Disclaimer:

Author's Notes: Thanks to my friends at ds_flashfiction.

Story Notes: Written for the "Canoe" Challenge at Due South Flashfiction.

CAMPERS

"But you said!"

"Shut up."

"C'mon, Pop, you said we'd go this time. You promised!" Ray hated the whine in his voice, but he couldn't stop it. "You promised!"

"Shut the fuck up."

"But you-"

SMACK!

Inside, he knew it was coming, but he didn't duck, he couldn't, because he was too frustrated, too upset, too disbelieving that once again his father had screwed up their plans. The open hand caught him in the side of the head, close to his ear, and instantly Ray started to hear bells that chimed along with the throbbing pain in his face.

"Aw, Pop, why'd ya have to do that?" He knew he should shut up, but even at eleven years old Ray couldn't let things go. "All I wanted to do was go camping, like you promised." *I want to be with you,* he didn't say. Why don't you want to be with me?

But his father wasn't listening; he was already at the door, pool cue in hand. Ray rubbed at the ache and watched him go, heard the car start up and squeal away. Ma appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her rough hands on a dishcloth, but when he looked at her, she shook her head and tsked at him. "Raimundo," she said quietly, "Don't aggravate your father," and without another word went back to making sauce.

"Fuck," Ray said. "Who wants to go fucking camping anyway?"

"Ray said a bad word!" his sister Maria called as she passed him on her way upstairs to hog the bathroom. "Ma, Ray said f-"

"-Shut up!" Ray shot back, but the way he said it reminded him too much of his Pop, so he clamped his mouth closed and slammed out the back door into the yard.

It wasn't much of a yard, just a fenced-in rectangle with a jumble of rusted car parts, a leaky inflatable pool and the remains of a swing hanging from the biggest tree. Ray walked over to the swing and sat down heavily, hearing the rusty chains squeal but not giving a rat's ass if the whole thing splintered and collapsed and he ended up with a broken neck. He closed his eyes and pushed with his feet until the swing was rocking back and forth, the movement causing a gentle breeze to pick at his hair and ruffle the neck of his tee shirt. He wondered if it felt like this out on a lake, if the movement of canoe on water felt anything like this. If he kept his eyes closed and pretended really hard that the air smelled like water, maybe, just maybe he could get an idea what it was like to be alone with his father out in the middle of a lake, singing camp songs, catching fish, maybe planning to roast a marshmallow or two. Maybe-

"Who'm I kidding?" he said, jamming his feet in the dirt so hard he almost fell off the swing. His eyes blinked open, and maybe they felt a little wet, but screw that! He was more angry than hurt, sure he was. *I hope he loses his game,* Ray thought. I hope he smashes up the car. I hope he fucking dies. I hope-

"Ray?"

A small hand was tugging at his sleeve, and he yanked away. "Leave me alone."

"Ray!"

"What do you want, Frannie?"

His younger sister's hair was perfectly divided into two pigtails, and her dark eyes were serious. "I made, um. I made you. . ."

"What?" he said, with irritation. He had no time for some stupid seven-year-old's games.

"Come on." She pulled at him again, hard enough to get him off the swing, and he rolled his eyes and followed her, because even if he wanted to punch her out he'd only have hell to pay later, and this time Ma would get in on the act. Better to just go along with Frannie, because she was more stubborn than any of them. Truth was, he liked her better than Maria, most of the time, but maybe that was because there was only eleven months between him and Maria. "Okay, pipsqueak. What stupid thing do you want me to see?"

"I made this for you," the small voice said.

Frannie had tied a piece of clothesline between a tree and the corner of the fence, and thrown a sheet over it, pulling out the sides where it hit the ground and securing them with rocks. Two of Ma's favorite parlor cushions were on the ground underneath. The whole thing sagged and looked like somebody's old laundry thrown on a dump.

Ray looked at it, and it took a moment, but then he figured it out. "It's a, it's a-"

"-Tent!" Frannie finished, proudly. "You were going to go sleep out in a tent with Pop, but he, he couldn't go, and I thought. . .I made you a tent." She bent over and pointed inside. "See? There's room for both of us. We can tell ghost stories. But not too scary, okay?"

It was suddenly very difficult to say anything, but he tried anyway. "You made this for me."

'Yah. Do you like it?" Her brown eyes were hopeful, and she held her lower lip between her teeth.

"Sure, Frannie." He felt like giving her a hug, but he didn't because it wasn't cool and guys didn't do that to their little sisters. "Oh, yeah," he said, smiling kindly at the mess she'd created, "It's perfect."

And for that moment, much to his surprise, it was.

End Campers by Shay Sheridan: RedChance@aol.com

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