Bear in Mind (Roar)
Hello. Nice to meet you. I’m your guide for this story. It’s a true story, and it happened to our mutual friends Miles and Connie and their friends Kristin and Reyesh (he goes by Ryan—don’t tell his mother). Miles, Connie, Kristin, and Ryan all went camping not too long ago. This would almost certainly have been Miles’ idea, probably because he had recently watched Moonrise Kingdom on Netflix. (Connie was out with her sister shopping for table runners or something along those lines.) The others went along with the camping idea because it was much easier than arguing with Miles.
A surprising event happened on their overnight camping excursion, which I will let reveal itself organically as the story progresses. This will allow for gripping anticipation on your part, giving you a sense of concern for our four friends. Okay, it was a bear. A bear came into their campsite. There, I spoiled the surprise. I’m merely a guide, not a storyteller. So now you know. Get over it.
“This bear was big,” Miles says, holding one hand above his head.
“It wasn’t that big,” Connie clarifies.
“It was bigger than me,” Miles says. His hand is down now.
“Which isn’t saying much,” Connie says to herself, but loud enough for everyone else to hear.
Ouch. That one stung. Oh, I forgot to tell you. Miles and Connie are at a party where Miles is telling The Bear Story to a few (other) friends. This quiet and intimate gathering takes place one week after the camping trip and the surprising arrival of the bear. I don’t see Kristin or Ryan; maybe they’re coming later. Okay, back to the party.
Miles contorts his face in a dismissive sneer and feigns a look of comic misunderstanding of Connie’s comment, as if she could legitimately compare an enormous bear’s height to a mere human.
To be clear, Miles is five feet eight inches tall. Connie is five feet nine and a half inches tall. Sorry, I like to be thorough with the information I am privy to.
You know what? This is a good time for some history. Miles Thicke met Constance DeLasco at college. They wrinkled the sheets a few times but ultimately went on different paths, romantically speaking. Miles preferred the athletic type when it came to female companionship. Connie was interested in the academic variety when choosing a mate. (Which had been Connie’s way of saying she thought Miles was lacking a bit “upstairs.” However, “downstairs” is another story.) They met again a few years later, on the grass at an outdoor Wilco concert. They both were tripping on some kind of illegal substance but were still upright and semi-conscious. Their rekindled affair lasted nearly eight hours—Connie suddenly remembered Miles was five feet eight inches tall. Fast-forward several years. Our persnickety pair met again a few months ago (well after Connie’s divorce) and re-rekindled their intermittent romance. Things are going… Well, let’s just say… Never mind, back to the story.
Miles says, “Look, it was an adult bear, people. Come on.” He takes a sip of ice water before continuing, a calculated pause to let the repeating of the emphasized word “bear” sink in.
You may be wondering why Miles is drinking ice water at a party. It’s a reasonable observation, so I will address it. Miles is drinking ice water and not a beer or a martini or a nice Chardonnay because Connie wants to drink with her friends (they’re mostly her friends), and Miles will need to drive them both to their respective homes. Also, Connie doesn’t like Miles’ “tone” when he has more than one drink. Okay? Let’s continue.
The small crowd of friends is sitting and standing in the living room of Harriette and Marta’s nicely appointed home. Connie and Harriette are snuggled together on the sofa holding hands. Miles is standing next to a potted weeping fig tree between the fireplace and the oriel window. Harriette’s wife, Marta, sits in the recliner opposite the sofa. Lastly, another couple, Joe and Elise, find themselves together on the loveseat. Elise has a decorative throw on her lap because she’s wearing short shorts and her legs are cold, but Harriette doesn’t think Elise’s cold thighs are a good enough reason to turn on the gas fireplace.
Here’s a little background information. The living room is in a house on Sportsman Lane (not Sportsmen Lane—that’s over by the river). The house is owned by Harriette Bond, who is best friends with Connie and likes to host quiet, intimate gatherings with light classical music or soft jazz playing and soy candles situated every four and a half feet. Connie and Harriette also met in college, and they also wrinkled the sheets a few times but unilaterally agreed to pursue other persons of interest with whom to exchange body fluids.
