It took all the coordination she could summon, but Brenda crawled out of the sleeping bag, unzipped the tent, and was able to stand up without falling down. She had to pee.. 

I hate camping, I hate camping, I hate camping – the refrain was on repeat in her head as she made her way to where she thought the latrine area was.  Brenda unzipped her jeans and squatted, careful to spread her legs wide so as not to get urine on them. 

I hate camping. I hate camping. I hate camping.

As she was making her way back to the tent, she noticed that Mike was still sitting by the fire. It was dark, but still, the situation didn’t look or feel right.  Brenda headed over to check it out.

Mike was sprawled in his Big Man’s camping chair.  His feet were propped on the stones of the fire ring. The toe of his left tennis shoe was smoldering.

She tried to rouse him, but he was out good.

“Mike, dammit, wake up.  Your shoe is on fire.  Mike!”

Nothing.

He didn’t even twitch. 

Brenda looked around and spotted the plastic tub of dishwater.  It hadn’t been emptied after the dishes were washed. She grabbed it and poured the cold water with bits of floating food and grease over Mike’s shoe.

The fire was out, but so was Mike.  Still, he hadn’t moved a muscle.  She felt his forehead.  He was clammy and cool.  She couldn’t gauge his color in this light, but something was wrong.  Really wrong. She ran to the tent to get her cell phone.  Signals were bad up here, but she’d found one spot in the middle of the road where she could pull in two bars. 

She woke Craig and told him what was going on.  Mike was his best friend and had been for 30 years.  Craig raced out of the tent without even pulling on his jeans.

Brenda managed to get a signal long enough to call 911 and for them to lock onto her GPS location.  Help was on the way, but she knew it would take a while. They were deep into the Monongahela. She hoped they sent someone familiar with this camping area. Otherwise, it could be hours before they would be found.  She didn’t think Mike had hours. 

Craig dragged Mike, all 275 pounds of him, out of the chair and laid him on the ground.  He barked at Brenda to get something to use as a pillow.  He was afraid Mike would puke and choke on his own vomit.

By the time the EMTs got there, Mike’s breathing was shallow, and he was shivering — still unconscious.

The taller EMT, the one who had been driving, asked about possible drug use. Craig looked at Brenda, and she at him. Finally, Craig said, “It’s possible.  He’s been in recovery six months.  That’s what we’re here celebrating.”

“What substance?”

“Anything he could get his hands on.”

“Meth?”

“Sometimes.”

“Fentanyl?”

“I never heard him mention that one.”

The other EMT administered Narcan, and Mike bolted up, screaming for them to leave him alone. 

Tears rolled down Craig’s cheeks.

Brenda was just disgusted.

Craig had hoped.  Brenda had written Mike off years ago after he’d stolen her jewelry to pawn. Her mother’s wedding rings were never recovered.

The EMTs were patient with Mike and oriented him to time and place.  Brenda was surprised he agreed to go to the hospital. 

After the ambulance left and Craig put his jeans on, Brenda sat in Mike’s camp chair. Her sympathy for Craig was bottomless, but so was her impatience. Mike had burned every bridge but Craig.

Craig was jingling keys and hollered at Brenda that he was ready to go.

Brenda sat very still and quietly said, “I’m not going.”

“What?”

“I said I’m not going. I’m done. Just done.  I’m done with Mike, and I’m done with camping.  I’m not going to sit in the ER for hours waiting for them to discharge Mike.  You know they can’t commit him, and he won’t self-admit. He needs real rehab.  He sees you as his safety net.  Stop being a sucker, Craig. It’s time for tough love.  Do not go sit there.  Don’t bring him back here. Let him figure it all out. I want us to pack up and go home.  I hate camping.”

The sun was coming up now…Brenda could see the eastern sky begin to turn pink and golden light rim the tops of the mountains.  Birdsong was filling the forest.   

She and Craig silently broke camp. Silently packed the car. Craig’s last act was to put out the fire while Brenda waited in the car. He shoveled dirt on the still glowing embers, suffocating the last bits of the fire.

Still silent, as if speech would somehow break the spell, they pulled out of the forest.

Brenda didn’t know where they were headed.