When it gets dark, we head back towards the camping area. We had wanted to pitch our own tents but they said they didn’t have any more capacity; they only allow a limited number of campers in the area. They do however have little cabins or pre-set up tents of their own to rent for the night, so we reserve two tents. All the tents have the names of birds; theirs is the Hawk, mine is called the Raven. The tents are old and in sad shape, but very roomy with foam pads inside to sleep on. The zipper to my tent flap breaks as soon as I unzip it so I just let it hang half open.
Noodle and Bradley come in to hang out with me before we all go to bed. Babe produces a Ziploc baggie filled with beaded necklaces and bracelets.
“What’s that?” I ask him.
“Oh, a bunch of jewels. I found them in the tent. Someone must have left them behind.”
“You should turn them in at the lodge, I bet someone’s missing them,” I say.
He doesn’t answer but turns the bracelets over and over in his fingers, focusing on one made of some shiny black stones.
Noodle and I get to talking about the old days a little bit, when she and I used to go out.
“You know, it’s been exactly ten years since I met you, Nood,” I say, sprawling out across a mattress pad.
“No, it can’t be!” she exclaims. “Ten years?”
“So why did you guys not stay together, anyways?” asks Bradley.
“I don’t think we were a good couple,” I say. “We weren’t all that good for each other.”
“Yeah. Noodle told me once that he would have to break up with me when I had my operation,” she says.
“What?” I say, shocked. “I never said that.”
“You did!” she insists. “You said you didn’t think you could handle me being in the hospital for so long. You said you couldn’t take it.”
I look at Noodle, with the scars above her lip from all the operations she’s had on her cleft palate. I wonder if I’d really said it, and if so, if I’d really said it as callously as she makes it sound. I wonder.
I hadn’t broken up with her though, and after the operation, she’d had her mouth wired shut. We hadn’t been dating long. I remember her eating nothing but cheesecake her mother baked then pureed in a blender so she could suck it up through a straw.
After a while they retire to their own tent. I close the flap as best I can before popping a few sleeping pills and crawling into my sleeping bag. I have more strange dreams that I don’t remember.
The next morning they wake me up at six and we all walk down the gravel path past the lodge to the springs.
We part ways at the sauna shed; I can’t go in there again but they seem hooked on it. Instead I continue down past the “healing waters” sign to the first pool we’d shared with Halley. I am the only one there. I undress slowly, standing naked as I look out over the meadow. The grass is tall and yellow in the morning light. The sky is bright but I cannot yet see the sun over the trees. To my right, a sharp toothy outcropping called Devil’s Point juts up over the valley. A layer of steam constantly rises from the pool. Sighing, I step into the water and sit back against the smooth rocks.
It’s peaceful, but I can’t relax. Blue dragonflies hover over the water, cutting through the steam with their cellophane wings. A hawk glides overhead. A spider drops down from an overhead branch and hurries back up its thread. Runoff water sloshes over the edge when I shift my weight. I feel painfully alone.
To distract myself from this awful emptiness, I try to picture Halley coming up the path, slipping off her clothes and joining me naked in the tepid water, though, I know that she left last night; I saw her and her friend heading out to the parking lot. She’s gone back to her fire tower, back to look out over the crowns of the forest, hoping to see some smoke, some sign of purging flame. Eventually I haul myself up out of the water, slowly dress, and head back down the path towards the lodge.
As I’m rounding the bend, I almost run right into a doe standing on the path, feeding on some scattered grain. Standing beside her, nearly invisible against the tan grass, is a fawn. Two fawns. Almost close enough for me to touch. The fawns lift their heads and stare at me with their big black eyes. Their mother pays no attention to me and, following her lead, the fawns go back to grazing.
The lodge is just a little ways ahead of me; a number of people have come out onto the long porch to watch the deer. I see Noodle and Bradley up there watching along with the others. I want to join them but I don’t want to startle the animals. Eventually they amble along, crossing right in front of the lodge. I follow slowly and quietly behind until I reach the front steps.
The three of us follow behind the deer until they veer off into the woods, then we turn off into the campground one last time to pack up our gear.
It isn’t until we’re about fifteen minutes away from Breitenbush that we get reception on the cell phone. I call work just before eight and tell them I’m not coming in.
We take a different route home, driving along the river towards Salem and then up I-5. As soon as we reach the interstate it’s as if we’ve entered the blandest, most anonymous landscape imaginable. Everything looks the same; we could be anywhere in the country. We pass massive housing developments, large chunks cut out of the forest to accommodate them. Tractor trailers roar past us on their way to and from distribution centers. Billboards flash by, faces sneering down at us. Bradley drives and I sit in the passenger seat. We don’t talk much. From the back seat, Noodle places a hand on Bradley’s shoulder and leaves it there for a few minutes before slowly pulling it away.
Once back in Portland, we drop my gear off at home. They only have a few hours before their planes leave -within a half hour of one another- so we stop by the co-op to get some snacks for their ride home before heading down to Powell’s books. Bradley wants to get a book for his niece, whom he’ll be seeing in LA. He has a specific book in mind: “It’s something about these bats that go to the beach. It’s brand new.”
“Babe, why that book and not some other one?” Noodle asks him.