Joe says, “Miles, how big was this bear exactly? Ten feet tall?”
“Well, Joe. First of all, thanks for asking. Secondly, it’s hard to say because when I looked out the tent, it was on all fours.” Joe looks over at Connie for verification. She offers him a half-smile and a tilt of her head, which lets the seated people know Miles may not possess the keenest memory recall. “I mean, it was dark, except for the fire. And that was burning down low. Okay? I was half asleep. All right? And a little stoned. Plus, we were fuh-reaking scared out of our wits.” All heads turn to Connie.
“Well, he is right about that one,” she says. “We were kinda freaked out for a while.” Harriette raises their two clasped hands and kisses the back of Connie’s hand in a consoling gesture. Marta sees this with narrowing eyes but doesn’t say anything.
“See. See! ” Miles points at Connie and snaps his fingers three times. Some water flies from his glass and makes a little wet spot in front of the fireplace. “When are Kristin and Ryan getting here? They will tell you. I think Ryan took some pics, maybe a video, of the thing. Are they still coming, Harriette?”
Kristin and Ryan are indeed coming. They’re in the car and on their way after a frantic search for a substitute babysitter. Their regular girl has the mumps or the measles or malaria or something. Luckily, Mrs. Zimby next door isn’t doing anything productive with her life and is able to watch little Devika.
“They’re on their way; they just texted,” Harriette says calmly.
Marta shifts to a more upright position in her seat, and it seems her interest has been piqued. “Wait, Mile,” she says. “You really see bear in camping place?” Her broken English is simultaneously cute and annoying to Miles. “Is he true?” she asks the others.
Marta is cute. Her athletic body is probably what is responsible for Miles’ sexual desire for the winsome blonde. Marta is 34, but she looks ten years younger. She’s a former professional tennis player from Slovenia. Okay, now that I think about it, she might be from Slovakia. I’m not completely sure; it’s the one bordering Austria. Either way, Marta’s career was cut short by an injury, erroneously diagnosed as shoulder impingement syndrome. The onset of pain and a grinding sensation in her right shoulder (Marta is right-handed) left her no choice but to undergo risky surgery. She missed six months of tournament play, and her world ranking dropped from 52 to 233. Reluctant to push herself to compete at her former unimpinged level, her once powerful serve resulted in her opponents scoring numerous winners on their returns. She retired from the sport when she overheard her coach tell a colleague, “Even her perfect little bum won’t get her out of this mess.”
Connie says, “Yes, it’s true, but it’s not exactly the way Miles is describing it.” All heads turn to Connie.
“Then please inform everyone how it all went down, Con,” Miles says, sardonically raising his ice water glass. All heads turn to Miles.
“Okay, here’s what happened. We all went camping…”
“Who is all this ‘we’ who is doing the camping?” Marta asks in her cute/annoying manner.
Harriette chimes in, “Marta, my dear, Miles and Connie here went camping with Kristin and Ryan. Remember them? They’ll be here shortly.”
“Right,” Connie says. All heads turn from Marta, then to Harriette, and now to Connie. “We all went up to Cherokee. We had a beautiful day hiking and setting up camp. The fire was fantastic, thanks to Ryan…” An evil eye from Miles sends debilitating blue lasers toward Connie. “...and Miles. Miles brought his Zippo. Thank you, Miles.”
I hate to interrupt Connie’s vastly superior account of The Friendly Bear, but I’d like it entered into the record that Ryan didn’t use Miles’ Zippo lighter at all. He started the fire the old-fashioned way—with sticks and dry leaves and some scrap paper and a few matches. Miles was thirty feet away, peeing on a tree when the campfire was lit. I’m done—take it away, Connie.
