Dan Versus Nature

by Don Calame

  “Penelope Grace Halpern!” Barbara gasps.

  Max holds up a hand. “It’s OK. I don’t mind. I suppose the real reason I go barefoot is because I like how it feels. Simple as that. It reminds me of when I was a child.”

  “Ahhh.” Penelope nods. “OK. Got it. Puer aeternus. The narcissist as eternal child.”

  “I said that it reminds me of being a child,” Max says, the cords twanging in his neck. “Not that I wanted to be a child.”

  “Speaking of children,” Charlie announces loudly, turning to me. “Where’s your baby?”

  “Baby Robbie?” I say, looking at Hank. “Hank’s got him. I should probably get him back from you now so I can feed him.”

  “What?” Hank blinks at me. “No . . . I thought . . .” His eyes dart this way and that, like he’s going to find the Baby-Real-A-Lot somewhere in the nearby brush. “Didn’t . . . didn’t you take him?”

  “Me?” I say. “No. You had him last, remember? I asked you to look after him.”

  Hank shakes his head. “Oh no.”

  “Wait a second.” I stare at him. “You left him? How could you do that?”

  “I was . . . helping Charlie with his bag,” Hank stammers, “and . . . you asked me not to touch him. I just . . . assumed you picked him up. It was a misunderstanding.”

  “Oh, God. I can’t believe this. You said you’d watch him! I’m totally screwed.” I look down at my ID bracelet, the LED flashing a cautionary yellow. “Holy crap, my neglect points are through the roof ! The poor kid’s going to die of starvation!”

  “If he doesn’t die of a broken heart first,” Penelope says sadly.

  I glare at her. I can’t have her making light of the situation.

  I try not to think about how embarrassing this next part is going to be with Penelope watching. I feign a sniffle and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will some waterworks. But nothing comes.

  I remember what Charlie said to do. Something he saw an actor talk about once.

  And so I forget about Penelope and this trip and even Baby Robbie. Instead, I think back to the day Dad moved out. I picture him hefting a garbage bag full of clothes over his shoulder like a hobo Kris Kringle. I remember standing in the doorway to our house, waving good-bye and crying. And Dad telling me to buck up, that this wasn’t “Good-bye,” only “See you later.”

  I grip his watch on my wrist. I’m still waiting for “later.”

  A huge surge of missing wells up inside me. I ride the wave . . . and just like that, I start to cry.

  “Come on, Dan,” I hear Barbara say. “It’ll be OK.”

  “No,” I croak. “It won’t. He’s gone forever.” I picture Dad’s dented Plymouth Neon backing out of our driveway.

  “I’m so sorry, Dan,” Hank says. “I’ll write you a note. Your teacher will understand.”

  “You don’t know Ms. Drizzler,” I rasp, swiping the tears from my face with the back of my hand. “She doesn’t give second chances. I’ll fail Life Skills, for sure. Which means no dean’s list this semester.”

  As if I’ve ever been on the dean’s list in my life.

  I turn away, shaking my head. “All I’ve got now is his little sweater,” I say, tugging the tiny cardigan from my pocket. I stare down at it as I walk off.

  “Dan, wait!” Hank cries. He sounds really desperate. I guess my little performance was pretty damn effective.

  “I just need to be alone for a minute.” I sniffle and continue trudging off.

  “Dan,” Hank whisper-shouts. “Dan. Stop! Now! There’s a bear. Right in front of you!”

  “Huh, what?” I lift my head.

  And, indeed, there is a bear.

  A huge, hulking black beast — just a stone’s throw away — plods along the shore, its massive head swaying from side to side, a thick pink scar slashed across its snub nose.

  It’s walking right toward me.

  “Oh shit.” I stop in my tracks, a rush of adrenaline shooting through my body. I’ve seen bears in zoos before, but in the wild like this, up close and personal, it’s a completely different story. The animal is gigantic — seven hundred pounds if he’s an ounce.

  The bear continues lumbering forward, its dark hair stroked by the breeze. Each step of its plate-size paws is eerily silent.

  I stumble backward, tripping over my feet.

