Campers	 Campers

 by Shay Sheridan

  

 

 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

Author and story notes above.