“We all had a nice dinner; Kristin brought snacks, Ryan caught some fish—trout, I think—I brought some veggies to fry up, and Miles brought the… uh, weed. For later.” Connie breaks Harriette’s bond and stands up and says, “The bear was about yay tall.” She extends her hand upward to around six feet off the ground, a few inches past the top of her head, and leaves it hovering there waiting for Miles’ response. All faces turn to Miles.
“Whatever,” he says.
I should note Marta was slightly confused with Connie’s jargon, notably the word “Zippo.” She also wasn’t completely confident in her understanding of the mention of “weed.” She thought of asking but stayed silent. Don’t worry, Marta will get the answers from Harriette later, in bed.
Connie continues. “Around midnight, I think, we were all pretty high, laughing and joking, having a good time. We tried playing Charades, but no one could guess anything because we all looked like those floppy balloon guys at car dealerships.” Everyone chuckles at the mental image. Except Marta. “So anyway, around one a.m., we all head to our tents, me and Miles in ours and Kristin and Ryan in theirs. Miles falls asleep immediately, the bastard.”
“Mile, do you have the snore?” Marta asks with a wrinkled forehead.
“I don’t snore. Do I snore, Con? I don’t think I snore,” Miles says. “Do you snore?”
“I not know this,” Marta says with a flip of her hand. “Do I do snoring?” She asks her wife this.
Harriette says, “No, honey. You don’t snore. You purr… like a pussycat.” Harriette sips from her glass of iced bourbon and lemon.
“Well, see Mile? I am not snore person,” Marta proclaims and uses fingers on both hands to push her wayward hair behind her ears.
Another history lesson. Marta and Harriette got married almost two years ago this month. They met at the Vatican, of all places, a year prior. Marta was doing the tourist thing, and Harriette was conducting research for a documentary on the Pope’s security detail, which formed following the 1981 shooting of Pope John Paul II. Harriette produces independent documentaries, and her longtime collaborator, Jimmy Ship, co-produces and adds visual effects and writes the musical score. Marta met her future wife by bumping into her while gazing upward at the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling. Four breasts squished together, so there were no injuries. Harriette was immediately smitten when Marta, only a novice at gynephilic romance, fumbled her way through an apology. The American suggested they go for coffee and biscotti, and the Slovakian/Slovenian accepted. More meetings for coffee, lunch, and dinner were arranged, and on Marta’s last day in Italy, Harriette introduced the idea of a longer-term relationship.
“Well, that’s settled,” Connie says with a shake of her head. “So I can’t sleep, and I hear this rustling outside. I woke up Miles and said, ‘There’s something outside.’ And he said…”
“I said, ‘It’s only the wind.’” Miles confidently corroborates the important detail that Connie was a half-second away from saying.
“Yeah,” Connie says. “He said, ‘It’s the wind or something.’ Then I heard a sound not exactly wind-related; I think it was our frying pan.” Connie makes a poor attempt at emulating the sound of a frying pan on a rock. “And I still heard the shuffling sound.”
“What did you do?” Elise says, removing the blanket from her no-longer-chilly legs, which catch the prurient attention of Miles, Harriette, and Marta.
“Sweetie, don’t interrupt,” Joe says, rubbing Elise’s knee. The left one. “I’m sure she was getting to it.”
“Sorry, Connie,” Elise says. She snuggles closer to Joe; tales of wild animal encounters always terrify her.
This might be a good time to meet Joe and Elise, the couple on the loveseat. Joseph Lorenzo is a musician—a multi-instrumentalist, in fact. He plays Spanish guitar (flamenco being his specialty), the vibraphone, tenor sax, keyboards, and bongos and castanets (when required). He also dabbles with the theremin but only when the sensitive-eared Elise is out of the house. Elise Martin is a cellist. Joe and Elise are regular contributors to Harriette’s documentary soundtracks, and they met in the studio while laying down brief background musical passages for The Alamo: Catholic Mission to Confederate Warehouse. Their first verbal exchange was as follows: Joe said, “Excuse me, but you dropped your rosin.” To which Elise replied, “You have some gunk in your teeth.” After a couple of thank-yous, the pair met for a late snack after rehearsals. They walked to a place called Samantha’s on the Pike (not Samantha’s on the River—that’s over by the river), a pastry shop, for decaf and doughnuts. (This was after Joe brushed his teeth.) Let’s see… I believe Connie was about to continue her story.
