Dan Versus Nature (6 page)

“Go ahead, hon,” she says. “Open it.”

Inside the envelope is a green sheet of paper, which I unfold. It’s a homemade gift certificate of sorts, the message written with gold Sharpie in Mom’s greeting-card-quality cursive.

Mom is vibrating with excitement. “Read it out loud.”

I smile, her enthusiasm contagious. “OK.” I clear my throat: “‘Happy Birthday, my beautiful boy.’” I roll my eyes. It’s her standard birthday-card opening, and it’s getting a little old. Just like I am. I continue, “‘I know you’re sixteen now, but in my heart you will always be my adorable little baby bundle.’” I glare at her over the paper. “Thanks, Mom.”

She flushes. “Sorry. But it’s the truth. Keep going.”

“‘That being said, I love and adore the man you are becoming and continue to become. And it is with this knowledge that I have organized a very special trip: a survivalist camping adventure for you and Hank to share together.’”

My heart nosedives. Seriously? A camping trip? With Hank?

“A camping trip?” Hank says, sounding as flabbergasted as I feel. “You didn’t mention anything about —”

“Shh, Boogabear.” Mom pats Hank’s arm. “Let him finish.”

I keep reading, though I’m no longer here. No longer in my body. “‘Over Easter break, my two favorite men will get to know each other as you spend five days exploring the undisturbed backcountry of Idaho’s Frank Church – River of No Return Wilderness. There you can bask in . . .’” There’s a parenthetical
CONT
’
D
and a tiny arrow at the bottom of the page. I turn the sheet over and resume reading, “‘. . . two point three million acres of untouched forest and prairie, which is home to untold wildlife including mountain lions, gray wolves, black bears, coyotes, elk, moose, lynx, big horn sheep, and countless others. No tents, no prepackaged food, no electronics, no modern conveniences at all. Just you and nature!’”

In the small blank space under these words, Mom has attempted to draw some trees, a few blades of grass, a campfire, and what look like puffy clouds with four legs, eyes, and half-moon smiles, which I’m pretty sure are meant to be the big-horned sheep. A few tiny floating hearts pepper the bucolic scene like loving pixie dust.

Tear it up. Rip it into a million pieces, throw them into the air, and let them rain down like confetti. She doesn’
t know you. If she knew you, she never would have done this to you — embarrassed you like this, put you in a situation like this. Invited this asshole into your life.

“Oh dear.” Mom bites her lower lip, her eyes big. “Did I goof up? I thought you’d be so excited.”

Ah, shit. She looks so vulnerable. Worried. Like I just told her I was thinking about spending Christmas at Charlie’s house.

“No. Yeah,” I say, twisting a smile onto my face. “I am. Totally. I just . . . wasn’t expecting something so . . . awesome. It’s great, Mom. Really. Amazing.”

“Oh, phew.” Mom lets out a relieved sigh, the excited glow returning to her face. “I mean, it took a lot of research, let me tell you. And quite a bit of money. But I found a company online that organizes the whole thing. The shuttle, the floatplane reservation, the guide, the permits, everything.”

Hank turns to Mom. “You really should have run this by me, Sweetums. I have work and patients and appointments and —”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. For both of you. Your receptionist, Sally, helped me arrange it. She’s rebooked all of your appointments that week, so you won’t even be missed! Except by me, of course.” Mom laughs.

“You talked to Sally?” Hank says, sounding dismayed. “She really shouldn’t have —”

“It’s going to be great,” Mom insists. “You boys’ll get some quality guy time in — you know, male bonding. Five days of hanging out, sleeping under the stars, fishing, cooking over a campfire. I’m telling you, I was pretty tempted to come along myself!”

Hank rubs his face. “It sounds . . . incredible. I just . . . I wish we could have spoken about this.”

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” Mom’s body slumps a little. “I don’t know, I thought you’d be happy about it.”

“I am,” Hank backpedals. “Absolutely. I just . . . didn’t expect to be included in Dan’s birthday present, that’s all.”

That makes two of us.

“It was incredibly sweet and thoughtful of you.” Hank pats her arm. “It’s going to be amazing.” He turns to me. “Right, Dan?”

“Totally,” I deadpan.

Hank laughs. “I mean, who doesn’t love the great outdoors?”

Um, me. The birthday boy. I do not love, nor have I ever loved, the great outdoors. And I’d just assumed my own mother knew that about me. But I’m not going to be the one to break Mom’s heart. I’ll just have to find a way out of this: too much homework, the flu, a disfiguring bicycle accident. Something. Anything.

Mark my words: A survivalist camping trip with Hank is
never
going to happen.

Ever.

“Is your mother insane?” Charlie says. “Is she not aware of the innumerable ways a person can die out in the wilderness?” He’s hunched over a keyboard in the back corner of the dimly lit Computer Lab, the blue glow of the computer screen reflecting in his glasses. “We’re talking an incredibly high probability of parasitic infection: giardiasis, cryptosporidiosis, and toxoplasmosis, just to name a few.”

It’s an hour before first bell. Charlie and I have come in early and are scrambling to make this week’s newspaper deadline. Though I doubt anyone really cares. Circulation for the school paper is at an all-time low. Ninety percent of the copies wind up in the recycle bin, never having been picked up off the stacks in the lunchroom and library. The
Oracle
is on life support, and unless we find a way to turn things around, our principal, Mrs. Horvath, is going to pull the plug.

Not that it would be any skin off my nose. But it would completely devastate Charlie. He’s beyond passionate about photography, and the
Willowvale Oracle
is the one avenue he has to get his work out to the public.

Hence Charlie’s willingness to stoop so low as to start covering school athletics again.

