Chapter Twenty-Nine
Am I good?
I was just fantasizing about my body becoming one with the earth so no, I’m probably not good.
“Yeah. You guys be safe.”
Damian stares at me a moment longer, but eventually nods, and gives me one more hug before they leave.
Standing feels like unnecessary effort, so I lower myself back down to the rocks.
I watch as the boys make their way up the beach, their broad figures receding from sight in the morning haze.
Once they’re gone, I walk on watery legs back to camp.
That swim really took it out of me, so I head to the Bunkhouse, where I try to nap.
But the air is stale, and the cabin walls are too close, and I start to feel claustrophobic. Maybe I’ll go for a walk.
The problem with being outside, though, is that it’s very people-y, and I’m not feeling very social, so I duck into the woods.
The cool quiet is a relief. I walk the periphery of camp, about ten feet inside of the tree line, close enough that I can see my fellow campers.
Everyone is languishing, swinging lazily in the hammocks, strewn about the beanbag chairs, like they don’t have a care in the world, which is baffling, because I feel one hangnail away from absolutely losing my shit.
I reach the edge of the forest, but I’m not ready to be among people yet, so I consider my choices.
I can retrace my steps back through the woods until I find myself once again behind the Bunkhouse, or I can head deeper into the forest. That I’ve never explored the area beyond the camp suddenly strikes me as strange.
Like when they take zoo animals out of their cages, but they still only pace the dimensions of their captivity.
I’m ready to roam.
I mean, not too far. If I think about it too much the forest morphs from a peaceful oasis into a menacing maze, so I don’t think about it. I just walk. After just a couple of minutes, I see a break in the trees, so I head toward the light.
It takes me to a small clearing, with three large log cabins. An old sign reads Camp Minisaabik Staff Accommodations.
The crew cabins.
My first instinct is to turn back, but then I remember there’s no one here to catch me. Still, though, I crouch slightly, tiptoeing on the gravel up to the door of the biggest one. I knock, which I know is stupid, and when no one answers, I let myself in.
The door opens directly into the main living space, which is full of stuff, but feels so empty.
There are six of those large, plastic folding tables you usually see at flea markets, set up in three rows of two, with four chairs in each row.
There’s an empty coffee mug with an Ewok on it, and a power bar on the floor.
In each of the three bedrooms, there are bunk beds, the same as the ones we have at the Bunkhouse.
I finger the sheets—they’re not as high quality as ours, which gives me a small flicker of satisfaction.
The bathroom is empty, except for a nubbin of soap on the bathroom sink.
The kitchen looks as if it was never used for anything more than making coffee—the cupboards and drawers are bare, save for the odd deposit of mouse shit.
This, I decide, must have been a work cabin.
I imagine rows of monitors set up on the tables, where our every move was being watched.
I imagine my own face on the screen. Was I convincing?
Did I ever really look like I was there for more than the money?
What decisions did they make when editing my story arc?
The thought of watching it all back when I get home makes me shudder.
The second cabin has a smaller living area, but more bedrooms and bunk beds, and feels more lived in.
As Kei and Damian reported, there are dishes in the sink, as well as a few random other things strewn around the cabin: a white tube sock with red rings around the top in a bedroom, a well-worn Harlequin romance on the coffee table, a phone charger plugged into the wall. Signs of life.
I’m exhaustive in my search for I’m not sure what. I open every cupboard, look under every bed, go through every drawer.
The third cabin is messier than the others. The fridge has some food in it, which I stuff into a shopping bag I find under the sink. There’s also a half-full bottle of vodka on the counter, which I know will make me a hero if I bring it back to camp.
This cabin has just two bedrooms, both with double beds.
One of the beds is neatly made, its duvet folded over at the top under the pillow.
The bedside table is stained with water rings, and there is a gold hoop earring.
Must be Gabby’s room. There is a used-up tube of foot cream in the drawer of the bedside table, and some makeup-smeared cotton pads in the garbage can.
All these signs of life with no sign of why she left. Where is she?
The other bedroom smells so much like Tyler’s cologne that I’m spooked.
It feels like he could be here, standing right behind me, breathing over my shoulder as he watches me look under his bed, pull open the closet doors, sweep back the curtains.
He’d laugh at me looking for him, frantically now, like I’m waiting for him to jump out and yell “Boo!”
But this room is empty, like the others. Tyler’s not here. No one is here.
I sink down on his bed. Where are they? Why did they leave? Now that I’m here, their absence is so definitive, so final. I wonder if Kei and Damian felt it too, when they were here.
I walk out of the bedroom, but before I pass through the door, I stop, turn around, and hold both my middle fingers up, long and defiant, to the ghost of the man who once occupied this room.
Fuck you, Tyler.
And then I see it. At first, I’m not sure if I see it, if maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. So I blink, squeeze my eyes shut, and then open them wide. I definitely see it. On the top shelf of the closet, pushed almost-but-not-quite out of view. A sliver of lime green.
I know that green.
I have to strain on my tiptoes to fully reach it, to wrap my fingers over the top of the lime green plastic Tupperware and pull it down, mindful not to tip it. I gasp as I look inside, my heart soaring as my brain registers the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
Our phones.
With shaking hands, I rifle through the box until I find my own.
I laugh as I pull it out of the box. I’ve never noticed how shiny it is, how sleek and powerful.
I squeeze the button on the side, holding my breath as I wait for the familiar logo to appear on the screen.
But it’s dead. Of course it is. I try a few others, all also dead.
I remember there was a charger in the other cabin, so I dash back over there.
I jam the charger into the jack and wait, blowing slow breaths through pursed lips so I don’t hyperventilate.
It feels like I’ve been waiting a long time for something to happen, but I don’t trust my own perception of time, so I wait a little longer.
Okay, it definitely should have powered up by now, but it’s still dead, a beautiful, useless brick.
I try another phone, counting in my head slowly to one hundred, but nothing happens.
I try another outlet, testing phone after phone, but I can’t get any of them to spark back to life.
I sigh, looking around. There is a coffee maker on the kitchen counter.
I flick its switch, and when the orange power light fails to illuminate, I understand: they turned off the power in the cabins when they left. Of course they did.
But it doesn’t matter. I’ll just bring them back to camp. We all still have our own chargers; we don’t even need this old one.
I take the main road back to the camp, practically skipping the whole way. I’m giddy with excitement. Is this what it feels like to be a hero? I have food! I have booze! I have phones!
As the clearing comes into view, I see a crowd gathered by the flag-pole. Perfect. I’ll make more of an impact with a group. I quicken my pace, imagining their shock and excitement when I tell them my news.
Individuals come into focus. Sue-Ellen, holding her flat iron in one hand, clutching Isa’s arm with the other.
Trina—is she crying? Probably. She’s always crying about something.
Harmony, hands on hips. And Kei, his posture hunched, his eyebrows knitted together.
They’re as tense and as miserable as ever—and I’m about to blow their minds.
“Guys, guess what?” I call, breaking into a full jog. “Look what I’ve got!” I hold the lime green Tupperware aloft. “Our phones!” I squeal.
I wait for the gasps and the cheers, the rush of excitement and praise as I tell them my story, about how I was this close to leaving, but in my final act of defiance, I ended up saving the day.
But no one moves.
“Guys, I have our phones!” I say again, my enthusiasm flagging as I clock that Sue-Ellen’s Resting Bitch Face has slackened into blank confusion. This stops me in my tracks.
“What?” I ask. Trina whimpers. “What’s wrong?” I breathe, barely louder than a whisper.
Kei catches my eye. Then he looks down at the ground to break the news.
“The power,” he says, his voice cracking. He coughs and tries again. “The power’s out.”