Connie continues her story. “Well, I woke up Miles—a little more firmly this time.”
“She punched me in the shoulder,” Miles explains. “Multiple times.”
“You know, Miles, it was kind of important. There was a freaking bear in our camp.” Connie says this with a gleam in her eye, not in the snarky way that it sounds.
“Hold on a sec,” Miles interrupts. “I need a refill.” Miles skips to the kitchen to top off his ice water.
“Let me explain something, just so you all know,” Connie says, her voice now low and conspiratorial. “I woke up Miles and told him there was something outside. He unzipped the tent like a centimeter and looked out. Then he goes, ‘Oop’ and faints.”
“He fainted?! ” Elise says in a loud whisper. Connie nods with her eyebrows raised, a proud gesture made more satisfying now that the others know the truth. She pantomimes a tree falling by moving her forearm from a rigid vertical position to a horizontal one. Everybody laughs, including Marta.
“He was scaredy-cat,” Marta says, finally understanding enough to contribute to the group dynamic.
Miles returns with the grin of a doofus. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, Joe told a knock-knock joke,” Harriette says. Joe’s eyes widen; he knows he’s on the hook for an impromptu witticism.
“Tell me,” Miles says.
“Uh… knock-knock,” Joe says tentatively, gears grinding away in his head.
“Who’s there?”
“Donald.”
“Donald who?”
“Man, I need the number for your therapist.” Everyone laughs again, except for Miles and Marta. Elise rewards Joe with a kiss on the cheek.
“I don’t get it,” Miles says, squinting.
“I don’t know this Donald,” Marta says indifferently, checking the uniformity of her fingernails.
Ding-Dong-Ding…
The sound you hear is Harriet’s melodic doorbell. It’s supposed to ring Ding-Dong-Ding-Dong, but it’s one of those wireless ones and probably needs a new battery. Undoubtedly, it has lost a dong. I wonder who’s at the door. Ah, yes, it’s Kristin and Ryan, fresh from a squabble in the car concerning their regular babysitter—sixteen-year-old Riley—and why Ryan insists on tipping her far too excessively. Ryan’s argument: She’s in school and probably could use the money. Kristin’s argum… Well, maybe this isn’t the time or place to discuss Kristin’s personal beliefs concerning Ryan and Riley.
Harriette opens the front door and welcomes Kristin and Ryan to the proceedings. There is an exchange of hellos and hugs and fist bumps with the others. Harriette gets them drinks, and the latecomers sit on the sofa with Connie and Harriette. It’s a tight squeeze, but hopefully the alcohol will act as a mood-changing lubricant. Ryan’s eyes travel from Elise’s bare legs to Marta’s svelte body, an action so blatantly executed that it fails to escape his wife’s observation.
Uh-oh, not a good way to start off the evening. By the way, I think I failed to mention how and where Kristin and Ryan first got together. But is it actually necessary? It looks as though they may not be partners much longer. Poor Devika. Okay, quickly, it’s only fair. Our two former lovebirds met at work—they are both teachers. Ryan transferred to Kristin’s school. He teaches high school biology and coaches girls soccer; Kristin teaches AP English Literature and Composition. Ryan was late on his first day, and Kristin had to cover both morning classes since their classrooms were adjacent. (Kristin had the biology students read Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina.) As a thank-you, Ryan asked Kristin out for dinner. Kristin conceived a child on their third date, despite the fact that Ryan teaches high school biology.
“Hey, Ryan,” Miles calls out to his friend. “Did you take any pics of the bear?”
Ryan, who is thinking about Riley and now Elise and Marta, is thrown off guard by the question. He hadn’t thought about the bear for almost a week. He and Kristin are going through a rough patch in their marriage.
