The pick-up truck bounced and rattled over some gravel road. On one side of the truck was hills of pines. On the other side, Detroit Lake. The sun’s reflection wavered in the water, the lake an aqua marine. Several boats crowded the marina. The truck crawled up the steep logging road. The fisherman and recreational boaters climbed out of their boats and tied off at the docks. They didn’t look real from so high up.
You sat in the window-side seat, Clyde sat middle, and Lindsey drove.
You had started out the drive with a joint. Clyde had pulled it out shortly after you had turned onto Highway 22 that morning. He passed it first to Lindsey and then to you. You’d smoked pot before but never inside a moving vehicle.
The truck was a stick shift, which meant that in order for Lindsey to shift up or down she had to rest her arm across Clyde’s leg. The gear shift took up most of the floor space in the cab and forced Clyde’s knees to rub up against your thigh.
Classic rock played over the radio. The announcer came on every three songs and announced that it was a block party weekend. The cab was constantly full of smoke, either from a joint or from one of the cigarettes that Lindsey was always smoking.
Everywhere you looked there were more trees. A couple of times, they lay in the middle of the road, and forced Lindsey to slow down to a reasonable speed, but only long enough to swerve around the fallen trunk.
The truck shook above the gravel, and your head felt clogged. You hadn’t smoked this much marijuana in awhile, possibly ever, and it was putting you on the verge of sleep. You saw that Clyde was speaking to you, but you couldn’t make out any sounds. You imagined Clyde kissing Lindsey and wondered what it felt like.
The truck continued its noisy ascent.
Lindsey steered the truck off of the road. You pictured her being stoned and ramming into a tree or maybe she wouldn’t even think to brake and you would all fly off the side of the hill, and then float down until you felt the impact of the lake below. From this high up, it would have felt like hitting solid earth.
Instead, you pulled into a small clearing, big enough for a tent or two, with a small fire pit built out of rocks of assorted sizes. Lindsey killed the ignition.
The three of you remained silent for a moment. The wind whistled through the cracked window. It sounded like it was blowing at thirty miles per hour.
– You going to get out, bud?
Lindsey’s words shook you from your daydream.
– Yeah, sorry. I was waiting for you guys to get out. Is this it?
– It sure is. The driver-side door is broken. We can’t get out until you do.
You listened to the rhythmic words. Lindsey sang every sentence. You sat for a second longer before remembering that you were supposed to step outside. It took all of your energy to shove the door open. And once outside you wanted nothing more than to be back inside the truck. You felt dizzy.
Lindsey and Clyde slid out behind you. Clyde slapped your shoulder and went around to the back of the truck and unloaded supplies. You watched him hoist each item over the side of the bed and walk it over near the fire pit. Several of the items were so heavy that he was forced to lift it onto the side of the truck and let it rest before dragging it near the other gear.
You began setting up camp. You took your time erecting an awning near the edge of the clearing. Beneath it you set up a miniature kitchen, fully stocked with the coolers, the camp stove and a small plastic tub for washing dishes. Meanwhile, Clyde and Lindsey stacked all of the wood next to the fire pit. To an outsider, it would have look like you planned on living out there for months. In reality, you understood that this would not last past tomorrow. It took all three of you to set up the tent. It was gratuitously spacious. You all climbed inside and laid out your sleeping pads and bags. Lindsey and Clyde spread out one sleeping bag on top of the other and joined the two at the zipper.
Even though it was still midday, you each climbed into your sleeping bags. Lindsey pulled out another joint and you reveled in the marijuana’s potency. After the jay was smoked, you felt tired and decided to lie down for just a moment. You pulled the bag fully over your head. You created your own cocoon. It felt out of place in the woods. You could swear you heard the soft exhales of the other two. You drifted off to the sounds of slight murmurs and quiet moans.
***
It was early evening when you awoke. You were no longer stoned. But now, you felt the cloudiness that comes with taking a mid-afternoon nap only to find that the day has continued without you. The double bag that Clyde and Lindsey had created contained both of their dozing bodies. Lindsey’s arm was stretched across Clyde’s bare chest. You followed it down to her bare shoulder, which you could only suppose led to other bare body parts. You would never find out, for the sleeping bag hid the rest.
You unzipped the tent and stepped outside. You walked over to the cooler and pulled out a cold beer. You relieved yourself next to a tree. The crack of the beer echoed.
You stared off over the hills. The trees cascaded down into the valley that led to the lake below.
Lindsey quickly unzipped the tent, announcing her presence.
– How long have you been up?
