Incestuous Camping

Incestuous Camping

Blake stood at his wife’s grave and fought against the anxious turning in his stomach, willing himself to not vomit. Twelve years ago, his wife Holly had taken the coward’s exit, using their car and their garage to asphyxiate her life away. And, now, Blake was holding on by bloodied fingernails. But, he wasn’t contemplating suicide. Responsibility kept those thoughts at bay. What tormented his soul, he couldn’t put a finger on.

His palms were sweaty, heart racing. The mid summer air was filled with dense humidity, making it almost impossible for him to suck enough oxygen into his struggling lungs. An anxiety attack, his head tormented by circumstances beyond his understanding.

“Dad, why did Mom kill herself?” Blake’s daughter, Amber, pulled him out his disturbing thoughts. He was thankful for the life preserver.

“I don’t know, honey.” Amber asked that question frequently, and Blake’s replies were always vague. Barely fourteen years old, Amber was too young to know the truth. Suicide was a permanent solution to a temporary problem, a mental illness. Blake didn’t want to tell Amber that there was no mystery to be solved regarding Holly’s death. External factors did not force his wife to commit suicide. It was an internal factor, the sickness in his wife’s head.

“Red sky at night, sailors’ delight,” Amber chimed solemnly, looking toward the sunset.

“Light interacting with dry dust particles in the lower atmosphere gives the sunset that reddish appearance, Amber. It’s actually a good indicator that dry weather is coming.”

“Thanks teacher,” Amber mocked, softening her words with a slight smile.

“I don’t think so.” Blake had met with too many of Amber’s teachers, listened to their Pollyannaish views, and had concluded that some of them were stuck between adolescence and adulthood, surrounded by child peers rather than their emotional underlings.

Blake had been born, raised, and met his wife in the miniscule city of Elmira, New York. And he was now standing in Elmira’s Woodlawn Cemetery, a graveyard most notable for being the burial place of Mark Twain. Elmira was a depressed city, and Blake had moved away shortly after Holly’s death, finding a better job opportunity and a more palpable climate in Virginia Beach. But, he came back every year to visit his wife’s grave, see childhood friends, and take his daughter camping.

As for Amber, she despised Elmira, although she looked forward to seeing her mother’s grave. Elmira, New York, was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of New York City. The people were largely conservative Republicans, and Blake knew that the lackluster community bored his young daughter. As for camping, Amber enjoyed that until it came time to actually camp. Sleeping without the security of locked doors scared his little girl, as did the unfamiliar wilderness noises.

Blake was dismayed that dusk was gathering as he turned into Treman State Park and made his way to their designated campsite. To him, dusk represented death, the death of day, the time when he couldn’t prevent himself from reflecting on bygone events and gloomily conclude that life was just a meaningless cycle of monotony followed by eternal nothingness. He couldn’t turn the tide and . . . and what? What did he want to do? He couldn’t figure it out. But, dusk taunted him, drowned him in its death.

It was Independence Day weekend and the campground was filled to capacity. When Blake had pulled in with his registration confirmation two days previous, he had overheard a group of potential campers being turned away, told that there were no available lots. The campsites were fairly close to one another, allowing for very little privacy. The little camp enclaves consisted of a small grassy area for tents, a picnic table chained to a pine tree, and a fire pit. Amber had wanted to stop at Red Lobster for dinner, but Blake refused to splurge, giving her two choices – McDonald’s or campfire cooking. She pouted, chose McDonald’s.

“I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just spent tonight at the Holiday Inn that we passed, instead of driving all the way to Ithaca,” Amber complained, sliding out of the pick up truck. “It’s right on that Water Street in Elmira . . . “

“And I don’t understand,” Blake countered pointedly, “why we have to camp at a state park when there are mountains are all around us.” He waved a hand in illustration. “There’s a goddamn swimming pool here for Christ’s sake! Besides, why would we stay in a hotel after paying for a campsite?”

“You shouldn’t swear, Dad,” Amber returned softly.

Amber was dating a good, safe kid from a strict, religious family. Amber’s ‘dates’ consisted of church functions and watching PG movies with her boyfriend’s family. Blake didn’t believe in God or any of that hooey eternal crap. When his wife snuffed out her life, that was her finality. Weak people needed God, used Him as a crutch to explain away their misery instead of just sucking it up and forging ahead. Blake’s beliefs caused him much anxiety and sleepless nights, worried about dying, but he couldn’t stop the tide from turning – bloodied fingernails or not.

Blake started a campfire while Amber took a shower in the nearby restroom facility. He enjoyed staring into the dancing flames and feeling the warmth; the absorption calmed his restless mind. When Amber returned, wet head, she complained that the inalterable shower water had been cold. Blake told her that showering wasn’t a part of ‘roughing it’.

“I was talking to the teenagers camping next to us in the ladies’ room,” Amber said, sitting on the log beside Blake. “They seem nice.”

“Oh?” Blake looked over at them. A group of four with one pop up tent. Two boys, two girls – obviously, two couples. Blake and Amber shared a single tent as well. He knew that it looked inappropriate, a grown man sleeping with an attractive young girl. But, Amber wouldn’t budge on the issue. It was, in fact, all Blake could do to keep his terrified daughter out of his sleeping bag during the night.

Amber was attractive, very attractive. Long blonde hair and big green eyes, she took ballet lessons and carried herself with long-limbed gracefulness. She had worn a pale pink string bikini swimming earlier that day, and it anguished Blake that his eyes had been irresistibly drawn to the rounded molds of her apple-sized breasts, deliciously outlined by the skimpy top. He tried dismissing the thought of how the visual of his daughter had stirred his libido, caused an erection. He tried dismissing it, but he could not. It lingered in his brain like a bad hangover.

After brushing her hair, Amber found a stick and roasted marshmallows. She put the fluffy white puff of sugar directly in the fire, allowing the marshmallow to become enflamed. Then, she pulled the burning treat out, allowing the flame to extinguish itself naturally, reducing the outside of the marshmallow to a sweet, blackened ashy substance. Blake watched her. A teenage girl, she was very fascinating to him. In some ways, Amber was a little girl still – she pouted and was terrified of camping. In other ways, Amber was a little adult – she was an exceptional cook and kept their home immaculate. Like Blake, she was at a crossroads in her life. Except Blake couldn’t see down his paths of choosing; sometimes, he couldn’t even clearly see the crossroads.

“What do you think Jason is doing right now?” Blake asked, referring to her boyfriend. He didn’t really give a rat’s ass about Amber’s stuff shirt boyfriend; he just wanted to divert the thoughts in his head.