The Camping Trip I
Boy, I want you to be happy
Free to run, get dizzy on caffeine
Funny friends that make you laugh
And maybe you're just a little bit dappy
-- Glass Animals, Youth
The only place he could strum his guitar late at night was downstairs, just because of how close his room was to his parents’. He didn’t make that much noise, but the possibility of waking them up caused him to use the living room for practice—the furthest room from theirs.
Writing music wasn’t something he took very seriously; he vented on a page and strummed a tune that matched what he felt. He’d never showed his notebook to anyone or played any of his own songs. When people asked him to play something, which new neighbors usually did, he chose an existing song; the last one he’d listened to or the most popular one at the moment. He’d never even finished any of the lyrics he’d started; that wasn’t the point.
During one of those late-night venting sessions, while his hands plucked on the strings and his throat cooed a quiet sentence, there was a tap. It widened his eyes, heart hammering into his ribs. It’d been dull and distant, like fingers on glass. The demons in the hall approached the archway, watching him in the dark—had it been one of them? The lights in the living room were on, but the rest of the house was pitch black.
Sitting very still, he listened. A second later, there was another tap, just like the one before. Ethel? No, she was always upstairs, staring at his parents’ door. He’d seen a few of the others in the kitchen and some lost in the foyer, but none of them ever left the house. With his heart in his mouth, he got up.
A few tentative steps toward the archway allowed him to peek into the hall. The streetlights outside, despite how faintly they filtered in through the glass, allowed him to see the stairs, the kitchen arch and the corridor leading to the sunroom. The tap must’ve come from there. Quietly, he crossed the hall and ventured into the darkness. Shapes moved in his vicinity, long limbs brushing his arms, fingertips pinching his skin, but he pushed through. A shudder crawled up his spine—would they hurt him? Something skittered across the floor, but he didn’t turn to look.
The little lights in the backyard illuminated the three figures that stood on his porch, visible through the windows. Their sight drilled his feet right into the ground. He’d never seen these before. There wasn’t anything immediately wrong with them, but that was always how it went; they looked human until they didn’t. At a distance, their height always seemed normal and their limbs looked just about right, but as they got close, it became increasingly more apparent that no human could be that tall and that what hung from their sides weren’t arms at all.
Muffled laughter erupted from the three figures, familiar somehow, voices he’d heard before. The longer he stared at their shapes, the easier it became to recognize them, their hairstyles, their outlines. They hadn’t seen him yet; hidden in the shadows, he watched them pass a cigarette around and drink from glass bottles. Clearly trying to be quiet, they spoke in hushed tones, too distracted to notice him approach and open the door. The sound of the lock got their attention, heads turning to look at him. Even in the partial dark, he could see the grin on their faces, masks pulled down to smoke and drink.
“There he is,” Justin whispered. “Looks like we woke up the wrong one.”
“I’m sure Theo can still party, though.” The girl grinned.
“Yeah, of course I can!” He kept his voice down to match theirs, glad that these weren’t new apparitions he’d have to deal with from now on.
“Well, here you go.” Justin pulled a bottle out of a bag and offered it to him.
Theodore took it with no hesitation. He’d drunk before; he’d do it again. Beer wasn’t even that bad. “What’s that you’re smoking?” he asked, using the hem of his shirt to twist the cap off.
“It’s a party joint. The devil’s herb,” Laith explained, speaking with a smile that looked way too good on him. “Justin grows it in his backyard.”
“Just under my window, actually. I have to fence it so the dogs won’t eat it all.”
“Dogs smoking a joint?” The girl laughed. “I’d tattoo that.”
“I’d get it.” Laith grinned.
“Of course you would.”
A party joint, huh. Theodore had never smoked before, but Ryan’s cigarettes smelled too bad to make him want to try it. This one didn’t. “Can I try it?”
“Ryan would kill us.”
“What’s your name?”
The girl looked at him. “Emily.”
“And I’m Justin.”
“I knew that.” He brought the bottle up for a sip as the others snickered, muffled on beer bottles and half-parted lips.
Laith plucked the joint between his lips and sucked, making the cherry glow bright, a dull orange hue dancing over his face. Carbonation sizzled like butterflies in Theodore’s stomach, bottle back down.
“Are you guys going somewhere?” Theodore asked, watching the way his question got Laith’s attention, a faint haze over his eyes.
“The Dead Ponies.” Laith’s voice was dull, words spoken through the smoke. “Where we bury the Alvorada.”
There was that word again. “What’s that?”
“It’s a club,” Emily quickly cut in, speaking before her friend could. “We know some people there, so we show up sometimes. It’s good business; the only reason we even go, really.”
“And the pink shots,” Laith added, joint pulled away from his face. “The glitter and the shots.”
“I like the face paint myself, how it glows in the dark. Pink’s your color, though.” Justin took a swig of his beer.
