Camp Lore - 35. Chapter 35

“It’s good being out here,” Brian said. “Away from everything. Reminds me there’s a world.”

We were speeding towards Binghamton – well, going as fast as the country roads allowed. It was just Brian and me, since the other guys weren’t interested in spending the afternoon hunting junk.

“You’re running out on me?” Andy said, when I asked if I could take the day off.

“I’ll see you tonight. Maybe I’ll bring you a present.”

“Something with batteries,” he half whispered. I was standing by his table, at breakfast, and at least one of his kids was listening.

“How about something you can share?” I offered, pointing to the kid.

The boy gave me a thumb’s up and went back to messing with his friends.

Still, before we even left camp, Brian decided we weren’t allowed to talk – or even think – about Laura, Andy, Julie, and Katie.

“What if I have nothing else to say?” I warned. “I’ve barely followed the news since June.”

“The world’s still there. You’ll have to trust me.”

Even in school, I mostly glanced at the headlines. If something seemed interesting, then I’d read, and Katie always needled me about it.

“Why? This way, I know what’s happening, without cluttering my brain.”

“You half know – less than half.”

“I can easily find out more.”

“When? When the revolution starts?”

I didn’t need to tell her that wasn’t likely. I could also stay happier. We had a friend who got really depressed every time she considered what she called, “the state of the world.”

“And there’s nothing we can do about it,” she’d go on.

“Then why worry about it now? It’ll be our problem soon enough.”

This summer, I’d been more of a slacker than usual. I had one kind of lightweight conversations with Brian and another – admittedly different – kind with Andy. I kept my letters to Katie pleasant and those to my parents and grandparents formula. The person I was most honest with was my sister – if only to distract her from the boredom of Vermont. My talks with the guys were also in jokes. Greg and I could speak more seriously but rarely had a chance. And separate from the one-upping Andy were our tech conversations.

“Do you really understand that?” he’d repeat. “Or do I need to break it down again?”

“I know it well enough to teach tomorrow.”

“You’re sure? ‘Cause I’ll be busy with the advanced girls.”

With my fingers, I made the triangle of a dunce cap and put it on my head. He laughed.

“I’m sure,” I promised. And I always got through.

Driving through the countryside, Brian and I didn’t talk. Partly because it was too pretty to interrupt, but more because – without a roof – it was noisy. Occasionally, he’d yell a question – I was his navigator – and I’d yell back. I also toyed with the radio but couldn’t find anything we wanted to hear. Plus, we’d have to blast the music over the wind.

But it wasn’t a long drive, which was how we expected to hit all the planned junkyards and still get back for dinner. We also weren’t searching blindly. Each junkyard had a wrecked or old car Brian wanted to see – or a couple of them. Plus, the owners knew we were coming, and we were concentrating on the seat first.

“But it’s not like they’ll show us around,” Brian warned. “They’re pretty busy.”

“Doing what in a junkyard?”

“I don’t know. But they never want to talk.”

“Will we have to take it out by ourselves?”

“The seat? No – that’s easy – it just pops off – it’s only the pad. Besides, I’ve been watching videos.”

Lucky for him, the seat back was still in place.

“Even that’s not hard,” Brian assured me. “Just a couple of bolts.”

“So we only need to match the color?”

“And find one cheap and in decent shape.”

“What do you think happened to the first?”

“Dogs.”

“Dogs?”

“Chewed the heck out of it.”

I had to laugh. As a pup, Princie went through a year-long chewing stage. He wrecked a pair of upholstered chairs, and I think an embroidered footstool.

“Was it an heirloom? I’d asked.

“We don’t have heirlooms in our family,” my mother joked. “We have antique store finds.”

“At least, the dogs didn’t use the seat as a toilet,” I told Brian.

“I wouldn’t’ve bought the car if they had.”

“Did they chew the roof, too?”

“I’m not sure what happened to that. It was still on the VW when I bought it, but it was a mess. Wouldn’t close right. Started to flap as soon as I hit fifteen – it was almost dangerous. I got rid of it first thing.”

“Hope you can replace it.”

“That’s not a question – these guys have roofs. And they’re mostly off and boxed up. That’s great ‘cause there’s no way I could get one off by myself – not in a hurry. I just want to find the best one.”

“Can you get it on by yourself?”

“I’ve watched videos for that, too – maybe a dozen. And I’ll watch ‘em again – as I need to – when I try to put it on. There are a couple of tools I’ve got to rent – or borrow, if the guy in Guilford is nice. And bottom line is he’ll do it for two hundred bucks.”

“Isn’t that more than the roof?”

“Almost – that’s why I want to try it myself – plus for the challenge. But if I start messing up...”

“Pop your Mom’s credit card?”

“Yeah – though I’ll be working that off all year.”

“I didn’t realize you were paying them.”

“They’re generous to a limit. And that limit’s what it would’ve cost them to fly my sister and me there for the summer. And feed and distract us.”

“There” was Nigeria. Brian had told me that before. Not on the continent Katie was visiting

“So camp’s a deal,” I went on.

“For them.”

I laughed. Suddenly it made sense why Brian’s parents were so generous.

Once we got to the junkyards, as in Guilford, it was fun to watch him work. He’d talk with whoever was in charge, then look at what was there to see – sometimes squeezing between cars, or climbing over them, always taking me along. There was no order to these places.

“Guess that’s why they call them ‘junkyards,’” I cracked at one point.

Either he ignored me or didn’t hear, focused on more important things.

“Think I found what I want,” he finally called. “Stay here while I get the owner.”

“Like someone’s gonna steal it?”

“You’re easier to find – you can always yell back.”

“The human alarm.”

After he found and bargained with the owner, we popped out the seat – as he said, it was easy. Then we carried it to his car and popped it in place.

“Perfect,” Brian announced. “Now let’s hunt roofs.”

That took stopping at three other places, but at least we didn’t have to climb over wrecks. As promised, the owners had the roofs off, and they just had to find them. Of course, there was no order to these places, either. Then Brian had to inspect the roofs, mentally compare them, and make his choice.

“I’m trying to imagine everything in place,” he said, when we were standing outside the last yard. “But I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

“The guy in Guilford’s looking good.”

“Nah – I’ll be fine. If I don’t rush.”

Time was something I was watching, too, as part of being navigator. I reminded Brian we had just over an hour before we had to leave.

“Good. ‘Cause we gotta go back to the second joint.”

We did, stopped for one more quick errand, and pulled up to at bunk with twelve minutes to spare.

“What’d you bring us?” Jim asked. He was the welcoming committee.

“The usual,” Brian said, laughing. And we each handed him a six pack.

“It’s cold.”

“We just bought ‘em. You don’t think we’d drag brew back from Binghamton.”

“It’d boil.”

“The car’s hot with no top.”

“We’ve been wearing hats to keep our heads from popping.”

“Nice seat,” Jim admired.

“I don’t think you say that to a guy.”

Jim simply jumped in and started bouncing.

“Much better than that steel hump.”

“I don’t think you say that, either.”

“Better get changed,” Steve came out of the bunk to remind us.

“We’ve got ten minutes, Dad. Let me stash the beer.”

“Meet you there.”

“Suck up.”

“A good trip,” Brian said, as we were changing.

“Fun, too.”

“And I didn’t even think about Laura.”

That wouldn’t last. And I was looking forward to seeing Andy. I’d bought him a pink, flashing pig.