“What bear?” Ryan asks, and he sips from a bottle of Dos Equis.
Sorry to interrupt again. It’s not important, but Harriette purchases Dos Equis when she knows Ryan will be over. He had once casually mentioned he liked the brand of beer while at a restaurant. Three years ago. Now let’s see if his buddy can refresh his memory with respect to tonight’s big topic.
“C’mon, you know, the bear at the campsite.” Miles is getting more perturbed over the derailing of his bear story and why nobody seems to believe him. He’s relived the encounter numerous times in his head over the past week.
“Was this polar bear?” Marta inquires, erroneously emphasizing the second syllable.
Me again. Harriette had taken Marta to the zoo the summer the former tennis star moved to the United States, and they had seen, among other animals, a polar bear. Naturally, Marta believed polar bears liked the hot and humid conditions. After all, it looked like it was having fun swimming around in the man-made pool one-billionth the size of its natural habitat. (Rough estimate.) She became quite enamored with the snowy-furred beast and has numerous keepsakes and mementos advertising this fact: a tiny plushie on her keychain, flannel pajamas with cartoon polar bears, at least three polar bear coffee mugs, and, if you look closely at the wall behind Miles, a framed selfie of Harriette and herself with the enormous animal in the background. The bear appears disinterested.
Miles scrunches his face into a confused, wrinkled mass. He briefly wonders if he could have sex with someone who would ask such a ridiculous question.
“No, honey,” Harriette explains. “It was probably a grizzly or something.”
“I don’t think grizzlies live in Appalachia,” Joe offers. He is no animal expert, but he did watch a documentary on the Appalachian Trail.
“Maybe it was a koala bear,” Connie says, feigning seriousness, obviously trying to irritate Miles further.
“What? ” Miles says, flummoxed.
“What color was the bear, Miles?” Elise asks. This is her attempt to get people to focus more on the story and away from casual speculation.
“Black,” Miles says louder than is necessary. “It was a black bear. Okay? It had black fur and a black nose and probably drove a black SUV. Okay?”
“Calm down, Clouseau. We were only trying to add some details to the story,” Connie says.
Another critical remark from Connie, semi-disguised as a pacifying explanation. (She’s fairly certain Miles hasn’t seen any of the Pink Panther movies.) Connie has been doing this repeatedly for the past week. It’s almost like a game to her: see how far she can go with mocking comments, which Miles fails to notice. It’s all in the delivery and facial expressions, she will say. So far, through clever wordplay, she’s gotten away with calling him empty-headed, a braying jackass, a Swiss-cheese-for-brains nematode, an untuned banjo, and Muzak to her ears. (This last one was aimed at Miles’ singing abilities.) I’m beginning to think their relationship is not based on trust and respect.
“Oh, that bear,” Ryan says. “No, man, I didn’t take any pics of it from our tent. Only after.” Ryan utters the last two words, and now they’re floating in the air towards Miles’ ears. He seems to think that he opened a door that possibly should have remained shut.
“After what?” Miles’s confusion is growing exponentially.
Ryan sees Connie out of the corner of his eye, shaking her head rapidly but surreptitiously so as not to catch Miles’ attention. But Joe and Elise notice and foresee a tense situation forming. Good thing Miles isn’t drinking, Joe thinks. I hope Miles isn’t drinking, Elise thinks. Joe and Elise look at each other. Uh-oh, they both think. Elise points at Joe, touches her nose, and lastly points at Miles’ glass of ice water. Joe nods.
Yeah, you guessed it. Miles traded water for vodka when he went to refill his “ice water.” Don’t worry; he’s not drunk. He’s simply making the holes in his Swiss cheese a wee bit larger. Joe is going to wait until Miles sets his drink down so he can take a whiff.
“Why don’t we all smoke a little Herb Alpert?” Joe interjects, trying to lighten the mood.
“What is the herbalpert?” Marta asks, not surprisingly. Harriette begins to speak but changes her mind.
