Bumps in the Night
Cody bids us adieu. He does not sleep with the tribe. “I’ll be over by that clump of trees that way if anyone needs me.” Speculative talk proceeds. Does he have a secret luxury cottage under that clump of trees? Will he be soaking in a hot tub, a glass of champagne in each hand and a babe under each arm while we are suffering?
Bedtime: I turn in, harboring a glimmer of hope that perhaps I can get some sleep. My tribe members are regaling one another with stories around the campfire and I enjoy the murmur of conversations. Until someone spots a centipede on the fire perimeter and a kerfuffle breaks out. The description of “..all those fucking legs” sends a twitch through my sleeping bag. By consensus, the decision is made to burn the little mother on a stick. The Buddha would disapprove but this somehow brings a wave of peace. I settle back down.
O:Dark AM. I don't know what the hell the time is. The stars are beautiful but blurry images. Perhaps this is the secret behind Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”? I didn't want to fall asleep wearing my glasses. That is, IF I can fall asleep. Two of my tribe members are snoring. My knit cap keeps slipping off. God bless my insightful hubby for bringing it - it is keeping what's left of my brain from freezing. I decided to pull the damn hat down to my mouth and pray that it swallows me and my filling bladder whole….
I tune into Jay’s rich, rhythmic breathing. His Montana hunting camp days are serving him well. I, on the other hand, regard Motel 6 as extreme roughing.
I am startled. There is a whooshing sound and and orange light fills my periphery. Whaaaaaa….is this the apocalypse? A hallucination? I hear the crackle of fire. I am somewhere between “I should take a look around and make sure the forest isn’t ablaze” and “Let it burn me. I am in hell already.”
The morning reveals the source. A tribe member, whose only bedding was a Mexican sarape, was trying to keep warm. “I use the hot rocks to keep me warm,” he says. Only, he pauses from his narrative, it burned a hole in my jacket. My gawd. My earlier Van Gogh musings have now gone Salvador Dali.
Cody appears, looking more refreshed than should be allowed. I start wondering if those braids are really an all in one wig complete with attached bandana. I picture a steamer trunk full of them - all neatly in a row. Cody is closing which color fabric hair ties he wants to wear. Oh, god. I am losing my mind. This is what happens when T doesn’t get fully caffeinated.
The day’s agenda seems innocuous enough. Until Cody mentions “smoking a bowl….”