  “No need to be frightened,” Penelope says calmly. “Ursus americanus almost never feasts on human flesh.”

  “Almost never?” I gasp.

  “Everybody stay calm,” Max whispers, his hands in the air. “Don’t make any sudden movements. Penelope’s correct. Black bears are more afraid of us than we are of them.”

  “Oh yeah?” I gulp. “Then why isn’t it crapping its coat right about now?”

  “It isn’t focused on us yet,” Max says, keeping his voice low. “Probably just wants to do a little fishing, maybe establish that this is its lake.” Max reaches down cautiously and lifts his backpack. “Let’s all slowly grab our bags and walk away.”

  “I was under the impression,” Penelope says, groping around for her bag while regarding the animal, “that you were supposed to make your presence known to a bear. Create noise. Make yourself appear large.”

  “Yeah,” Barbara says. “That’s what they told us when we hiked the Pacific Crest Trail. They said if you retreat, the animal may look at you as prey.”

  “That’s only if a bear is acting aggressively toward you,” Max explains. “Now, please. Gather your things and let’s leave the bear alone.”

  Click-click-click-click-click-click!

  In the stillness of the wilderness, Charlie’s rapid-fire camera shutter sounds like gunshots.

  The bear’s head jerks up, its ears twitching. Its eyes train on us.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Max says.

  “What?” Charlie lowers his Nikon. “I may never see another bear in my life.”

  Max shakes his head, clearly annoyed. “Unless you want it to be the last thing you ever see, we’d better get moving. Fast and quiet, everyone. Let’s go!”

  We hoist our bags and follow Max, who clears a path through the brush. I look over my shoulder. The bear locks eyes with me, pulling its lips back to reveal huge yellowing fangs.

  I swallow and pick up my pace.

  “So,” Max calls out from the front of our procession. “Couple of things to think about as we make our way into the forest. Remember to always keep your core engaged and breathe into your diaphragm.” He takes a deep breath in through his nose, his hand on his abdomen.

  Barbara stands up tall with her head and neck straight. “How’s my form, Max?”

  He looks her up and down. “Excellent. Now try to maintain an even cadence. Walk heel to toe, each step about two and three-quarters feet in length and just over a half second apart.” Max chops out the rhythm with his hand. “Step, step, step, step, step, step. Just like that.”

  “Are we going to be walking much longer?” Charlie says, dragging his feet.

  “Ideally, I’d like to put four, maybe five, hours between us and our furry friend back there.”

  “Four or five hours?” Charlie grouses. “I’m not going to be able to make that. Fifteen minutes in and my metatarsi are already killing me.”

  Max laughs. “In the hiking trade we call that lack-of-use cramps. But don’t worry. After a another ten miles or so you’ll be wishing your feet ached only as much as they do now.”

  “Ah, trail humor. How amusing.” Charlie stops. “Perhaps we should put it to a vote. All those in favor of setting up camp right here, right now, raise their hand and say aye.” He shoots his hand in the air. “Aye.”

  No one joins him. Not even me. He groans and starts walking again.

  “Sorry to inform you of this, Mr. Bungert,” Max says. “But out here, I’m in charge. It’s my duty to keep you all safe, and I take that responsibility very seriously. So, for now we walk.”

  Charlie glares at me. “After all I’ve done fo
r you, a little backup would have been appreciated.”

  I shrug. “My feet feel pretty good.”

  Normally, I’d be right there with Charlie. But I’m actually enjoying myself. There’s something soothing about being in the wilderness. It clears your head, makes you feel like you can breathe deeper than before.

  We’re walking single file through a huge field of tiny purple and yellow wildflowers. The colors are so intense, it’s like something out of The Wizard of Oz. So unbelievably beautiful.

  I soak it all in, absorbing the beauty of the surroundings so I can use it later as the setting for a scene in Night Goblin. Perhaps the one where Erilin and Stan kiss for the first time. Right after their narrow defeat of the Hobgobblers and a brush with death . . .

  Or, no, better yet — the first time they have sex. After they’ve ridden a safe distance away from the infuriated Night Goblin. They will find a field of flowers, and Stan will spread a downy blanket on the ground, and Penelope will slowly remove her —

  Whoa, whoa, whoa. Penelope?

