Last night was a lovely time.
My sister begins her third decade as a living creature on a planet circling the sun. She rents a cabin in the woods, hangs up tapestries and fairy lights, decorates the place with interesting rocks, invites friends, brings food. She’s got class.
It’s my responsibility to pick up a cake from the bakery. Was only slightly damaged in the drive on the way down.
When I arrive, there is already a rusted Ford parked outside. This is the hippie redneck crowd.
Inside, two of the boys are in a wrestling match on the bottom bunk. One of them is quitting nicotine, and is constantly telling everyone about how smoking is unhealthy and his body is a temple. Moments before, his conviction faltered and he asked to hit his friend’s vape. The friend, who continues to vape all the time, is stalwartly refusing to let him at the damn thing and is currently giving him a lecture on hypocrisy. With his thighs. Physical altercation ensues.
It’s good to see them.
Soon there are more – the slightly feral parkour enthusiast sweetheart, the quiet photographer who likes to go on adventures.
Campfire out back, in the shadow of the trees. A walk – first a steep downhill, soft pine needles. Creeping upstream along the bed of the creek, past the waterfalls, uneven pebbly shore, cracked and moss covered shale, steep crumbling walls of the gorge. Bare feet, cold water, pools much deeper than expected. Silhouettes inside a tunnel. Then back downstream.
The constant and specific auditory impression of a camera taking pictures. Happy awkwardness at the experience of being perceived.
My sister’s hair is short and red. Smoke curls from between her fingers. Easy smile, unfocused gaze, laughter in her eyes. She makes her way back up the hill towards the cabin.
I linger with some of the boys at the bottom of a hill. I need more time among the trees.
They ask me questions about her, as if I would know anything they haven’t already deduced. I can’t unravel the mystery for them. All I can do is provide a hint in the direction of context.
Campfire, again. Some of us leave to pick up pizza. The ones who stay download psychedelic music visualizers, lay our phones side by side, and watch the colors dance.
Fleetwood Mac, Allman Brothers Band, Marc Cohen, Billy Joel.
Munching on pizza, raspberry chocolate birthday cake, leftover lo mein noodles, cookies, churro flavored chips, sour cream & onion flavor, salt & vinegar. Green grapes, cold (best kind). A single shot of halfway decent scotch, because I felt safe there.
Red-orange glow of campfire flames, smoke in the eyes, harvest moonlight behind the trees. Chill of nearly autumn.
Sleeping in a cabin, at the edge of the woods.
Last night was a lovely time.
~
All photo credits in this post go to Ian McNamara.