Miles says, “Ryan, did you or did you not take pictures of the bear? I gotta know; these people don’t believe me.” Ryan looks around the room at each of his friends. Connie displays a serene but guarded face. Kristin is showing Harriette photos of Devika on her phone. Joe and Elise seem to be engaging in sign language with themselves. Miles still has a stupefied face, his mouth hanging open. Marta has the top three buttons on her blouse undone.
“I don’t know what is go on anymore,” Marta says and picks up an immense coffee table book titled Polar Bears: Kings of the Arctic—A Photographic Essay.
“Does he not know?” Ryan says to no one in particular. Joe and Elise look at each other. What’s about to happen? they both think.
“Know what?!” Miles whines. He places his glass down on an end table. “Ryan, what don’t I know?” Ryan looks over at Connie again, who rolls her eyes. Joe picks up Miles’ glass and sniffs. He hands the glass to his wife, who in turn hands it to Connie. Connie takes a sip.
“You’ve been drinking, Miles,” she says in a disarmingly calm way, which Miles knows can only mean hellfire will be cast upon him later. Connie looks at Ryan. “Go ahead, tell him. Tell him what he missed. Maybe he should know.” This gets the full attention of the rest of the crowd again, including Marta, even though her book is open to the most adorable photo of a polar bear cub.
It’s on page 51 if you want to check it out.
Ryan says, “Uh…”
Kristin looks from Ryan to Miles and says, “Wait. Miles, what do you know?” She briefly wonders if she and Connie should be spending more time together.
“About what?” Miles says, with both hands upturned.
“About the BEAR! ” Kristin, Ryan, and Connie shout in unison, with Connie adding, “…you knucklehead,” under her breath, at the end.
“I just told you all about it,” Miles says. “A bear came into our campsite. A big-ass bear. Huge.” Connie rolls her eyes again.
“And then what?” Kristin asks, a classic teacher’s prompt. Miles’ face goes from frustrated to contemplative. He turns his head in thought and rubs his chin. His recollection of what came after is exciting and makes him look heroic, but the details still remain a bit fuzzy in his mind.
“Maybe you were a hallucinate?” Marta contributes. “How you say?” She looks over at Harriette, who gives her an inebriated smile, a wink, and a lazy thumbs-up.
“I wasn’t hallucinating, Marta,” Miles says to Harriette’s attractive wife and the subject of no fewer than five masturbatory sessions. “Can you just tell the story, Ryan?” And with the realization he won’t be getting any social points for reciting the account of the bear, Miles sits on the floor next to the coffee table. Ryan, now more confident in his duties as chief storyteller, sits up straighter, clears his throat, and begins his chronicling of the night in question.
Hey, did I ever tell you the time Ryan was arrested? He was driving the babysitter, Riley, home one evening. (Normally she’d walk the few blocks, but it was raining.) When they arrived at Riley’s house, a neighbor—seeing a teenage girl exiting a brownish man’s car stuffing cash in her pocket—called the cops. Fifteen minutes later, Ryan opened his door to two uniformed police officers, and they arrested him on the spot for Solicitation of a Minor or some such nonsense. It took Kristin two hours to convince the authorities that Riley was indeed their babysitter, and her husband was merely paying her for three hours of work. But the unfortunate event was also the impetus for her belief that Ryan was messing around with the sitter. To be fair, Ryan had never done anything remotely inappropriate with Riley or any other non-Kristin entity, except for a harmless glance or two.
“Okay.” Ryan starts with a series of short, understandable factoids. “We went camping. Me and Kristin. And Connie and Miles. Up at Cherokee. We had a campfire and our two tents. It was nice, right?” This last part he directs toward Connie and Miles.
“Yeah, yeah, it was nice. Everyone knows this already,” Miles says. He halfheartedly looks for his glass of ice water/vodka (not remembering Connie has it in her custody) but gives up to concentrate on Ryan’s narrative. “Get to the bear part.”
Ryan says, “Right. Okay. The bear. So me and Kris were… uh, sleeping in our tent when I got a text from Connie.”