  My brain just did a search and replace without my consent. Not cool, brain. Not cool at all.

  “If my calculations are accurate,” Max calls out over his shoulder, “and I’m remembering the map correctly, there should be a river not far from here. We’ll find that and then camp nearby.”

  I take a deep breath of the fresh forest air. It’s so clean and crisp. It makes me feel good, strong — like I could hike a thousand miles. Who’d have ever thought it? Apart from my traitorous musings about a certain cute, snarky, bespectacled hiking companion, this trip is turning out to be kind of awesome, actually.

  “Ow, goddamn it.” I slap the back of my sweaty neck, feeling like I was jabbed with an X-Acto knife. “Something just bit me. Hard.”

  “Blackflies,” Penelope calls back over her shoulder. “The population should be starting to swell around this time. You’ll have a nice welt there for a few days. And it’ll itch so bad you’ll want to dig through your skin with your nails.”

  “Wonderful,” I say, feeling the hot bump starting to grow on my neck.

  “Now who’s wishing he’d sided with me?” Charlie says. “You’ll recall that there were no blackflies back where I suggested we stop.”

  I give Charlie the finger. After a little more time, I’ve concluded that this trip is not awesome at all. My feet are throbbing, my neck itches with prickly heat and bug bites, my legs are so tired that I’m shocked they still even work, and my Achilles tendons feel like they’re going to explode. Add to this the fact that I have to take a wicked pee, and I am seriously starting to hate Mom for getting me into this mess.

  “Hey, Max!” I holler. “This looks like a pretty nice campsite right here. Flat and everything. Maybe we should stop and build that shelter you were talking about.”

  “River’s close,” Max announces. “Can’t be more than another forty-five or so.”

  My shoulders sag. Forty-five minutes? I don’t know if I can walk for that much longer. And I definitely can’t wait forty-five minutes to pee.

  I veer off the grassy deer trail.

  Charlie follows me, panting. “Where . . . are you . . . going?”

  “I’ve gotta take a piss,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. “I’ll just be a second.”

  “We can . . . wait for you. Happy to . . . take a break. I’ll let Max know.”

  “No, no, that’s OK,” I say. “I don’t want to slow everyone down. I’ll catch up when I’m done.”

  Charlie narrows his eyes. “This wouldn’t . . . have anything to do with Penelope . . . would it?”

  “What? Who? Oh, Penelope Penelope. Pshhh. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Everyone micturates, Dan. . . . There’s no reason . . . she can’t . . . know about it.”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with her,” I say defensively. “I just . . .” My gaze flits past Charlie to Penelope about twenty yards ahead of us. “I don’t want Hank thinking I need a break, OK?”

  “Ahh, so this is about maintaining the respect . . . of the father figure,” Charlie says. “Despite everything we’ve done so far . . . to scare him off.”

  “Think whatever you want,” I snap. “But I really need to pee. So either come along and enjoy the free show, or screw off and let me take care of business.”

  “Fine,” he says. “I’ll afford you some . . . privacy, lest Hank think you’re . . . winded from three hours of relentless hiking with . . . fifty pounds of gear strapped to your back.”

  “Thanks.” I pat Charlie on the shoulder and dart deeper into the underbrush.

  I push through some bushes and bound over a rock. The trees aren’t dense enough here to hide behind, and despite what I said to Charlie, I really don’t want Penelope seeing me draining the dragon. I hustle through an obstacle course of downed tree limbs and bramble, stepping over a decomposing tree trunk and coming down on the other side into a web of branches.

  My right foot gets stuck, and I nearly twist the hell out of my ankle. I’m about to do a full face plant but miraculously am able to flail my arms and find my balance at the very last second.

  “Phew.” My heart rabbit-punches my rib cage as I stand there with my hands out in surfer position. I’m not used to recovering before wiping out. Maybe this trip is good for me after all.

  I take a deep breath and try to angle my foot this way and that, attempting to extricate it.

