Camping Out

My day was long and had worn on my nerves. Weary of being on call to a demanding job, parenting four daughters and the uphill battle of self-analysis I wished for another time, another place. Supper was a lost cause and my children were honing their navigating, contemplating, pondering and sassing adolescent skills. Night was closing in and their father was out of town when I threw up my hands.

Winter nights are cold in north Florida. Damp, piercing wind drives itself deep into your bones: joints get numb and the blood chills. Tonight was such a night and my two youngest daughters decided to sleep outside. Actually, it was G.G. who wanted to camp out and Jackie wanted to be there for moral support. Both suffered from Nature-Deficit Disorder so I did not disapprove.

They chose the fartherest corner of the back yard to set up a tent. It was a nice little nook of flowers and shrubs surrounded by trees and a dense hedge. Secluded enough to get that camping out feeling but close enough to the house to “rough it”. Proud that they could be trusted with such responsibility the sisters enthusiastically fashioned a mattress from six overstuffed TV cushions. I marveled at their teamwork and cautioned, “Remember, no one goes to the bathroom until the tent is fully stocked: it must be set-up by sundown which will be about 7:30 pm.” Flood lamps flickered into service before they finished.

Keeping an ear tuned to the sound of the wind blowing they settled in for the night with five handmade quilts, jackets, hats, thermal underwear, heavy socks, a battery operated Edison radio, a Coleman lantern, three flashlights, six peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, six Coca Colas, a thermos of hot chocolate, Oreos, a Bible, two Nancy Drew books, a mirror, a 2-way radio, a handful of magic stones, Raggedy Ann, Raggedy Andy and a dog named DAWG. It was warm and cozy under that one story picnic table with its thick handmade quilt walls and cypress roof.

Shortly after 9:00 pm I discovered the tent had been relocated to the center of the back yard. Crawling through damp grass to ask how come I hesitated when I heard Jackie’s loud whisper,

“ Heed my words, GG: As long as you’re close to the flashlight, the light will scare �em away, but if you need to go into the dark BEWARE OF RED EYES AND BLOODY BONES”….(loud screaming).

The probability of diarrhea and the urgency of a need to urinate is inversely proportional to ghost story time so I crawled back to the house.

Around midnight I was jolted from sleep by muffled sounds coming from the east entrance. Opening my eyes to shadows in the hallway I shouted, “Heah now, who is that?” The sounds grew closer. I reached for my flashlight but remembered the campers had it. Creeping down the darkened hallway to the nearest bedroom I inched my way to a shuttered window. Slowly I separated two silk curtains and pressed my nose against the chilled windowpane. Blinded momentarily by our home's exterior motion sensor lights I saw the tent was GONE!

Racing through the house I met the girls staggering through the door, their flashlights coruscating the dining room and shouting at an apparition that no one could see. “Mama, it wasn’t just us out there! I heard a bear growling”, wailed G.G. Jackie snorted saying, “Aw, G.G. you're such a baby – it was probably a raccoon and snakes wouldn’t have taken up that much room”.

“Y’all just get yourselves on in here and go to bed”, I yelled. “I swan I can’t believe you, two. What have you done with the tent”, I asked as I opened the door. There in all its glory was the picnic table shrouded in quilts parked flush against the back doorsteps.

Author's note: Continued with "The Spider And The Fly".