Dan Versus Nature (29 page)

“Tell us something we don’t know about you,” Penelope says, turning to Charlie.

“Me?” he says. “Why me?”

“We’ll all go,” Penelope says. “It’s just something to kill time.”

She scoots up closer to the fire, hugging her naked knees to her chest.

I rub Baby Robbie’s sweater. The soggy wool did its trick, keeping me from any bodily contact — accidental or otherwise — with Penelope while we searched the recesses of the cave for kindling. Now if it can just keep me grounded until our clothes dry . . .

“I’d rather not,” Charlie says.

Penelope groans. “OK, fine, I’ll go first. Here’s something you don’t know about me: I’ve had a short story published online at the
Literary Quadrangle.
”

Charlie scoffs. “I didn’t realize this was meant to be a brag-a-thon. In that case, here’s something you don’t know about me: I actually had to lobby my parents not to skip me ahead two grades. I felt it would make my peers uncomfortable, to be overshadowed by someone two years younger than they.”

“I know that,” I say.

Charlie slaps his forehead dramatically. “That’s right! Dan already knows that. Silly me.”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “OK, fine, here’s another one: I once kissed a girl at a party on a dare. Though maybe that counts as bragging, too, since I’m guessing you’re the only one here who’s never experienced the soft, warm pleasure of a lady’s osculation.”

Danger! Danger! Must. Not. Think. About. Hot.
Girl-on-girl. Osculation.

Whatever that means.

And yet there she is: Penelope dressed as slave Leia making out with another girl in a Red Sonja chain-mail bikini.

“There, now,” Penelope says. “That isn’t so hard, is it?”

Speak for yourself.
I shift uncomfortably on the cave floor.

“Now, how about you try again, Charlie,” she says.

“How about we contemplate the virtues of silence instead?” Charlie offers. “Challenging as that may be for some of us.”

“I’ll go next,” Hank interjects. “Just to keep things civil.” He adjusts himself so he’s sitting cross-legged. “OK. Something you all don’t know about me. Let’s see . . . How about this? The first time I met Dan”— he looks over at me —“I was a nervous wreck. I was terrified he wouldn’t like me and that he might be upset because his mom and I were engaged. But he was great about it. And he’s been great ever since. I really lucked out.”

I slide my eyes away.

“That’s interesting,” Charlie says. “You say you want Dan to like you, and yet you don’t seem to like him. Isn’t that strange?”

Hank frowns. “What do you mean? I like him very much.” He turns to me. “You think I don’t like you?” He sounds genuinely hurt.

“Oh, it’s nothing Dan said,” Charlie explains. “Just an
observation.
” Charlie shakes his head. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. Let’s just forge ahead with this asinine game of Penelope’s.”

“No,” Hank says. “I’d like to know why you think I don’t like Dan. What these so-called observations are.”

Oh, Hank. Poor, foolish Hank.

“Well, if you must know . . .” Charlie begins counting on his fingers: “Your mistreatment and eventual misplacement of his Baby-Real-A-Lot doll. The embarrassing comments about Dan’s body odor. The negativity about his artwork. The humiliating, vociferous reaction to Dan’s carsickness. And then, of course, the vicious strike to his nose. From an outsider’s perspective, it could appear that you’re harboring some unconscious anger toward Dan. Or jealousy, perhaps. He is, after all, a rival for Sarah’s affection.”

Charlie gives me a significant look. I sigh internally, no longer as excited to play my part as I was when we first concocted this plan.

I look at Hank, attempting to appear wounded. “Is it true? Are you angry at me?”

“Of course not!” Hank’s face and neck are bright red, a noticeable difference from his pale chest and shoulders. “Those were accidents and misunderstandings and —”

“Perhaps,” Charlie says. “But if you believe Sigmund Freud, there are no such things as accidents.”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “He was talking about slips of the tongue, you imbecile.”

“Listen,” Hank says, leaning toward me, an intense look in his eyes. “I promised to tell you the truth, and here it is: When your mom first told us about this trip, I wasn’t exactly . . . thrilled. I thought it would be kind of awkward, since we hardly knew each other. And hard work, too — not the greatest way to spend a week’s vacation time. However, the closer we got to the date and the more time I spent with you, the more excited I got about it.” He shakes his head. “All these things Charlie listed — they’re crazy! Even if I
did
hate you — and I don’t! — there’s no way I could’ve planned even half of that stuff. Nobody could. It’s just been a run of bizarrely bad luck. Honestly.”

I wrench my gaze from his, guilt and shame eating away at my insides. My eyes happen to catch Penelope’s. She’s staring at me with a look that’s almost as intense as Hank’s — and as much as I wish I could pretend it’s because she’s suddenly overcome by lust, I can tell it’s not that.

“Let’s just forget it, OK?” I say. “Charlie’s just trying to make trouble. It’s what he does.”

“I beg to differ,” Charlie says indignantly. “I was simply pointing out the facts and my
observations.
”

“I think we’ve had enough of your
observations,
” I say firmly. “My turn. Something you don’t know about me . . .” I look down at my wrist. The dead ID bracelet. Dad’s Timex. “This watch”— I tap the glass face —“was my father’s.”

“This is not news, Daniel,” Charlie says. “At least not to me.”

Penelope turns on him. “For someone who didn’t want to participate, you sure have a lot to say about everyone else’s contributions.”