– Maybe five, ten minutes. It’s an incredible scene we have set here.
– Yeah, where’d you get the beer?
– Out of the red cooler. How was your nap?
– Oh, it was nice. Weed always knocks me out.
– Yeah, same here.
The two of you sat in silence until it was broken by the satisfying crack of the beer top. It felt comfortable. You ignored the opening of the beer that had split the silence in two. You noted that it felt like it belonged to both of you. It was a silence shared.
You knew from experience that if you didn’t break this silence, this silence that felt so perfect, it would become noticeable, and once it was noticeable, it became awkward.
– Should I get a fire going?
– Not yet. It’s not dark enough. Plus, we need to save our firewood.
– I think I might take a walk.
You weren’t planning on having Lindsey join you. You honestly felt that taking a walk alone would be the best thing for you, but she followed. She didn’t say anything. She walked two paces behind you, stopping only to grab two more beers out of the cooler.
The clearing sat on the edge of an incline. You walked down into the valley and had to half slide, half shuffle in order to retain any sort of control. Inside the trees, it felt like a tropical forest. Ferns and moss sprung up anywhere there wasn’t a tree. It smelt of fresh rain, although it had been at least twelve hours since the last rainfall. You looked behind you every so often and there was Lindsey, slide then shuffle. After a few minutes, you reached what seemed to be the bottom of the hill. A small creek could be heard running in the distance. You wondered if you’d lose It outside.
You remembered Clyde. To wake up and find his friend and girlfriend missing, what would he think?
– You think Clyde’s awake? Maybe we should have left him a note.
– No, I’m sure he’s still sleeping. Anyways, no one understands these adventures in the woods like Clyde.
You reached the small creek. A fallen tree hung over the rushing water. You climbed out onto it. You let your legs hang inches above the creek, while Lindsey sat cross-legged. You took one last pull and finished the beer, crushed the can and put it in your pocket. Even though you couldn’t see the sunset, you knew it was beautiful outside of the trees. The sky turned different shades of blue as the sun got further away.
Lindsey handed you another beer. You studied her face. You had learned that if you wanted to keep from staring, your best bet was to avoid eye contact altogether. She had small round cheeks. Her ears popped out of her blonde hair that became dirty blonde in the waning light. Again, you wondered if you’d lose It outside.
She smiled at you. You threw your glance down as quickly as possible and refused to take your eyes off of the creek. You could feel her laughing to herself. People always did that around you. You could feel it.
– What’s on your mind?
This was the part that was always so difficult. Was she asking, because she wanted to know, or was she asking, because it was the easiest way to point out how awkward you were?
– The creek.
– The creek is on your mind?
– Um, yeah. I was just looking at it.
– I know that, but you looked deep in thought. I find it hard to believe that you were experiencing deep thoughts about a creek.
You sat in silence. What were you supposed to say? You thought about having a girlfriend and what that would mean. Someone to spend time with. Someone you could tell was beautiful. You couldn’t tell a friend she was beautiful. You looked up at Lindsey and shrugged. You longed for the silence that lay comfortably between the two of you just minutes before.
– I don’t know.
– It sure is nice out here.
– Yeah.
And then the hand was on your leg. At first, it was patting your thigh, but then it just sat there. It took all of your will not to look at it. You continued looking around the woods absently. You caught Lindsey’s face in your peripherals and notice that she, too, was staring straight forward. It felt like her hand had been dismembered from the rest of her body. A detached body part with a mind of its own. You had one of those. You had to end it. You would not leave this trip a home wrecker.
– We should head back. It’s getting dark and climbing that hill will be hard enough.
– Good idea.
The hand returned to patting your leg. You both jumped off the log and continued back to camp. You felt a warm stickiness inside your Levi’s. We were just friends, you told yourself. You were overreacting. You knew it. She patted your leg, and you allowed it to grow into some perverted occurrence. Forget about it. You must forget it.
But you wouldn’t.
You and Lindsey climbed the hill in silence. Your eyes scanned the woods. Shadows leapt out at you. They tried grasping you. They tried touching you.
***
When you arrived back at camp, Clyde had just woken. You thought of Clyde sleeping, while his girlfriend touched his friend’s thigh.
– Glad to see the two wanderers. I think we’re going to need more beer.
– How? We brought a twelve pack.
– There are three of us and only eight beers left. If we’re going to make it through the night, we’re going to need more than two and half beers a piece.
You left the couple to discuss the situation. You crawled into the tent. From inside, you could hear them agree that they needed more beer, and then figure out exactly how much more they needed, and where the nearest store was. Then they were quiet, quietly whispering. It didn’t sound like harsh words, but it was definitely about you.