“Damn right. Also, the men,” Laith continued, reaching toward Emily. “Definitely the pink, yeah, but the men. Men in pink. The Hollywood boys.”
Emily groaned. “Please stop being in love with those clowns.” She took the joint and puffed on it, eyes threatening to roll into the back of her head.
Justin smiled. “I mean, you have to agree they look really good in pink.”
“Listen, they’re a milestone. I’ll stop chasing the dream when I get it.”
Theodore’s eyebrows furrowed, pieces slowly falling into place. “You’re…?”
The circle looked at him.
A noise behind him, the sliding door opening further, fixed their glances over his shoulder, probably to see Ryan approach. Theodore didn’t care to look, heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach, painfully aware that his time had run out. Mournfully, he took a big swig from the bottle.
“What the fuck is this?” Ryan asked.
Theodore kept his face turned aside, hiding from his brother.
“Took you long enough.” Laith scoffed.
“We were waiting for you,” Emily added.
Ryan moved in the dark. Theodore couldn’t see him very well, but still managed to notice him trying to snatch the bottle from his hand. Luckily, his reflexes hugged it against his own chest, feet absently marching towards Justin.
“Who gave you that?” Ryan asked.
“It’s just one beer,” Justin rebutted, wrapping an arm across Theodore’s shoulders.
“He’s a kid!”
“Chill out, man.” Laith shuffled, but Theodore couldn’t see him; his face was turned towards Justin, bottle secured between the two of them. “Don’t pretend to give a shit now. That’s sad.”
“I do give a shit!”
“Oh, shut the fuck up.”
“Guys,” Emily tried, possibly stepping in between the two. “Let’s just go.”
“You don’t get to play the big brother after what you said,” Laith continued, louder now. “Own up to the rot in your soul, you disgusting sociopath. Don’t be a hypocrite like everybody else!”
Feet shuffled on the porch, more than just a pair, followed by the violent rustling of clothes—a fight. Theodore tried to look, but Justin kept him in place, hugging him tight. Blinded, all he could do was let Justin walk him back inside.
“Sorry about that,” Justin whispered.
As soon as Justin let him go, he looked out the window, but the others had already moved on, possibly to the side of the house. Justin walked back out and slid the door closed.
Laith liked boys. Theodore stood in the silence of the sunroom long after the others had left, beer bottle cold in his hands, eyes out at the lights that lined the backyard. Late at night, Laith had the same thoughts as him. Did he feel guilty about them too? The Hollywood boys—did he think about them? It didn’t sound like they were very close, but maybe he knew them to a certain degree, even if their involvement could only be achieved in his dreams. He didn’t seem like the type to feel bad about any of that though, so maybe Theodore shouldn’t either. Maybe thinking about Laith with other men wasn’t all that disrespectful, after all.
***
No matter what he did, he couldn’t get that night out of his head, events replaying over and over, Laith watching him with fog in his eyes. The life those guys lived was far too intriguing to keep him from speculating, as if he’d be able to simply go back to his day-to-day after so many revelations. Every time they met, it felt like they deliberately kept him at arm’s length, tantalizingly close, so Ryan wouldn’t get upset. Laith had accused him of being a sociopath, but then, half of what he said was totally incomprehensible, while the other half was a complete mystery. Who were the Hollywood boys and why was Laith so interested in them? The more he thought about that conversation, the more questions piled up in his mind.
Routine soon became far too bland to bear. No one in school was interesting; the boys were see-through and the girls were broken records, focused on the most prosaic guys he’d ever seen. Everyone was way too one-dimensional, too mundane; he needed something more, a thrill, people who spoke in riddles and made him question everything he knew, whose lives left him wondering where they’d be later that night, tomorrow and next weekend. Ghosts. Rats. Creatures in empty tunnels.
When hopping from the pool to the juice bar got boring, he asked his mother if they could travel somewhere. It didn’t have to be anywhere fancy, just a quick getaway so they could do something different. Without looking up from her magazine, she told him his father was too busy to travel. Well, couldn’t they go without him, then? Just him and her maybe, out for the weekend, visiting a park and seeing the lake there. She glanced at him with a slight grimace, eyebrows drawn together.
“Why don’t you ask Ryan?” She closed the magazine, index finger marking the page she’d been reading. “He hasn’t been around much, and anyway, I think you two could use some quality time together. You used to be so close.”
“You think he’d want to see the lake?”
“I’m sure he’d love to. Better yet, go camping; bring your tents and spend the night.”
His eyes grew twice their original sizes as a big smile cut across his face. He could barely stand still.
“But he has to promise to look after you,” she added, firmer than before.
