INDIE: Knock knock knock
It’s the only thing my fried brain can come up with. I blow my nose again while I wait for him to respond. I see those blessed three dots that indicate he is typing and bounce my knees while I wait.
JOE: Hi, friend
JOE: See how I can respond to three knocks without attacking you with colored powder?
I can’t help but laugh, even with these dumb tears blurring my vision. Joe is exactly the person I need right now.
INDIE: Please get me out of here.
JOE: Uh oh. Where are you?
INDIE: I’m in my mom’s bathroom
I tack on a crying face emoji so he doesn’t picture me in this bathroom doing activities that require entirely different, more embarrassing emoji. I’ve reached my humiliation quota for the day.
JOE: That doesn’t sound good. What happened?
JOE: Who do I need to destroy?
INDIE: Half of the internet. Tonight has been hard.
The three dots come and go a few times before his text comes in:
JOE: I’m on my way.
I send a “thanks” in response and scuff my sandaled feet on the tile for a few minutes, listening to my mother answer questions about her outfit and where we’re staying. I need to sneak out of here before she’ll notice me leaving or before Joe knocks on the door. I tiptoe through the room and slip my bag off the credenza by thedoor. Twisting the knob, I hear a rumbling engine that means Joe is here.
I silently pull the door closed behind me and dart to the front seat of the Bronco. The top is gone again, which means it’s going to be a windy ride. Perfect. Fresh air and Joe are just what I need to get my head on straight. I climb inside with a mild feeling of déjà vu. I’m running away again.
“Go. Can we please just drive?”
His hand covers mine on the seat and he squeezes. “You got it.”
We’re twenty minutes down the road and I’ve been swiping at tears the entire time. It’s chilly tonight with the wind whipping around us, but luckily I don’t think Joe can hear my sniffling because of it. He has been patient and quiet, shifting gears in that distracting way of his, with his other arm slung over the wheel. There’s nothing around us but desert when we pull onto a tiny road that leads to a reservoir, which I only know because there was a small, faded sign at the entrance.
“Hold tight,” he says, jumping out and lowering the tailgate.
I watch as he unloads his big camp chair and unfolds it next to an empty fire ring. Next, he unloads a stack of firewood. I like where this is going. I remember that I want to learn how to do what I think he’s about to do, so I jump out and gather a few pieces of the firewood from the back of the Bronco. It’s a lot heavier and scratchier than I thought it would be, and I’m only wearing a tank top.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He catches up to me, scooping the wood from my arms.
“Helping.” I might have a few splinters in my arms from the five seconds of help I gave. “You promised you’d teach me how to do this, remember?”
“That’s right.” He stacks the wood in a neat pile outside of a fire ring. “Well, get your butt over here.”
I kneel on the sand next to him, waiting for instructions. He crouches next to me and for the next several minutes gives me detailed directions on how to build a teepee fire. Before we light it, he shows me a few other ways to stack the wood and kindling for different purposes like cooking.
“I promise you I will never cook anything over a campfire.” I say with a laugh. “I can barely cook in my full kitchen at home. Can I just do the teepee thing for tonight?”
“You’re the boss. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I make a neat pile of tinder and kindling, propping the wood around it while he watches. I love the feeling of his eyes on me while I practice what he taught. I want to be the perfect campfire student. “How’s that, Obbs?” I’m proud of my little teepee.Where’s my merit badge?
“Perfect. Let’s light it up.” He explains how to hold the matches underneath and blow softly enough on the tiny flames to make them catch, but without blowing them out.
I try to do it exactly like he said. I lean over the teepee and blow short puffs of air on the tinder, holding my hair away from my face to keep it away from the fire. The flames don't catch at first and I have to rearrange the tiny scraps of wood and try again. But after I do, the tinder catches and flames lick up the kindling until I see the bottom of the larger pieces of firewood start to burn.Triumph!
