Wish You Were Here

3

I sat by the window on the plane. As soon as it started descending into New Mexico, I wondered if I could see the camp from here. I tried to decide what I wanted to do first. An afternoon hike would be fun, I thought as I glanced down at my hiking boots. If it was too hot outside, a swim in the lake would be great. I had worn khaki shorts, a white tank top and a plaid button down shirt that I'd tied in a knot at the ends. Right before I had gotten dressed that morning, I decided to wear my bikini swimsuit instead of a bra and panties. Maybe I was a little too eager to get summer officially started.

I swung my backpack over my shoulder and headed down to Baggage Claim. As soon as I located and lifted up my black duffel bag, I made my way towards the exit. A few men were huddled together holding up signs of the names of those they were there to pick up.

I read the signs until I noticed one that simply had Camp written on it in black letters. I walked over to the guy holding it and asked if it was for Camp Firestone. He was wearing black sunglasses so I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or not. He simply nodded and muttered "yep". I went to hand him my duffel bag, but he had already turned around and was heading for the door.

"Okay," I said aloud and rushed to catch up with him. He wore old jeans that were covered in dirt and were frayed at the bottom. His black short sleeve t-shirt had seen better days. The bottom hem was littered with holes and I could see sweat stains. I wrinkled my nose. He wore a dingy trucker hat over his greasy hair.

I followed him to an older pick up truck. I stood by the passenger's side door and he yanked my bag from my hand and tossed it in the bed of the truck. I flinched at the loud thud it made as it hit the metal. I opened the truck door and climbed inside.

The gray interior fabric was stained and smelled heavily of stale cigarettes. I pulled the seatbelt over my lap as he turned on the ignition.

"I'm Ryleigh Bennett," I tried to sound friendly. "Just in case you need to check off my name or something?"

He didn't answer as he backed out and drove towards the airport exit. We hit the highway in silence.

"What was your name again?" I said meekly.

"Dean," he answered, his eyes glued straight ahead of him.

"Am I the only camper you're picking up today?" I asked.

"The rest came this mornin'," he answered.

I tried to get a good look at him without staring. He was unshaven, his face scruffy. His sandy blonde hair was shaggy and falling slightly over the tops of his ears from underneath his hat. His right arm had a few tattoos that seemed to continue up past the end of his shirt sleeve. His hands that gripped the wheel had dirt embedded under the nails, his skin looked dry and calloused. I imagined his palms felt like sandpaper to the touch and cringed at the thought.

We seemed to drive for a long time. There weren't too many other cars on the highway. The motion of the truck made me sleepy and I couldn't stay awake. I leaned my head against the window and my eyes closed as I slowly dozed off.

What felt like only minutes later, my eyes shot open. I sat up straight and looked around, forgetting for a moment where I was. Dean, the driver, turned down a dirt road. The bumping from the rocks on the road made me nauseas. I had fallen asleep for longer than I wanted. My throat was dry and I wanted some fresh air. I didn't dare roll down my window with all the dust that blew up around the pickup.

The truck finally slowed and Dean parked it in the dirt. I jumped out, stretched my legs, and grabbed my bag from the truck bed. I slung my backpack over my shoulders and tried to figure out where we were. Thick trees surrounded us and as I looked down the dirt road we had been on, I couldn't see a main highway. It felt like we were in the middle of nowhere.