“I’ll ask!” With that, he bolted up the stairs and barged into his brother’s room. His energy startled Ryan, who jumped in his seat, dark eyes wide at him. “Please come camping with me? Please? It’ll be cool, I promise. I’ll let you drink and stuff; I don’t care. We can swim in the lake!”
Ryan opened his mouth but didn’t immediately say anything, seeming to change his mind right on the spot, a pensive look falling over his face. He leaned back on his chair, thoughtful. “Alright.”
Theodore could’ve exploded. He thought that was the best news yet, but couldn’t have been more wrong; the surprise that awaited him was much, much better.
When the weekend came around, both Carolyn and Henry saw their kids off, waving goodbyes as they walked to the bus stop. Almost there, Ryan asked Theodore if their parents were still watching. Without a thought, Theodore glanced over his own shoulder to see the empty sidewalk in front of their house. He gave Ryan the negative and followed him straight past the stop. His pulse jumped.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
As soon as they turned the corner, Justin’s red truck came into view, shooting pure adrenaline up Theodore’s veins. They’d spend the weekend together.
When the others saw them, they hollered; Emily and Justin waved from inside the cabin while Laith stood on the bed, arms spread open, a beer can in hand. Seeing that, it struck Theodore just how much he’d never wanted to hug someone in his whole life like he wanted to hug Laith right now. Not just him, but Ryan too, although he knew his brother would probably use that to toss him in the middle of the street. Ryan climbed on the back with Laith, so Theodore followed, grin wide enough to split his face in two. Justin fired up the engine, the three of them took their seats, and they were off.
***
The camping site was gorgeous. He’d never been to this one before, despite it only being two hours away from his house. His family wasn’t very outdoorsy, and when they managed to go anywhere, it was always to nearby locations. Since his parents weren’t coming, they let Ryan choose the place; a dense forest on a hillside down to the lake.
The hike to the site was a little over an hour long with the heavy bags, made easier with conversation and laughter. Justin mostly led the way as the rest of them cracked jokes and opened beer cans. A joint got passed around as well, but Ryan didn’t let Theodore touch it, and no one really offered either. It was fine; he was just happy to be here.
Laith was the most talkative, striking parallel conversations as the main one took place, commenting on birds that flew overhead and small animals that scurried past. The others indulged him for the most part, even if certain comments from Ryan turned things sour every now and then. It never got out of hand, though; Emily had it covered.
They settled in a small clearing not too far from the lake and started to put the site together. It was imperative that they finished before sundown. Unfortunately, any view of the lake was obstructed by the trees that surrounded it, but if Theodore squinted, he could make out the blue of the water through the trunks.
Justin built a fire pit while the others pitched tents around it. Theodore had never pitched one before, and in trying to help, just made things more difficult for Ryan, who was actually getting somewhere with it. Laith had no problem with his, and when he was done, cracked open a beer while mocking Ryan. There was no ill-intent behind it, but Ryan wasn’t in the mood; arguments broke out just as fast as Emily ended them. Annoyed, she told Laith to go pick up some rocks for the campfire, and since Theodore was just making Ryan angrier, he got told to do the same. Green eyes caught sight of him from across the site and a quick nod toward the trees got him to follow Laith out.
“Two rangers off on a mission!” Laith’s enthusiasm was captivating, voice loud in the forest. “What deeply rooted trauma will they remember and then immediately repress again?”
Theodore’s laughter echoed across tree trunks, leaves swaying in the wind. “Falling down a big hole,” he speculated, crunching up sticks as they walked. “Getting stuck in the bottom of a well… covered in dirt!”
“Getting saved only ‘cause you learned how to swim in the womb. The well fills up and you float to the surface. Rainwater.” Laith tapped his own head. “The animals love it.”
“You wake up with a cow licking your face and repress it. Their tongues shape your nightmares.”
Laith laughed, loud and boisterous. It reverberated across Theodore’s ribs, a nice feeling. “In the hole like Alice, except you’re not on acid, you’re being buried alive. Down with the roots—you’re cataleptic! It’s an anonymous burial. You get the trenches, the communal graves. No one even knows you’re out of bed.”
“An honest mistake, or did the butler frame it all?” Theodore hummed.
Patches of sunlight shone through the leaves, peppering Laith’s body in light, moving over the black of his clothes.
“You shouldn’t have told him about your inheritance; now you have insurance in your name and you don’t even know it,” Theodore continued, unafraid to act silly. “The payout has doubled—he’s hit the jackpot. You don’t even get a coffin.”
“Sleeping with the maggots.” Laith sounded incredibly serious for the nonsense that came out of his mouth. “Your best friends are microscopic.”
The two of them laughed. The lake became steadily more visible as they approached, the soft crunching of soil turning into a bed of stones.
Laith crouched and picked up a rock big enough to cover his entire palm. “If we can find more like this, we won’t burn tonight.”
“If we do, we can safely accuse foul play.”
