CAMPING WITH AMY & ARTHUR BRYAN
CAMPING WITH AMY & ARTHUR BRYAN,
A SHORT STORY BY DARIAN JOHNSON, INSPIRED BY MY ANNUAL CAMPING TRIP.
"LOOK DEEP INTO NATURE, THEN YOU WILL UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING BETTER"
-ALBERT EINSTEIN
Almost like the way some movies begin, he woke up with things out of focus, mid-scene and the viewer has no idea what’s going on in front of them, or what part of the story they’ve been thrown into. He was laying belly-down with his left arm dangling over the edge of the bed in the direction of that unidentified pile of clothes, half of which seemed only to make it halfway off of his body. “Why is there caution-tape tied around those pants?”, he wondered, and it almost came out as a slur even in his thoughts. “I don’t know”, responded other brain, “and who gives a shit.” Only it was too late; already he was spiraling back into days prior to that hungover morning, remembering faces and events that led to epiphanies-and-boners galore. And he simply let himself doze back off to sleep as he thought about it.
***
“Already it’s ninety degrees out there”, came a girls voice from in the house. It was Amy talking about how hot it was over where they were going to be camping. It wasn’t even 11 a.m. yet, so he couldn’t help but wonder out loud, “why the fuck is it that hot…” But it didn’t matter, he was just making small talk because it was too early for conversation. Running on only a few hours of sleep with a ninety-mile journey ahead to ninety-degree weather, just waiting for the last of things to be packed, his attention was actually focused elsewhere. And he stood as he always did, with his innermost thoughts circling near the surface of his mind, trapped by other brain. “Maybe I’ll name you Arthur Bryan, ’cause it sorta sounds like other brain'”, he thought to himself, “Everyone should name their own subconscious; that would be cool. That would be like finding religion but without all the fuss, because the lord is your instincts, but with a name like one you’d give a car or an imaginary friend, and everyone’s rules are different”. He always seemed close to saying what was really going on in that head of his, but rarely did. That was probably for the best. Now he was thinking about freedom, and how anyone can decide to go anywhere–do anything–but so many have had a habit of falling into the comfort zones of their so-called homes. Then he started thinking about change, finding it ironic that people work to establish comfortable places to live which they call home, and it is there where they can limit the amount of change to a minimum, so long as they keep working. They can find a routine and feel safe and organize their things. What he found ironic was that life was not safe or organized. Yet it seemed to him people always resisted wanting things to change despite it being the very nature of our existence. This was the kind of shit he’d have floating around in his head while others were talking to him sometimes, which was why he kept quiet often. He had a very different line of thinking after all. Way out there type shit. But that is a whole ‘nother can of worms. It was just the suspense, really. He was eager to leave the city. And a bit nervous as well. Once a car is loaded up and it’s time to leave a place–a place where everything you know is–you can sense yourself entering this realm of potential, he wrote in his mental notepad. And then it was time to go.
***
As soon as the tents were pitched, good ole Arthur Bryan started giving him the mental tap on the shoulder. It was more than just a hint. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol for nearly two months, and it was time to break that vow. This was the wild, and by his reasoning that was the only appropriate way to behave there. It was civilization simplified into oh-so-many synonyms for satisfaction. Starting with a great ratio of sexy specimens to look at, and tons of time to look. No cell service. No city lights. No silly “likes”, or statements online. Nothing but an obligation to be. “Hey, can you grab me a beer from over there?”, asked one of the girls. He always had a corkscrew handy–always–so he was right there ready to join in with a cup of wine as the first of them began drinking. And it wasn’t long before livers were bombarded with intoxicating everything’s. Arthur Bryan’s plan was to get smashed and smash–it’d been a while since either. But he didn’t want Arthur in control of this trip, it was too important to leave in his hands. I’m taking the wheel on this one, other brain, he thought. He might put some of his super unstoppable moves down on his lady friends, but he wasn’t going to stress himself over it either. He would drink, but at a sensible pace, unlike some of his fellow mates. “Jacob’s definitely been on the floor about a dozen times now”, they all agreed later on. And eventually they were all the way turnt up, as the song went. One and all, bent until they could bend no further. “I’m spent”, one said, and went to bed. Others had done drugs that were a little harder to sleep on… And he was perfectly content to linger with the other night owls for a time, enjoying the static in the air just from looking at the fire, the girls, the far away stars, the girls, feeling the warm buzz of booze and banter, basking in smiles. But one by one they trickled off into their secret holes of anticipation. All the proud veterans of an accomplished mission. Until the next day…
