Dark

A beer can is whipped into the fire. The fire dissipates and grows back, swallowing the can. It sprays Benny, plus Bentley and his guitar. I look up from the mesmerizing fire. Dave is standing at the back of a camp chair with his arms resting on the top. His short brown hair is barely visible from the light of the fire. “You’re uninvited, Dave.” Benny jokes.

 Dave pulls himself up from the chair and walks toward his tent. His black shirt makes him blend into the darkness. His wife follows behind him, demanding they go on a walk. Their voices disappear in the woods. 

I look up at Alex and Bentley. Bentley gets up and walks off, his boots clodding the ground with every step. There is a slight strum of strings as he puts his guitar away. I look towards the canopies, Chris gets up and goes into his camper. The heel of his boot hits the step as he goes up. 

The footsteps of Dave and his wife fill the silence. They stop behind my chair. I feel Dave rest one hand on the back of my chair, and the other on the chair next to me. He draws in a deep breath. “Sorry, guys, for the way I acted. Someone wasn’t being very nice and...and I just snapped.” 

The camper door is flung open and Chris steps out. He shines his flashlight on Bentley, Dave, and I playfully. I feel Dave’s hands lift off my chair, almost pulling it up. He yells, “What the hell are you doing? Get that out of my face!” Chris starts to back up and turns his flashlight off. With each step, I can hear the whoosh of his jeans against each other. 

Bentley yells, “Dad, stop!”

Dave keeps walking closer and closer to Chris, repeating, “You wanna fight me? Huh? Let’s go, come on!”

Through Dave’s yells, Bentley is pleading for his dad to stop. The other teens gawk at the two men, waiting for a fight to break out. Dave’s wife places a hand on his shoulder and pulls him away, diffusing the fight. Once again, they walk off into the darkness. 

Chris turns on his heels and starts a 4-wheeler. He hops on and speeds away, his black hat nearly flying off. I listen to the rev of the engine until it ceases to echo off the mountains. Several of the teenagers stand up and go to their tents to settle down. 

The boys that are left start talking. I sit still and am once again hypnotized by the fire. I hear bits and pieces of what they were saying, but try to tune it out. They are trying to sound cooler than they are. 

I stand up and leave, they sound too much like my father. I duck inside the canopy and sit down in an empty chair. I hold the tears in, hoping no one notices. Ryan stands up and walks over to the campfire and James follows suit.

Off in the distance, I can hear the rev of the engine again. It comes closer and flies past us before turning around. Chris comes back into camp and parks the 4-wheeler. His black beard was a little ruffled. 

Somewhere in between, James went into Dave's tent. I can hear the hum of their voices. Chris’ footsteps slowly fade, but before they completely fade, they stop. I hear the zipper of Dave’s tent slowly open. “Hey, my hands are up, don't shoot.” I peer under the canopy’s fabric into the darkness. The zipper is shut and Chris’ voice is part of the hum. 

The door opens, and I hear all three men's footsteps seep deeper into the darkness. A few minutes later, they return. Dave asks for his boys to go to bed and Benny follows. The remaining people under the canopy go over and claim seats by the fire. Ryan, Chris, James, and I sit and stare at the remaining coals. They glow light and dark and back to light. I look up, everyone is mesmerized once again. 

Chris stands up. “Good night, y’all, I better go to bed.”

Several good nights come from the remaining men, and I quietly join in. I watch Chris open the door to the camper and step inside. The door closes behind him, almost hitting his boot. He takes a deep breath in the camper to keep from bursting out and settles down. I look back to the coals. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryan get up and walk over to his tent. James and I sit and watch the fire. Neither of us says anything. I grab one of the marshmallow sticks and put it in the fire. I wait a few minutes and pull it out, the two prongs are glowing orange. I stick it back in the fire and relax in my chair.

Hearing the camper door open, I glance at it. Chris walks out with heavy feet and the door slams behind him. "Not okay." a few seconds go by, "not, okay." He keeps repeating "not okay" and disappears behind the truck. His footsteps stop,  "I am not okay." His soft sobs leak from behind the truck. 

In between sobs, I can hear rustling. Like he's struggling to take something out of his pocket. Fear paralyzes me as I realize what he's about to do. I want to stand up. I want to stop him, but I remain seated. James is oblivious as to what he's about to do. I open my mouth to say something but the cold chill in the air takes my breath away. I go to stand up but my legs are too weak. Instinctually, my elbows sit on my knees and rest my head in my hands. 

I hear a click. Without realizing it, my body is moving towards the sound. I don't reach the truck before my knees buckle at the deafening bang. I find my footing and slowly walk to the other side of the truck. I hear camper doors open and footsteps flood out and follow me. 

A lifeless body lays crumpled on the ground. A pool of blood drips slowly from one side of the head. Chris' wife walks over and lays a hand on the hat loosely placed on its head. She grabs the body's hand. I can hear someone dial three numbers on their phone and the ring of the phone fills the silence. The ring fades away with footsteps and all I can hear is the mumbling of a conversation. 

Chris' wife begins to speak. "Who… who did it?" 

I look up at her red, tear-covered face. "He did it," I say in barely a whisper. These words make me want to vomit.

She asks again, "Who?"

This time the words are a little stronger, "He did it." I feel tears stream down my cheeks. I repeat the words but they fade away with the chill of the breeze. 

I start thinking, maybe if, but stop myself. I know I will blame myself and it's not my fault.  

Everyone is still around the body. Some people sit, others stand. My knees become weak again as the shock goes away. I sit down, tears still streaming down my face. 

Someone takes off on a 4-wheeler. The rev of the engine continues into the distance. Sirens can barely be heard through the trees. The rev of the engine slowly becomes louder and flashing blue and red lights are visible. 

I look down. My legs have relaxed and my knee is touching the body's hand. I don't, can’t, won’t move.

The lights on the ambulance and police cars are blinding. I close my eyes and rest my head in my hands. I feel someone touch me on the shoulder and look around. I am the only person still there. I look up to the person touching my shoulder. They are wearing a pair of blue plastic gloves. Their hair sticks messily out of their hat with big red letters "EMT" written across the front. Their face is neutral, trying to keep overwhelming emotions back.  

I stand up, peering back one more time. The gun lays a few feet to the body's left. One hand is on its chest and the other outstretched to me.

The hand guides me to a double chair under the canopy. Chris' wife sits on the other side, staring blankly into the darkness. Red and blue flash on her face. I rest my head on her shoulder and watch the tears soak into her shirt.