“Oooh, court martial, girls! Court martial,” Lee gets out a couple of times before losing it to complete laughter too.

The boys roll on the beach, with Chuck clamping on a jovial headlock. “Who you callin’ the….”

They’re suddenly centered in a pool of bright light. Just as Lee’s faculties return to him, he perceives the hushed noise of helicopter blades slicing the dark air above them. An instant later, fine particles raised from the surface of the sand assault them.

The teenagers scramble to their feet, shielding their eyes and coughing a bit.

“What an asshole,” Chuck says. “Using a stealth helicopter. I wanna flip him the bird—”

“Don’t, Chuck. It ain’t worth it if we’re in trouble already.”

The copter’s spotlight shifts off of them, first finding the campfire, and then the sleeping arrangements.

“We’re not in trouble,” Chuck insists. “Just some flyboy dicks out for a joyride.”

All at once, Lee feels scared. He realizes it’s not scared so much as sensing as absence of feeling safe. “Chuck, I really don’t want us to be doing anything wrong.”

His buddy turns, props an outstretched arm on Lee’s shoulder. He half smiles, drawing Lee’s darting eyes to lock onto his. “Hey. We’re fine. You don’t have anything to fear when you’re with me. OK?”

Lee nods, gradually becoming overwhelmed.

Fortunately, the helicopter moves off, periodically switching its spotlight on as it traces down the rest of the beach.

Once quiet and darkness are restored, leaving them only amid the glow of their fire, the boys return to the cooler.

Lee gets out two bottles, cracking open the screw cap for one and handing it to Chuck. He does the same with his own, and extends the neck of his bottle for a clink. “Time for the heavy hitters, the Bartles and Jaymes.”

Chuck ducks his head warmly, accepting the toast with an authoritative bottle tap. “We thank you for your support,” he drawls, quoting the old television commercials the boys have seen on YouTube.

“Cheers, buddy.”

They both down half a bottle before lowering their gazes again.

After they empty them and fortify themselves with a pair of fresh ones, the two meander back to the campfire. As Lee props on more wood, Chuck holds up two sticks. “Oh, no. They’re ruined.” On the ends are a matching set of charred-to-a-crisp hotdogs.

“Toss ‘em on the fire. It’s more fuel for the gods.”

They sit and begin the process of cooking two more. While roasting, Lee quietly watches the flames dance and morph from color to color. They go from red to blue-green, and then to a pure yellow. In his pensive thoughts, he’s gratified to know Chuck has been true to form and once again grew protective over Lee. That night at the Claybank Resort, Lake of the Bays, proved just how tender his best friend could be when Lee needed him most.

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