“It’s not whose watch it is,” I say, “but why I wear it, even though it hasn’t worked in years. That’s what you don’t know.” I take the watch off and let it dangle from my fingers. The black leather band is cracked and peeling, the buckle worn smooth. The time is permanently stopped at 11:09 and the date frozen on the seventh. “He wore this watch all the time. I always remember seeing it there on his hairy wrist. When he taught me how to play chess. When he dealt out a game of gin rummy. When he drunkenly read Dr. Seuss to me at bedtime. It’s a piece of junk, really. Anytime anyone complimented him on it, he’d say, ‘This old thing? I’ve had it for thirty years. Cost me two bucks at a garage sale. Proves you don’t have to spend a lot to get a lot.’” I can hear his voice clear as day. “It still smells like his aftershave, too.” I bring the watch band to my nose and breathe in the ghost of Dad’s scent. “A little bit, anyway. Inspired by Polo. ‘Why buy the real thing when the cheaper imitation smells exactly the same? A lot of suckers in this world, let me tell you.’”

“So you wear it to remember him,” Hank says. “That’s nice.”

I shake my head. “No. I wear it to remember him leaving. It fell off his wrist when he flung his garbage bag full of stuff over his shoulder — hit the driveway hard and stopped working. When I picked it up and tried to give it back to him, he told me to chuck it, that he was going to get himself a new watch. ‘A new watch for a new life.’” I look down at the scratched face. “Every time I look at this, I’m reminded of the exact day, hour, minute, and second when I last saw him.” I wrap the band around my wrist and reattach it. “How many people in your life can you say that about?”

The cave is quiet, the only sounds the rain coming down outside and the crackle of the fire.

Hank clears his throat. “Wow, Dan. I’m . . . really sorry.”

“That’s some heavy shit,” Penelope says, then turns to Charlie. “You see? Dan just poured his heart out now. Are you really going to sit there and not contribute anything?”

“Nope, not gonna sit here,” Charlie says, leaping to his feet and scrabbling backward. “And neither should you!”

Penelope turns to see what he’s staring at —

And lets out an ear-piercing shriek.

“Don’t make any sudden movements!” Hank says, his hands and arms outstretched.

But it’s too late. I’m already springing away, and Penelope is frantically crab-crawling backward, kicking sand and pebbles in the direction of the huge rattlesnake that’s slithering toward her, its sharp fangs bared, shaking its rattle like a pissed-off toddler.

“Get it away, get it away!” Penelope cries, her eyes filled with terror. She scrambles backward but can’t get to her feet.

I want to help, but my legs know that I hate snakes. The way they freakily glide across the ground. The way they can hold so still, then suddenly strike. The way they can kill you with one bite.

The snake coils, its tongue flicking, its dead doll eyes focused squarely on Penelope.

“Hi-ya!”
Charlie shouts, leaping through the air, wielding a flaming stick like a saggy-pantsed ninja.

He swats at the snake.

But completely misses.

“Oh shit,” Charlie squeaks, crumpling to the ground. “That’s not how I pictured that going.”

The snake whips around on Charlie, shaking its tail like crazy, its head bobbing and weaving.

And then the snake attacks — shooting out toward Charlie at superfast speed, its mouth unnaturally wide.

“No!” Penelope cries, her hand covering her mouth.

Charlie raises his branch in defense.

Miraculously, the snake bites the stick, knocking it from Charlie’s grasp.

And that’s when Penelope, in one fell swoop, grabs a stick, bounds over the fire, and spears the serpent right in the head.

Amazing! I couldn’t have drawn it better.

“Oh-my-Christ-thank-you!” Charlie pants. “You saved my life.”

Penelope shrugs. “You saved mine first.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Charlie struggles to his feet and brushes off his hand. “You actually killed the thing.”

She smiles. “Just add it to the long list of things that I can do better than you.” She hoists the snake aloft with her stick. “Now, who’s hungry?”

The morning sun is warm on the skin, its bright rays drying up yesterday’s deluge, filling the air with a fresh, clean smell.

The world around us is quiet, like everything is taking a breath. There is the occasional whisper of wind through the wild grass. The odd bird tweet here and there. But mostly stillness from the natural world.

The same cannot be said for Charlie and Penelope.

It seems saving each other’s lives was a real bonding experience for them. They’re still insulting one another, calling each other names, but now it’s “mewling gudgeon” and “fusty codpiece,” delivered with exaggerated Shakespearean accents and a lot of giggling.

“You, my lad,” Penelope says, waving her hand in the air, “are a sanguine coward, a bed-presser, a horseback-breaker. Away, you moldy rogue! You filthy bung. Away!”

“Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all!” Charlie counters. “Hag of all despite. To spend another moment beside you, I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, and with the other fling it at thy face.”

They fold over in hysterics, like they’ve just told the world’s funniest jokes.

So much for
opposites
attracting. They’re basically falling in love with their doppelgängers.

I try to tamp down the flare of jealousy, fondling Baby Robbie’s sweater for strength. But I swear, if Charlie ends up getting with Penelope this trip and all I wind up with is a puffy-paged sketchbook, a poison ivy rash on my ass, and Post-Traumatic Hank Disorder, I am going to have to strangle someone.

Hank and I walk beside each other in silence. He stares off, seemingly lost in thought as he gnaws on a piece of leftover snake jerky.

He’s been quiet since we left the cave, and I can only hope it’s because he’s reconsidering the whole parenting thing. I didn’t mean to tell the watch story last night. Still, maybe it convinced Hank that I’m even more screwed up by my father’s leaving than he imagined and that he’s not cut out for this level of responsibility.

“Uhhh, gentlemen,” Penelope calls back. “I think we may have a challenge here.”

Hank and I catch up to Penelope and Charlie. They’re staring at a hole in the ground into which the rolling water seems to disappear.

“Where did it go?” I ask, looking ahead and seeing no sign of a stream.