“I dunno, I just think my neice’ll like it is all.”
“Have you read it? Do you like it?”
“No, I’ve never seen it before. It just came out.”
“Well where’d you hear about it?”
“Oh, I dunno, I just heard about it somewhere.”
So I take them to the bookstore. Powell’s is always an overwhelming experience, especially for the uninitiated. People are flowing in and out in a mad rush. We cut against the current and head down to the children’s department. I suggest looking the book up on the computer, but Bradley doesn’t know the name or the author.
“It’s brand new, though,” he repeats. “They probably have a display of it somewhere.”
I think he’s pretty crazy to have such faith, but there by the counter is a whole stack of the book about a family of bats who go to the beach. We each flip through a copy. As with so many other children’s’ books nowadays, the art is nice but the story is really stupid, with terrible rhymes. Bradley says that his favorite kid’s book was Outside Over There. Noodle pipes up and orders me to show him my favorite book when I was young. I looks around and find a copy of Rain Makes Applesauce but he doesn’t seem impressed. He looks around for a while, almost buys her a copy of The Giving Tree, but in the end gives up.
Noodle is overwhelmed by all the books and the crowds; I suggest we get out into the sunshine. I remind her that she wanted a smoothie before she left, and the vegan place we had supper at the other night is right around the corner.
The vegan place is even more crowded than Powell’s was. Noodle’s face gets all scrunched up and her brow furrows. She looks at the people in the long undulating line before the counter as if she doesn’t know what they are, or if she should be afraid of them.
“Do you still want a smoothie?” I ask. Bradley has wandered off somewhere. She nods. “What kind do you want? Cacao coconut?”
She corrects my pronunciation. “Cacao. Yes. I’ll get it, though.”
“No, I’m buying. I want one too.” I step into the queue, which is actually moving pretty quickly. She joins me, her eyes bugging out as she stares at the people eating all around us. I see Bradley getting a juice out of a cooler; by the time he gets into line behind us there are seven people between him and us. I motion to him to bring his juice up so I can pay for it but he doesn’t see me. We get our drinks and wait outside for him.
“Hey, let’s go down to that park we passed before,” he suggests. “You know, the one with the elephant. Is that close to here?”
“Yeah, it’s only a few blocks. That sound good?”
Nood nods and we head down to the park. It’s filled with kids out playing, as well as the usual tourists and the shady gutter punks engaging in all the usual shady interactions. We find a bench in the sun and sip our smoothies. The bronze elephant statue stands with its tail to us. It’s very stylized, covered in abstract patterns and swirls, and has a smaller elephant standing on its back. I’ve always liked it; I took pictures of it on my first visit here to Portland with Lucy. As we watch, a group of photographers descends like buzzards upon the statue and start snapping close ups of the swirls and spirals. We sit in silence in the blazing sunlight. Noodle takes Bradley’s hand and holds it tight.
After a little while I check my watch and tell them that they’d better get going if they want to catch their planes. I think about accompanying them to the airport but they seem to want to be alone. I walk them to the car. Bradley decides to take one last photo. After digging around in his backpack, he declares that he’s lost his camera.
“You sure it’s not there, Babe? You didn’t look that long.”
“I’m positive. I would have put it right here in the pocket. I think I remember leaving it on a rock down by the river.”
As he’s putting his things back in the pack, I notice the Ziploc baggie full of beaded jewelry he found in the tent at Breitenbush. He packs it away with his other things and slams the trunk shut.
I tell them I’ll call Breitenbush to see if anyone’s turned in the camera. He looks crestfallen.
“I really wanted to show those pictures to my family,” he says sadly.
I shake Bradley’s hand, give Noodle a tight, tight squeeze, and walk away. I’m not a big fan of goodbyes, and I know Noodle’s not either. I turn around and watch as they drive away, turn the corner, disappear.
When I get home I see that Noodle’s sand dollars are still spread out on the coffee table. Nine out of twenty-five. I think that maybe I’ll mail them to her but they break so easily.
*
A few weeks later, I call our old friend Teddy to catch up. I tell him about Noodle and Bradley’s surprise visit.
“I guess that was supposed to be their honeymoon,” he says. “I know they wanted to hike the trails out there.”
“Their what?” I ask.
“Didn’t she tell you?” He sounds puzzled.
“Tell me what?”
He pauses. “They got married six months ago. I figured you knew.”
“You have got to be kidding,” I say.
“Nope. I think it’s something to do with him going into the army and her getting benefits. She needs more work done on her teeth.”
I think about all that time we spent hiking through the woods, sitting by the fire, soaking in the hot tubs, riding in the car. I think about all the years we’ve known each other, all the things we’ve been through together. I feel hurt and rage bubble up inside me for a moment, and then I laugh.
“God damn it, Noodle,” I say.
“I still can’t believe she didn’t tell you,” he says.
“I can,” I say, and think about my old apartment in Allentown. I can still hear her little footsteps as she scampers up the fire escape, can still hear her voice, trickling like laughing water outside my bedroom window. “Noodle! Nooooodlllle....Wake up, Noodle! Wake up, Noodle! Wake up!”
for Jasmine Lea, 1978-2019
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