The Enthusiasts

31

The bird had been roasting for a few hours at a sweating three-hundred-and-seventy-five Fahrenheit inside the old ceramic top four-burner at the Party House. The constant hum driven by the two fossil generators still in operation had faded into background noise under a Missy Elliot track that had toes tapping and heads bopping in the kitchen. The lyrics were undistinguishable from the overlaid bass and treble thumping with angst from the, as advertised, room-filling sound emanating from the camp's only speaker system: an old black rubber-cased Greenbyte. It was smaller than a loaf of bread with narrowed ends, flattened and hollow like an inverted football. The smell of sizzling poultry filled the main floor with turkey juices misting up through the old oven vents. For seasoning, Sasha had emptied all that remained in the last box of salt on, in, and around the bird, set in a round, soot-encased roasting pan. Shortly after the Missy double-shot concluded, Sasha gave a pelvis thrust of female bravado on her way out the door. Keith would tend to any basting requirements inside while she challenged Achak to an archery competition that had developed in the yard.

Sasha was the only contender to the young man who was a natural-born archer. The heavier bow he'd liberated from the storage locker offered much more power and maybe even a little extra precision. Achak was splitting bullseyes from two hundred feet away like Robin Hood with his new toy. Both he and Sasha were exchanging shots for bullseyes, one after the other. They had backed up the maximum allowable distance from the target, their arms nearly touching the back wall of the camp's yard. Emerson and Teddy had joined in on the activity too. They were swiftly eliminated from competition after some embarrassing target misses by Emerson, and then by Teddy's arrow landing in the white outer area for zero points.

"Okay, this is the last shot! Highest point wins the game!" Emerson stated, raising his voice across the now vast distance after taking on the role of official archery scorekeeper title.

Sasha pulled back her taut bowstring first, squinting her left eye shut. A lock of jet-black hair traced the side of her cheek. Her head was side-cocked when lining the arrow tip up with the center of the colored target yards ahead. It was a paper target, plastered in front of several thick planks of scrap wood to keep it upright. Emerson was on 're-centering duty' as well as playing scorekeeper for this round. Each shot was coming in hot enough to knock the target slightly off-kilter atop the wobbly place holder. The target's yellow center had been completely eradicated after several shots fired from each competitor had hit their intended mark, making for an obscured line of sight. Sasha inhaled slowly and let the tightly stretched release cord go. The arrow sailed through the air toward its destination, cutting through the air effortlessly on a frozen rope trajectory. The arrow caught a small amount of spin toward the end of its journey, skewering the target just right of a perfect bullseye.

Emerson moved closer to the target for examination. There was still room for improvement. The door was open for Achak, Emerson insisted.

"You can take her, buddy." Teddy poked at Sasha as he stood at the back wall between the two dueling competitors.

"You really hate how much better I am at everything than you, don't you, Teddy?" Sasha whispered, jamming her elbow into the gut of the towering six-foot seven, three-hundred-pound man jeering her.

"No, I just like watching someone beat you. It's nice to see that even with all your unfair advantage, you still can't win everything." The whispered banter between the two continued in a sibling rivalry fashion.

"There's nothing unfair about being born better. It's really only you who can't ever beat me. Everyone else beats me at something. Teddy... The Born Loser. That's you; that's who you are." Teddy put his enormous catcher's mitt of a hand on Sasha's shoulder and patted it.

"This is gonna be good," he noted. Teddy quietly slung a few more insults meant to rile her up as Achak prepared and released the light grip he held on his firm-stretched bow string. A moment of silence, and Achak released.