I open the trunk and start to load up my arms with an assortment of bags. One duffle filled with clothes and toiletries. One backpack filled with snacks and a small bottle of vodka. One overflowing beach bag stuffed with half a dozen throw blankets. And lastly my sad little sleeping bag wrapped around a pillow.
Loaded up like a damn donkey, I trudge down the path, following the handmade signs directing me to the Darling Elementary Group site.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve finally made it to my destination.
My arms are trembling and I’m sweating my ass off despite the nearly freezing temperatures. Pretty sure that isn’t a good sign for how the next few days are gonna go.
Out of fucks, I drop my arms and let everything fall to the ground around me. I need to find Rebecca and find out which tent is ours so I know where to put my stuff.
Hands on my hips, I catch my breath while taking in the camp site. It’s not really what I’d been expecting. I’d pictured it as one big clearing, maybe near the woods, with all the tents in a circle. But that’s not what this is.
Dense forest has surrounded me since I pulled off the highway and the trees have only gotten larger the deeper I got into the park. And standing here, looking up, it feels like the center of nowhere, rather than an hour outside of The Cities.
The forest is blocking any wind that might be blowing, and the still air carries the voices of the people who are already here setting up.
Instead of one large clearing, there’s a couple dozen small ones. In each little circle of packed earth, a tent has been erected, forming a community of campers. Each tent is a different color and size, creating a sort of mismatched circus feel. And in the center of the cluster of camp sites is one large fire pit, circled by felled tree trunks that I’m assuming will be used as seating. There’s also a dozen or so picnic tables that have already been covered with coolers, sealed plastic tubs, and small camping stoves.
“Huh,” I say to myself. My dread lessens by a degree as I soak it all in. Then my eyes are drawn to the gravel path that winds away from the site. My gaze follows the trail up to a squat brick building and the large sign reading “Rest Rooms” above the pair of doors.
Damnit. I forgot about the communal toilets and showers.
Silver lining, there’s plumbing. And there’s a separate side for the men so I don’t have to worry about running into Mr. Olson, or any of the other men, in the showers.
I blow out a breath and focus back on the search for my tent mate.
It only takes me a moment before I spot her on the far side of the site. Her blond hair standing out against her bright red puffer jacket
Leaving all my stuff where it is, I head her way, waving at the other parents and students milling about.
“Elouise!” Rebecca greets me when she sees me approaching. “Oh, sorry, Miss Hall.”
I roll my eyes, “Hey, Rebecca. Or should I call you Cody’s Mom.”
She laughs, then looks down at my person, “Where’s all your stuff?”
“I left it over there.” I gesture behind me. “I didn’t want to carry it any further than I had to.”
“That’s what all these men are for,” she bats her eyes, and I snort.
I met Rebecca at the beginning of the school year when she brought her son in for the Meet the Teacher night before classes began. She’s single. A great mom. And always on the prowl for her next husband. Her words, not mine.
“I suppose I can help you carry your crap,” she sighs dramatically. “This is us by the way.”
My eyes move to the cute grey tent she’s pointing to. “Wow,” I pause to take it in. “It looks pretty nice.”
“My ex insisted on spending a small fortune on it. So, I insisted on keeping it in the divorce.” She shrugs, “But let’s be real, it’s still sleeping in a fucking tent.”
I laugh but can’t argue - because she’s not wrong.
I’m not a tall person, and I can see straight across the top of the tent, so there won’t be any standing up straight once inside. But it looks brand new, which hopefully means waterproof. And I like the teal-colored zippers.
There’s even a small overhang jutting out above the entrance, giving the few feet of dirt in front of the tent an almost porch-like feel.
“Welp,” I lift my arms then let them slap down against my sides, “shall we?”
True to her word, Rebecca helps me carry my crap over to the tent. But then she disappears, saying something about hunting down the gym teacher. Now, an hour later, my snacks are organized in the corner, my blankets are laid out – making up the saddest mattress in the history of mattresses – and my bag of clothing is half exploded in the corner.
Rebecca’s half of the tent is much more put together than mine. She has a thin inflatable mat under an expensive looking sleeping bag, with a faux fur blanket folded nicely across the top. Reaching over I poke at her pillow, and yep, it’s memory foam.