“Actually, I got the text,” Kristin clarifies, her forefinger pointing to the ceiling for emphasis.
“Yeah, I texted Kristin,” Connie confirms.
“Um, who cares who texted who?” Miles says, waving his hand back and forth.
“Ryan, you were… Well, I was… You know, we were… Anyway, I got the text,” Kristin adds.
“Right,” Ryan says. “The text said: There’s a bear outside. Or something like that.”
“No, it said: BEAR OUTSIDE. All caps,” Kristin says. “Right, Connie?” Miles sighs noisily as Connie extracts her phone and swipes and taps.
Connie says, “I texted Kristin: Theres a BEAR outside Miles FAINTED. ‘Bear’ in all caps, ‘fainted’ in all caps. Yep.”
“What?! ” Miles shouts.
“Mile was big scaredy-cat,” Marta informs Kristin and Ryan. Kristin nods in agreement at the charming but grammatically incorrect European. For some reason, Ryan finds Marta’s comment incredibly funny and goes into a fit of prolonged laughter. Everyone waits for Ryan to compose himself.
Connie says, “Sorry, Miles. You took one look at the bear, and you fainted. You were out for like an hour. I let you rest while the three of us… took care of the situation.” Miles is visibly stunned. He has both hands flat on the coffee table, and his jaw is hanging open again.
“Um, not what I remember,” Miles says defiantly. “I distinctly recall fighting the bear myself. I laid a few good punches on him, and he ran back into the woods.” This sets Ryan off on another laughing jag, causing Kristin to pat his back in an effort to return him to respectable social behavior, but it doesn’t keep the smile off her own face.
It’s pretty noticeable that Ryan gets giggly from a few swallows of beer.
“Connie, tell them. Didn’t I leave the tent and fight the bear?” Miles is desperately trying to remain the hero in his retelling of the story. For the past week, Connie has neither denied nor confirmed Miles’ bear-fighting narrative whenever he brought up the exciting (in his mind) camping adventure. But it appears she no longer is accepting of this fantasy version.
“Sorry, Miles,” Connie says. “Now I really do think you were a hallucinate.” Connie borrows Marta’s phrase.
“I know this already,” Marta says with a shrug and starts to apply Chapstick.
A side note: Marta’s use of Chapstick, sunscreen, and bottled water borders on addiction. This stems from her long days on sunny tennis courts eleven months out of the year from age fourteen until she retired. She will go through a tube of Chapstick in a week. Her favorite flavor is piña colada. It’s also Harriette’s favorite as well. Now I think Miles is close to being schooled in recent history.
Connie says, “Miles, you fainted. Okay? Get over it. You didn’t fight any bear; you must’ve dreamed it.”
“Or hallucinate,” Marta says.
“Or you hallucinated. Thanks, Marta,” Connie says.
“Not problem; I think what I know.” Everybody looks at Marta, slightly confused, then back at Miles.
“What is wrong with you people?!” Miles’ tender mind is reeling at this new development, and his face is flushed crimson. “Ryan. Buddy.”
It’s more of a vermilion, if you ask me. But let’s go with crimson. What do I care?
Ryan says, “Sorry, Miles. Connie’s right. You were out. I don’t know if you fainted or if you were fast asleep, but you never left your tent. The three of us went out to deal with… everything.”
“You guys fought the bear?” Miles says with his characteristic sarcastic tone.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a bear,” Ryan says.
“Oh boy,” Connie mutters.
“No bear?” Marta says. “This is sucky story.” She removes her polar bear slippers and starts massaging her polar bear-socked feet. The three men are distracted momentarily.
“So was there a bear or not?” Elise asks Ryan.
Did you know Elise used to date Ryan before she met Joe and Ryan met Kristin? Okay, not important this late in the game. I see that now.
Ryan says, “It was a guy in a bear costume. We saw him take off the bear head, and he sat by the fire with this sad expression on his face.” Miles is visibly shocked. His face goes from crimson to olive green.