“Oh, oui, j’accuse. Your brother would do it.”
Theodore shrugged, eyes down on the rocks that littered the lakeside. That comment swiftly undid the silly mood from just a moment ago, allowing a heavier atmosphere to fall. With a weight in his stomach, he approached the lake and knelt to gather some rocks, fingers dipping into see-through water.
A few paces away from him, Laith’s boots crunched some stones—the sound got his attention, eyes glancing up to see him toss a pebble onto the lake. It skipped twice before sinking.
“What’s going on between you and Ryan?” Theodore asked, sitting on the balls of his feet.
Laith played with one of the rocks. “Ryan’s a skeptic. He thinks the world’s out to get him, like we’re not all being targeted. A disagreement is a death sentence.” Laith turned to look at him, green eyes soft on his face. “Don’t you feel like he hates you sometimes? Not just anyone, but you specifically. He has this dismissive way about him that makes you feel loathed.”
Theodore’s eyebrows furrowed, head cocked to the side a bit.
“I’m overreacting,” Laith quickly concluded, shoulders bouncing into a shrug. “All we ever want is attention. I guess when someone’s getting it, it makes you feel worthless, because it could very well be you, but you don’t know the tricks and you can’t perform the lines—a failed spectacle. On stage, you think you’re a jester, but you’re really a clown. It’s your own parade.” He glanced at the rocks in his own hands. “How many do you have?”
Theodore counted them up. “Four big ones and five smaller ones.”
“I think we have enough.”
Theodore’s legs stretched, springing him up. His arms were full of stones, held together against his shirt. Laith carried his collection the same way. The outside of his right arm was now etched with flowers that crawled up to his elbow, black and white, in a very delicate and beautiful trace. Every time they saw each other, he’d sprouted more tattoos. The tank top that he wore let Theodore catch sight of the full designs that usually poked from under his sleeves, the forest on his right arm and a three-headed horse on his left shoulder with some numbers underneath. He wondered if any of them meant anything.
They ventured back into the forest. Peace filled the atmosphere as Theodore walked next to Laith, so fond of someone he didn’t know, who thought his brother was a sociopath. Laith had his reasons, and somehow, they’d resonated with him too. Not to the point of accusing Ryan of anything, but that dejection had struck a chord with him. One he refused to acknowledge any further.
“On stage…” Theodore started, pensiveness on his brow, “do they ever throw you flowers?”
“Sometimes. Those are the good days, when I remember the lines and don’t trip over myself. I’m wearing a stiff suit and talking like somebody else. Performance art, impersonations—impressionism!—but they don’t see the difference. You act like DiCaprio so much you start thinking that’s who you really are.”
“And when the curtains drop?”
“They’re lined with mirrors. When they drop, you realize the Pierrot looking back is you. That’s what we call a successful closing act. The tips are extraordinary.”
“At what cost?”
“That’s up to you.”
At the camp, all tents had been set up and the food containers had been stacked near the fireplace. The group had lined the ground with sticks and logs to sit on and was now passing a joint. The very center of the site had remained untouched; a hole made of dirt where the stones would go.
“Were you lost?” Ryan asked, smoke blowing out of his mouth. “Or sucking each other off?”
As his face burned, Theodore decided not to look at his brother and quietly crouched by the future fire pit instead. The rocks rolled down his arm to fall into the dirt.
“If you care to know, we were discussing philosophy and the art of impressionism. Your brother is a modern-day Plato. Sans slaves, of course,” Laith spoke while taking a seat next to Theodore, dumping more rocks in.
Ryan scoffed. “What fucking philosophy? You’re practically illiterate, dog. You can’t even spell the word without Emily’s help.”
“Says the elite of fucking art design.” Laith shook his head. He sat with a leg outstretched and a hand on the ground, turned toward Ryan.
Caught in between them, Theodore simply rearranged the stones so they lined the bottom of the firepit, hands shaking.
“In the hierarchy of literacy, you’re not that far up either, Mr. I can spell the word philosophy. I bet your parents don’t even consider art to be a legitimate degree anyway.”
“You work at a fucking record store, bro. What the fuck do you know besides carrying boxes in and out? Are you having dinner with my parents or something?”
Laith laughed, but it was dry this time, a subtle change. “If I were fucking your dad, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now; I’d be driving a Maserati in Ibiza.”
Ryan scoffed again. “You’re so fucking disgusting.”
“Can we just have some fucking barbecue?” Emily’s tone was a combination of extreme vexation and fatigue. “If you guys are gonna do this all weekend, I’m just gonna bounce right now. Spare me the headache.”
“Nah, we’re cool,” Laith reassured her, leaning closer to the fire pit. “I’m just gonna get some sticks.”
“Suck Ryan off on the way out,” Justin snickered, getting a scoff from both of the guys involved, except Laith’s was good-humored.
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