  But it’s trapped in the branches good. Like one of those twisted nails puzzles. And now that I’ve given the go signal to my bladder, the pressure is reaching the red zone.

  I give a quick glance around just to be sure the group is well and truly out of sight. And to make certain there aren’t any wolves or cougars sizing me up for supper.

  With the coast clear, I yank open my button fly, scoot my pants and smiley-face boxers down, and let nature take its course.

  Oh, God. That is, like, the second-best feeling in the entire world.

  I watch my pee disappear into the darkness under the webbing of branches. My stream is strong, and it makes a very audible hissing sound on the twigs and dried brush below.

  There’s a large flying insect flitting around down there. It perches on one of the branches, flicking its wings.

  A blackfly, perchance?

  I shift positions, take aim, and hit the nasty bastard with the full force of my whiz.

  “Whooo! Take that, buddy!” I say. “Tell your friends to stay the hell away from me.”

  The bug darts up and out of the latticework, trying to escape my onslaught.

  “Not so fast, fella.” I whip my wang back and forth like a samurai sword. “Hah! Yah! Submit to the force of my flow, you little —”

  Oh shit.

  The bug comes at me fast.

  And this is no blackfly.

  It’s a freakin’ black wasp.

  I swat at it with my free hand, but it has no problem dodging my blow. It lands on my face and sinks its stinger in deep.

  “Yowch!”

  And then there’s another wasp. And another one. And another one.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I shout, pinwheeling my arms around like a mental patient, feeling hot needles piercing my cheeks, my arms, my —

  “Owwwww!”

  — dingus.

  “Fuck!” I reflexively slap my hand down hard — and punch myself in the junk.

  “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!”

  I fold over, coughing. I struggle to get my pants up and protect my most sensitive bits, but my jeans are too tight. Or I’m too panicked.

  Holy-mother-of-Christmas-morning, that hurts. My eyes fill with tears, but I can still see the angry red welts popping up everywhere I’ve been stung, including one — big and bulbous — on my schlong. Jeez Louise. I always wanted it to be larger, but not like this.

  Meanwhile, I’m still getting jabbed — on the arms, the ears, the elbows — every sting a searing stab.

  And that’s when the real buzzing starts.
First low and distant. Then loud and blistering.

  I look up and see a dark cloud heading toward me. Like the scouts have radioed for backup, and they are about to arrive in a big way.

  My skin goes clammy. My pulse thrashes in my ears.

  I yank up my pants and jerk at my jammed foot.

  But it’s not coming out.

  “Help! Help!” I shout, and as I do, a wasp flies into my mouth.

  Plltttth. I spit, and the damn thing stings my lip on its way out.

  “Help!” I yell again.

  Good thing you got nice and far away from them, huh?

  Goddamn it. If I’m going to die out here, it’ll be because I’ve been eaten by a mountain lion or mauled by a bear — not because I was stung to death after peeing on a wasp.

  I bend over and yank my bootlace loose. I wrench the boot tongue forward, pull my socked foot free, then run like hell.

  “Aaaaaah!” I scream, my wounded wang wailing inside my boxers.

  I look back over my shoulder. The wasps are on my tail — a big, zigzagging ball of black specks droning in the near distance.

  I turn back around and —

  Ooof!

  I run right into Charlie, tackling him into the dirt and grass.

  “What the hell?” he groans.

  “W-wasps!” I cry, looking behind me. “Attacking me!”

  “What wasps?” Charlie asks, shoving me off him.

  And he’s right. There are no wasps. It’s like they vanished into thin air.

  I turn back around and see Max, Barbara, Hank, and Penelope all peering down at me.

  “Have a nice private pee there, Dan?” Charlie says, brushing himself off and examining his camera. “Excellent work not drawing any attention to yourself, by the way.” He snaps a series of pictures of me.

  “Hey there, Magic Mike.” Penelope smirks and points at my crotch. “I do believe your smiley face is showing.”

  “Don’t ever do that again!” Hank says when he returns with my boot. He hurls it down beside me. “You heard what Max said: We always stick together. No matter what. If you need to go to the bathroom, you tell us and we wait for you.”