I couldn't go to bed last night because there were people in the shower.
That was the best answer I could come up with when Beverly stomped out of her tent, haphazardly dressed in uggs, sweats and ratty amber bed head. It was probably six in the morning, and she was the first of the campers up, except me, but I had been up all night.
Family vacations were an extreme rarity in my childhood. I was pretty content, being an only child, to spend my time not spent in school absorbed in my imagination. My back yard was kind of magical wonderland where I was king, and so having to stuff a cranky family into a car to go somewhere else to relax was an odd concept. But occasionally another family would reach out to us and we would agree on a big family camp-out. These “family oriented” campgrounds were far from “roughing it” or anything I really consider camping these days. Their idea of nature survival necessities included such items as pools, large-screen tv rooms, ice cream vendors, and full service showers.
By the time I was in sixth grade, the Majors family, of whom Beverly was the mother, had been a staple of my family's 4th of July parties and Uno nights for quite some time. I'm not sure how our families knew each other, other than our fathers were some how connected, probably through work as is how most of these things happen. The Majors father Charles, as his name might imply, was really an all-American family guy, worked hard all his life, four kids, white picket fence, and probably a boat by now. Their youngest child and only daughter, Penny, was my babysitter, and the only one I had any kind of connection to. But when she wasn't being paid to show me Nightmare on Elm Street movies, she was more interested in things like high school.
I was relieved when Beverly came out of the tent, because I knew my ordeal was finally over, but I had no idea what I was going to say, or how I would explain the events of the evening. I had been exposed the elements all night, and I felt like a block of ice, seated in a cheap camping chair half folded in on itself, barely able to move. Meanwhile, the Majors kids were tucked away twenty feet from me inside my dad's camper truck, where I was supposed to be, asleep on the hard truck-bed, in my sleeping bag with them.
Are you okay, honey? Do you need some cocoa?
I just nodded and grunted yes.
Looks like you're not having any luck with this campfire. Let me help you out here.
The magic concoction of camp fire, boiling water, Swiss Miss cocoa powder, the steam rising up to my face thawing my frozen nose which could sense its chocolaty goodness, and the sweet warmth touching my lips and spilling into my body, almost instantly rejuvenated me.
So, tell me again, what are you doing up so early?
The inside of my brain was quickly unreeling the events of the evening and piecing together the random images that flashed before me... my substitute English teacher, bees, ghost showers. I some how knew that what my brain was telling me must be false, and yet it wasn't a dream. At some point, I was speaking Greek. I hadn't thought about how I might explain it, so I just let the words float out.
All your kids are in the back of the truck. That's where I'm supposed to be too. We all got the idea to sleep in the camper, scrunched up like sardines in the bed of the truck. I waited until the fire had burnt out before going to bed. Only, when I got to my sleeping bag, it was ice cold, and I literally could not get in it. The whole bag had been zipped open, and the insides were pressed up against the cold sides of the bed of the truck, and the whole thing was an ice sheet. I thought if I could re-start the fire, then I could get my body warm enough to thaw out the sleeping bag, and then I'd be set. I was already pretty cold, as the camp fire stopped giving off any kind of effective heat long before it went out.
This is when I discovered, of course, whatever it was I thought I knew about camp fires was wrong. Between all the lighter fluid and starter logs we have, I thought for sure, something would start. But I kid you not, nothing. And we need some more lighter fluid by the way.
That's when I headed for the bathrooms. I figured if nothing else, I could at least get shelter from the elements by being in there, and maybe even crash on one of the benches in the showers.
But guess what I found when I went into the bathroom.
People taking showers.
It must have been 2 or 3 in the morning by this point. I just kind of hung back, and carefully gazed to see if I could make out what was going on in the showers. I could see the steam, and feel the humidity in the air, I could hear the splashing of water. I could see images of people in the showers.
But that was just it, they were images, not real people. The closer I'd get to them, the cloudier everything would get until I'd realize I was inside the stall, and whoever I thought was there, was definitely not there. But as soon as I'd leave the stall, they'd re-appear. I somehow thought that my being in the shower stall prohibited their shower taking, and so I stayed in the non-shower part of the bathrooms.
That's when the handyman would come in and start making repairs to the toilet. Every ten minutes, I looked it up on the “maintenance log” on the bathroom door. You could see it, 3:10, 3:20, 3:30, 3:40, all with his big fat “XL” initial next to it. His name was Xavier Lopez. But like the ghost shower'ers, he'd just kind of evaporate if I'd get too close.
Oh, honey, this is fascinating. Keep talking to me while I start making breakfast. I think I can hear Charles waking up.
I followed her around while she gathered various breakfast goods out of a cooler and turned into Betty Crocker camping edition.
And so I'd go back and forth between the bathrooms and trying to make more camp fires. I learned to expect the shower people and Xavier while in the bathroom, and even after a while, came to enjoy their company.