Suddenly, Clyde unzipped the tent. He poked his head inside.
– Hey bud, I’m going to the store in Detroit. We need more brews. Want to come with?
– Um, sure.
You thought twice before getting up. Were you going to get beat up? Your ass kicked? Murdered? For what? Not slapping his girlfriend’s hand away. You thought of the movies where gangsters kill guys for giving their girlfriends foot rubs. You had already agreed, so you fully unzipped the tent and followed Clyde. Lindsey was bent over a cooler pulling out hot dogs and burgers.
– I’ll get dinner started. You boys have fun.
Her voice barely escaped the bottom of the cooler.
Clyde climbed into the passenger’s side door and slid over to the driver’s seat. You followed.
– How are we going to get beer anyway?
Something you had not considered until you were already sitting in the cab.
– Don’t worry. I have a fake I.D. It was my brother’s. It says I’m a commercial truck driver and thirty-four, but it works every time.
Clyde slammed the transmission into reverse and you were out of the clearing and back onto the log road. You could hear the soft whisper of Jim Morrison over the radio. He was asking you to love him two times. The pick-up rattled beneath you. Clyde seemed to be a more cautious driver, although you had to consider that Lindsey was a bit more stoned when she was behind the wheel.
You were waiting for him to mention her hand on your thigh. You assumed that was all he was thinking about, because that was all you were thinking about. That and losing It.
He followed the road with every curve. Five minutes and you were back on the highway. Only three miles and you were in the town of Detroit. The entire ride had been silent. You finally spoke. You had no choice.
– Thanks for inviting me on this trip. I’m having a great time.
Clyde peeked over at you. Your comment felt unsolicited. He seemed grateful nonetheless.
– Yeah, Lindsey and I both enjoy your company. We thought it might be fun if you joined us on this little outing.
But you screwed it up. You let her leave her hand on your thigh. You let her leave it there for too long. He thought it would be fun.
– I hope I’m not intruding on some sort of romantic getaway.
– Of course not, we wouldn’t have invited you if that’s what we were looking for. Besides, we aren’t in that sort of relationship.
Clyde pulled into the convenient store parking lot. The siding hung off garishly to the right. Clyde was waiting for you to get out. You were still thinking about the type of relationship they weren’t in.
– Okay, you’ve got to stay in the truck. Otherwise, they’ll ask for your I.D. too. It’s bad enough I’m using a fakie.
You slid out, just as you had when you had gotten to the site. Before you knew it, Clyde has slid out behind you and was walking up to the shop’s double doors. You slid back in before he was at the beer aisle. You thought about their relationship. You tried to remember a time that would solidify it for you. Something that would create an image of the rules and regulations to which their relationship adhered.
You wanted it set in stone. You wanted to know your limits.
You held your breath while Clyde walked up to the counter and put a twenty-four pack of beer between him and the clerk. You continued holding your breath while Clyde handed him his brother’s I.D. with the money. You exhaled when the door chime released its ring. Clyde walked to the pick-up with an armful of beer. You slid out so he could get in.
Clyde seemed to be more awake as the two of you rattled and shook back up the valley hill. He seemed more at ease. Once he pulled onto the logging road he reached into the rack of beer and pulled one out. He looked up at you with a grin on his face and tossed you one as well. He popped his open and finished it in two gulps. All while he continued shifting seamlessly. Jim Morrison asked you to light his fire, and Clyde turned it up.
***
He drank two more beers in the time it took to reach the campsite. When you pulled into the clearing, you could see that Lindsey had built a fire and was frying meat on the two-burner stove. She laughed at the sight of Clyde whipping in from the road. You imagined her seeing a truck fly through the trees and come to a halting stop. You laughed to yourself. You got out of the truck and remembered to pick up the beer off of the floor. Otherwise, Clyde would have slipped on his way out. He stumbled over to the makeshift kitchen you had built hours earlier.
– Hey babe, how’s dinner coming?
– It is coming along. In fact, it’s almost finished. How about you two sit down by the fire and I’ll bring you your burgers.
No one brought chairs. You were forced to drag the three coolers out from under the awning and place them near the fire. A sharp wind blew through the trees and forced you to tighten your collar to your neck. You sat alone for a few minutes while Lindsey dressed the burgers and Clyde drank more beer.
Lindsey walked over bearing a paper plate full of food. You stood up because your cooler was the one full of beer. You put away what remained of the beer you and Clyde had just bought. Between Clyde, Lindsey, and you, the once twenty-four pack had become a sixteen pack in a matter of thirty minutes. You’ve drunk two.