“She was trying to be thoughtful,” I say, furiously finishing this issue’s comic. “But don’t worry, I’m not going. I just have to figure out a way to bail without hurting her feelings.”

“Wise decision.” He pushes his glasses higher up on his nose and goes back to work, typing away like a madman. “Seriously. Think about it. You accidentally drink contaminated water, inadvertently touch some infected animal excrement and rub your eye, get stung by a West Nile – infected mosquito, and it’s Happy Fucking Birthday, Dan. Enjoy sixteen because you can kiss seventeen good-bye.” Charlie removes an SD card from his shirt pocket and slides it into the side of the computer. “And infection is just the tip of the iceberg. We haven’t even discussed mud slides, hypothermia, flash floods, quicksand, lightning, snakebites, heatstroke, animal attacks, or — maybe worst of all — fecal impaction.”

I grimace. “Do I even want to know?”

Charlie glances over at me. “Let me put it this way. People don’t like egesting in the woods. They much prefer sitting on toilets and playing Angry Birds while they defecate. So they hold it when they go camping. For
days.
Combine that with extended bouts of physical activity, limited water intake, and the consumption of unfamiliar, high-fiber foods, and you get a GI tract full of hardened excreta much too big and fossilized to void. Thus, fecal impaction. And blocked bowels equals loss of circulation, which leads to a slow, agonizing — not to mention humiliating — death.” He grabs the mouse and starts uploading his photographs. “It’s nothing you ever want to experience.”

I erase an errant line. “Once again, your knowledge of the obscure and disgusting absolutely astonishes me.”

“Although,”
Charlie says, clicking on the picture of the wrestling team. “It
would
be the perfect thing to completely freak out your future stepdad. Nothing will have him screaming ‘I want no part of this family’ quicker than having to dig rock-hard feces out of his future stepson’s rectum with an index finger.”

I glance over at Charlie, who is going to town on the wrestling team photo with the healing brush tool.

“What the hell are you doing?” I say.

“If Rick can make you suck on a jockstrap, the least I can do is make him appear as ill-endowed as a Ken doll.”

I laugh and return to my drawing.

“You know,” Charlie says after a while. “The more I mull over this camping trip of yours, the more I’m thinking that it might just be exactly what the good dentist ordered.”

I look up from my sketchbook. “What are you talking about?”

“Think about it for a second. You’d get to spend almost an entire week with Hank.
Alone.
It’s uninterrupted freak-out-the-future-stepdad time. Perhaps your mom actually
did
give you the perfect gift.”

“You just got finished telling me I was probably going to die on this trip,” I say. “And now you’re telling me you think I should go.”

He shrugs. “It’s a gamble, for sure. But if you’re careful — and forearmed, which I can certainly help you with — it might be opportunity knock, knock, knocking on your door.”

Charlie grabs the mouse and starts scrubbing again.

“I don’t know. I barely survived trying to talk to Hank about my tiny testicles. I’m not sure I’m up to this scheme of yours.”

“Embarrassment is good, Dan,” he says. “The more embarrassed you are, the more believable your issues will seem. That’s why this plan is ideal for you. It works to your strengths.”

Charlie continues enacting revenge on the team photo: giving the players the slightest of potbellies, receding a few hairlines, adding some acne and a bit of protruding nose hair. As he does, he continues to talk about the opportunity that this wilderness trip could provide. And the more he talks, the more I realize that he might be on to something.

This
could
be the chance of a lifetime. Five days where Hank couldn’t check in with Mom. Where he wouldn’t be able to say anything to her about the uncomfortable things I ask him about — or ask him to do. How long till he comes to the realization that he just doesn’t have the knack for this parenting thing?

Sure, I’m not exactly a fan of the natural world, but I might be willing to brave the elements for five days if it would mean slaying the villainous Fang Plaqueston once and for all.

But could I actually pull it off? Could I say and do the outrageous things Charlie will come up with — all of which I’m betting will be way worse than copping to having a microtesticle?

The solution hits me like a repulsor blast. “You have to come with me.”

Charlie coughs. “I’m sorry, what? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I said —”

“I was being facetious, Dan. I heard you quite clearly.” Charlie swivels his chair away from his masterpiece. “And there’s not a chance in Judecca I’m coming camping with you.”

“It isn’t camping,” I correct. “It’s a survivalist week in the wilderness. We’re going to learn skills to keep us alive without any modern conveniences. With all your talk of end times, I’d think you’d jump at the chance to learn how to subsist off the land.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “I am not risking death by dysentery for information that can easily be obtained on the Internet. You, on the other hand, have a real reason to roll the diarrheal dice.”

“You said you owed me, remember? ‘You require anything, let me know.’ I believe those were your words.”

“Well, yes . . .” Charlie mumbles, shaking his head. “But I meant . . . help with a paper or putting in a good word with Erin.” He waves a hand at the screen. “Revenge via Photoshop. That sort of thing.”

“You said ‘anything,’” I repeat.

“Yes, but —”

“You like my mom, Charlie, don’t you?”

“Of course. Sarah has been like a second mother to me. But what does —”

“Do you really want to see her get her heart ripped out by some thug dentist?”

“Of course not. Which is why I —”

“And you care about the school paper, right? The floundering
Oracle
?”

“Sure, but I really don’t see what that —?”

“Just think of the photo-essay you could publish based off our trip! To say nothing of the additions to your portfolio. Come on, Charlie. Come on this trip with me. Be my wingman and help me scare Hank away — and save me from getting Montezuma’s revenge. Do it and we can call it even. What do you say?”

Charlie stares at the wrestling team photo. His mouth is moving but no words are coming out.

“Awesome,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll take that as a big yes.”