How do you want your eggs, hon?
Scrambled, thanks.
Anyway, and this is the crazy part, I was here, by the fire ring, when out of no where appears my English teacher. Actually, he's my future-permanent-substitute-teacher for my English class. He was a well known sub who I've had in all sorts of classes, like Math and History, and even Social Studies and PE last year. Anyway, he's a well known and liked guy, and he had been picked to be the replacement for Mrs. Elbie who was going on maternity leave. Actually, this entire trip I've been hoping that Mrs. Elbie has been in the middle of a very long and painful labor, and when we get back, we'll have Mr. Caspers for the rest of the year. That Mrs. Elbie is such a bitch. I can't wait for her to be gone. She once said she “cured” somebody of homosexuality. (Okay, that last part I didn't say, but I wish I could have without bursting into tears or being horrifyingly embarrassed.)
Good morning honey! Do I smell eggs?
AND COFFEE! (hand me the instant, darling.) Morning Pumpkin! Do you want bacon or sausage?
Both!
What about your cholesterol?
Do you have to talk in front of everybody, darling?
It's just RD. Did you let the dog out to go pee yet?
Good morning, RD! Yes, we're going on a walk now.
Morning Chuck.
Sorry babe, you were saying...
So my future English teacher is standing in front of me, and he decides it's time for Greek lessons. No kidding. Greek.
BOWSER, COME! COME BOWSER COME! COME ON! AWWWW, GOOD BOWSER!
Ah-hem. Besides Alpha-Beta, I know next to nothing about the Greek language. I know I believed whatever he was saying as being Greek, and that I was repeating what he was saying. So as far as I can tell, I was speaking Greek. I'd be curious to know what I really sounded like, of course, but we really got into some good vocabulary lessons.
Charles started making a spectacle of their giant dog running towards them. His ability to get into full blown ridiculous puppy talk was embarrassing even at low doses.
BOWSERWOWSERBOWSERWOWSER! OH BOWSER, YOU DON'T SPEAK GREEK, DO YOU? NO BOWSER. ALPHA-BETA-WETA-CRETA-METAPHETASETAGEISHAFACIARASIR-WAWAWAWAWA... COME ON BOWSER, LET'S GO FOR A WALKIEWALKIEWALKIEWALKIEWALKWALKWALKIEPOOOOOO.
...and so I left my English teacher by the fire pit when I realized my mom's car was still unlocked, and I could just get in there to get warm.
ARE YOU TAKING BOWSER FOR A WALK, DAD?
One of the Majors kids had propped up having heard the dog being called, and appeared at the rear window of the tail gate.
YES SON, WE'RE GOING NOW.
WAIT FOR ME, I'M COMING.
But you'll never guess what...
PAUL, ASK PENNY AND JACK WHAT THEY WANT FOR BREAKFAST! SORRY HON, WHAT?
WHAT, MA?
BREAKFAST... WHAT DO YOU GUYS WANT?
ARE THERE ANY COCO-PUFFS LEFT, MOM?
More Majors kids appeared at the tailgate.
Anyway, when I got inside the car, the outside of the car became covered in BEES!
Bees? NO HON, THERE ARE NO MORE BEES, I MEAN COCO FLAKES WHATEVER LEFT.
OH HEY RD! WHEN DID YOU GET TO BED LAST NIGHT? HOW DID YOU GET UP BEFORE US?
The weight of the three sleepy teenagers hanging off the improperly latched tail of the truck-bed was too much for it to handle. It tipped open and sent them clumsily spilling out on top of each other with their sleeping bags still sort of on.
OH NO WATCH OUT!
The excitement alerted Bowserwowser's attention, and he went scurrying over to see what all the catastrophe was about. In his rush, his leash snagged on the camping stove, sending skillets, eggs, bacon and sausage tumbling to the dirt, which ended up being the prize for Bowsiewowsie.
BOWSER NOOOOOOOOOOO!
So, you have these bees, enveloping the entire car, and
yeah,
it was, uh,
pretty interesting...
and well, it looks like Bowser's got the mess taken care of. I'll just go take my hot chocolate into my tent and try to sleep or something. Good night everybody!
It actually took me a couple years to recognize what had happened as a hallucination. I suspect it was caused by exhaustion and the cold, or perhaps the wild forest mushrooms. What really stuck with me about the whole adventure was having had experiences that, to my memory, feel like real experiences. As far as what we deem physically measurable, they did not happen, but it was very hard to accept that. I had real reactions to things that were just a product of chemical reactions in my head. I opened my mouth and spoke what I was convinced was a foreign language. It presented an interesting question to my impressionable mind... is what you're reacting to what's really happening? Would there have been a way to figure out that what I was experiencing wasn't real? Is there a way to figure out if this is real? Aliens?
After the car became engulfed in bees, I don't really remember what happened, other than I somehow exited the vehicle and made my way to watch the sunrise next to the cold fire pit.