You handed everyone another beer before you sat back down to to eat your burger. You felt the warm wind of a storm approaching. Clyde and Lindsey were situated at your side. Their voices grew louder and louder as you downed more beers. You had to stand up every time someone finished another, so that they could reach into your cooler and get a fresh beer. You wondered if Lindsey would ever have sex with you. If Clyde would ever forgive you.
Bats fluttered across the dark blue sky. They swooped in and out of each other, nearly hitting head on yet managing to avoid collision every few seconds. You considered the bats and their way of life. Lindsey and Clyde argued in hush tones. They seemed to have become only mildly aware of your presence.
– He just sits there. Always so quiet. He’s a little strange.
– You haven’t given him much of a chance.
– I’m just wondering why you chose him over so many other options.
– Because he’s the only other guy I can really see being a part…
Lindsey glanced over at you. You took another pull from your beer. It was beginning to fill up your stomach. It didn’t seem to go anywhere. Clyde crushed his can and motioned for you to stand up. The cooler creaked when its lid was opened. You caught Lindsey flashing you a smile, and you remembered that just a few hours ago, she’d laid her hand on your leg.
– Maybe we should smoke some more pot.
Your words. Something you didn’t think you would say. Not on this trip, especially at this point in the night. Your head was already spinning with beer and the thought of Lindsey being with you. Clyde standing in the middle.
– Sure thing, bud. You mind rolling this one?
– Okay. Where’s the weed?
– In the tent. Near our sleeping bag.
You’d never rolled anything before. Clyde had to know this. He was pointing out your flaws. That you were not as cool as him. He was the one she had chosen time and time again. You tried to get up. The world nearly threw you back down. For a moment you wondered if there was something wrong with gravity. Then you realized that nothing was wrong, and it was all in your head. In a second, the world stabilized.
You made your way to the tent and after fumbling with the zipper, threw yourself onto the floor. You found a flashlight and clicked it on. Minutes passed while you rummaged through the clutter near the sleeping bags and found the small bag of weed. You pulled out what you considered to be a sufficient amount and placed it into one of the papers that were also in the sandwich bag.
You could still hear Clyde and Lindsey’s muffled argument. You lost focus and ended up dumping half of the weed onto your lap. It took you a few more tries before you got close to something that looked like a joint. How had you seen others do it? They always licked it. You ran you tongue down the seam of the joint, but it didn’t stick. It became a soggy mess. You decided to give it another go. The muffled whispers stopped. You could hear someone approaching. You heard the zip of the tent door being quickly opened. In poked Lindsey’s head. She let a laugh escape. You noticed that her eyes shone an emerald green by the light of the flashlight.
– It looks like you’re having some problems.
– I am. I guess it helps to have instruction with things like this.
– Yeah, let me help you there, bud.
She walked over and sat next to you. There were specks of marijuana covering your lap. It stuck to your fingers. She took the baggie and whispered to you. You imagined that she was telling you things she had never told anyone before. Not even Clyde.
– You see, you want the weed to be evenly distributed throughout the entire joint. It also helps if you keep
an end pinched, like this.
She held up a joint infinitely better than anything you could have ever produced. In mere seconds, she had created a masterpiece. Her breath smelt of Budweiser and Camels. Still, you longed for that taste to be on your tongue. You imagined it mingling with the taste of beer that rested in your throat. You didn’t care if you’d seen her chain smoking all night. She fell silent. You could here Clyde rustling around outside the tent.
– He’s so drunk. This is the last thing he needs. He gets like this sometimes. Too drunk to do much of anything. It’s a shame really.
– I take it we’ll be the only two enjoying this one.
You tried to remember how many joints you’d smoked on this trip. The number fell somewhere between three and five. Making this one anywhere from four to six.
The hand was there again, patting your thigh.
– Let’s smoke this one in the truck. Driving with the windows down on a night like this. Nothing enhances it like being really stoned.
You couldn’t agree more. You wondered if you’d return home tomorrow as a pothead. You wondered if you’d lose It in the bed of a truck. You watched Lindsey run her tongue down the seam of the joint. It seemed like she did it the same way you had, only instead of a slobbery mess the jay became a perfect cone. Lindsey’s hand returned to patting you thigh, and she rose to her feet.
– C’mon, let’s go. That’ll give Clyde time to fall asleep.