***
The first thing he could recall was Amy sitting up in the sleeping bag next to him and screaming, “shooooees!!”, making extra sure that she elongated the “”oo” sound to really accentuate her lack of interest in getting them herself. It was her birthday, after all; hook a girl up with some fuckin’ shoes out in the woods, damn. “CREEK-FUCKING-HIKE!!!”, he screamed into the open air about an hour later, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster without any liquid encouragement. Once he’d digested enough of the same exact meal for the third time in a row and washed it down with an 11 a.m. glass of wine, Arthur Bryan’s intent was awake and set on mischief. In spite of the obvious Private Property No Trespassingsign, they all pressed on and went straight into Dickville. Oh look there’s some fuckin nude fucker, haha, Arthur injected. But again he didn’t have time for other brains juvenile shit amidst all the beauty. He needed to wander off on his own for a while to meditate away from the group. After clambering over a cluster of fallen branches and weird-angled trees, he came to a large rock in a stream aside a small network of waterfalls. Maybe here I’ll find the right balance between modesty and mischief, he thought, or maybe I’ll just go back and everyone will be naked. Then he wouldn’t have to do shit. But he would be the only one not naked. Well, Im sure not trying to be the only NOT naked one, he decided after spending several minutes staring at the stream, and went back to find the others. Knowing he might have to whip the dick out with lightning speed upon his return to avoid being alienated, he made the walk back with a steady sense of reassurance considering the years of jack-off experience under his belt. He was practically a guru, but of boners however; a true stroke of genius, minus the “of”. A real hand-in-hand-around-himself kinda guy. A bona fide manwithpenis. But everyone still had their clothes attached to their bodies when he rejoined them, much to his drunken disappointment. The hike they took, on the other hand, was one raw bitch! He got up places no one else could understand how to get to, which was how it had been ever since he was a kid. He marveled in it. It was like an old flame rekindled–a child on a playground which becomes their very favorite in the world after only one visit–using nature as his apparatus for adventure. He loved nothing else as much as that journey until its end. And he felt he hadn’t legitimately loved anything in a very long time. Not even the lips on that girl that kept smiling at him. Damn that’s a pretty smile, he thought to himself, I’m gonna have to tell her that later. And they all walked until their alcohol wanted to turn around because there was no more. If only more things were like this, he imagined. What a nice thought.
***
“You should just say you can’t come in to work, just fuck it, thug life pretty much”, Adam suggested. And pretty much “thug life” is exactly what happened. It was definitely Arthur Bryan’s doing; he’d only planned on staying one day, and here they were sunday NIGHT, the last of the troopers. Everyone else had long since gone home, back to city life. Actually, he was glad about that. He preferred smaller groups of friends, and each of the ones still present he specifically liked on a more personal level of liking for some reason or another. He appreciated those folks that he could relate to in life, even if only on occasion. One’s that wanted to really stretch out and savor those last moments out there away from all the mess. Drinking beer and wine and champagne and whiskey among other things not to be mixed wisely. It was a good thing he had gotten all of his tree climbing and rocky-landscape-parkour-shit out of his system the day before, because the only thing keeping him in his seat was the soreness in his ass and limbs. Arthur and the booze, on the other hand, were both insisting he get up and dance, and drink more, and do things he’d likely regret on a more sober day. On a sober day though, he may not have allowed the non-regrettable melted cheese kisses to find his lips (more than once). They even all played a game designed solely to make everyone in the circle kiss, or be kissed accidentally for not sucking hard enough. That’s right–for not sucking hard enough. Part of him is still there on that last night where bonds were made stronger, and understandings deeper. It’s as if he was rejuvenated by the encounter somehow, even though in reality he was dehydrated by it. To the point that even someone narrating his life might have a glass of water. Because any time he had an experience like this, he was sure to write about it. It was what he did, both in song and not. Things changed him within that hadn’t even been acknowledged yet. And as they finally pulled away from that lifestyle, he knew that even if he never came back to that special place, he would never forget camping with Amy and Arthur Bryan.