You followed her outside. She was right. Clyde was hunched over on one of the coolers, nearly asleep. Lindsey bent over and whispered to him, telling him you’d be both be back shortly. You’re just going for a drive.
***
The passenger door creaked as she climbed in and you followed. You shut the door with an unsettling slam that seemed to wake the entire forest. You both rolled down your windows. Lindsey fired up the truck and the radio turned on. It was more classic rock. Tom Petty sang about his last dance, and Lindsey gave you the smile you had grown to love over the past twelve hours.
***
The truck bended and winded with the road. You climbed up instead of down. You started to light the joint, but Lindsey stopped you.
– Not yet. Wait until we’re at the top.
The cool wind and loud music began waking you up, sobering and clearing. Tom Petty finished, and Ringo started up. He sang about the garden beneath the sea.
The truck continued climbing higher. The stars were a blur. Lindsey’s hand continued resting on your thigh. You thought about what kissing her would feel like. You understood why you took this trip. You knew this would happen all along. You forgot about Clyde and only thought about losing It. Lindsey took her left hand off of the wheel and popped the truck back into second, leaving her right hand on your thigh. The truck groaned in its climb to the top.
Ringo sang about his friends beneath the sea. Lindsey belted out at the top of her lungs, and you joined her. She paused only to light a cigarette.
You felt the gravel slipping out from beneath the wheels. The weather fulfilled the promise it’d made earlier, and it began to rain. It was the Oregon rain you knew so well. The kind that began as a drizzle and in minutes transformed into a downpour. Monstrous drops slammed onto the windshield and rolled down onto the hood. It cascaded through the open window and onto your lap.
You noticed Lindsey’s driving lacked control, but chose to ignore it, for everything else was so perfect. You realized that there were never stars, just clouds. The rain was soaking your right thigh, while your left remained dry beneath Lindsey’s hand.
You couldn’t recall a longer Beatles’ song.
Lindsey came into another tight turn and refused to take her hand off of your leg. The truck went into a slide. You gasped for air and caught a mouthful of rain. You felt the back tires slip off the edge of the road.
– Shit. Fucking rear-wheel drive.
You looked behind you and saw that the truck was actually teetering on the edge of the valley hill. Lindsey took her hand off of your thigh. Your leg felt cold without it there. She kicked the transmission into first. You heard the engine try its best. Slowly, the dirt and gravel at the edge of the hill began to fall into the valley below. Soon, all of the mud was slipping and so was the truck. Ringo finished his song about the octopus’s garden. You considered that Clyde would have no ride back to town tomorrow. The clouds somersaulted towards you and then, away from you, as the truck rolled down the valley hill.
***
When the truck came to a rest it was in the creek below. Water lazily lapped around the edge of the bed. You looked out your window and saw nothing but mud. You looked towards the sky in order to see Lindsey.
She inhaled.
– Jesus fucking Christ. Holy shit. Are you okay?
Your head was throbbing so hard it felt like you may break a blood vessel. You were still drunk.
– Yeah.
You reached for the door handle, so you could get out first, but you remembered that the door had been smashed into the ground.
– Don’t worry about it. If this truck wasn’t worthless before, it is now.
Lindsey unbuckled her seatbelt and hugged the steering wheel. She swung her foot out from under the dash and kicked the rear windshield. The window only cracked at first, but with a second kick, the whole window fell out.
She crawled out first. You unbuckled and fell against the door. Lindsey offered you her hand. She yanked at your arm, but nothing happened. You hadn’t noticed your legs pinned by the dash. She reached further down and embraced you from behind.
You felt no tingling response. You smelled her rain soaked hair. Again, nothing.
You had felt sensations below your waist all day, and now, there was not even the slightest shiver. Lindsey pulled at your body and slowly you began to slide out, above the seat. You grabbed the top of the truck and helped pull yourself up. Your hands slipped on the wet cab roof. Lindsey’s feet slid on the wet truck bed. You and Lindsey snaked back and forth and you were freed.
You looked down and nothing stirred.
You knew that Lindsey would have to half step, half shuffle back up the hill and drag you behind her, but for now, the two of you remained hunched over in the rain. Cold rainwater pooled around your soaked jeans, but you didn’t feel anything. You leaned into Lindsey’s chest because you had no choice.
And to think, you almost lost It.
***
Marcus Lund
Marcus A. Lund currently lives in Portland, OR, where he is working on first novel. He graduated from Portland State University with a B.A. in English and a minor in writing. His work has appeared in 34th Parallel and Boneshaker: A Bicycle Almanac. Visit his website at http://marcusalund.net
Photo by Phineas H.