No comment.
“Yeah. Ryan, Connie, and I went out to see what was up,” Kristin says. “He was just sitting there for the longest time. He took off his head first, I think. Right? Before we went out?” She turns to her husband, and he nods.
“Is this true, Con?” Miles is having a difficult time aligning his dream memory with reality.
“How ’bout we light up?” Joe says, trying to end the bear discussion and get everyone back in a more cheerful mood. Elise nods vigorously in agreement.
“I wish to light it up,” Marta concurs, turning to her wife, who smiles languidly at her.
Connie says, “Yes, Miles. His name was Kevin. He was going around campsites trying to scare people away and looting their tents of cash or whatever he thought was valuable. He admitted the whole thing.” Ryan and Kristin nod slowly in unison. “We talked to him a while. He apologized. He told us his wife was sick, and he lost his job and needed money—said he couldn’t take it anymore. Being a bear, I mean.”
“We gave him twenty bucks,” Ryan says.
“Well, it was my twenty dollars,” Kristin adds.
“We took some selfies with him. Wanna see?” Ryan pulls out his phone.
“No,” Miles says sullenly.
“I see,” Marta says, and Ryan hands her his phone.
“Miles, don’t be sour; we’re trying to have fun,” Connie says.
Miles stands up and says, “I think we should go. C’mon, Con.”
Ryan says, “What? No. We just got here.”
Elise says, “Aw, Miles. Stay.” Kristin looks at Elise’s bare legs, her brain trying to interpret the conflated feelings of attraction, enviousness, and jealous resentment.
Harriette says dryly, “Please, don’t go,” in a monotonic voice like she was reading the dosage from a bottle of aspirin.
“Bye-bye, Mile,” Marta says. She takes sips from two water bottles, each with a different colored liquid, presumably containing fortifiable substances, a habit held over from her playing years.
“You can go home, Miles,” Connie says, pointing a clarifying finger at her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. “Marta can drive me home later.”
The reason for Connie’s last statement is that Marta does not drink alcohol. Not one drop. Her father was killed by a drunken driver when she was fifteen, back in Slovakia (or the other one), and she vowed never to touch the stuff. Also, Marta has driven Harriette’s friends home in the past. She will soon say something with a sarcastic tone, but she enjoys being the designated driver; it makes her feel useful and part of the group. Several times, after safely chauffeuring Joe and Elise, Elise drunkenly kissed Marta on the lips, followed by a tight, lengthy hug—her way of saying thank you and goodnight. Marta does not dislike this part of her sober duty.
“Yes, Marta drive everyone home,” Marta says sarcastically. “Like I better not anything else to do.” While everyone ponders this, Miles stares at Connie with his hands on his hips.
“What?” Connie says.
“Are you coming?” Miles asks, even though he knows she won’t be leaving her friends this soon on a Saturday night. “Well, I’m outta here. Nice to see everyone again.” He turns to leave but stops and looks at Marta. He opens his mouth, a thought pending, soon to be vocalized, but there wasn’t enough alcohol in his system to render it aloud.
Harriett, although extremely comfortable on the sofa next to Connie, gets up and walks Miles to the door. She hugs him goodbye, whispers something in his ear, and Miles is gone.
Miles is gone, all right. At the door, Harriette whispers the cleverly concealed foreboding sentiment, “You take care of yourself.” Miles did have enough alcohol in his system to register this as nothing more than a friendly goodbye.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have told him?” Ryan wonders out loud.
“What do you see in that guy, Connie?” Kristin says. Connie chuckles at this, but it’s not a cheerful sound. “What was the big deal anyway? So it wasn’t a real bear. Who cares? I think it’s actually funny. Don’t you guys think it’s a little humorous in a way? What are the chances? I mean, really. A guy in a bear costume.”
Are you also noticing that Kristin gets chatty when she drinks?
“Why Mile get mad?” Marta says. She still has yet to grasp the fickle nature of her American counterparts. “He not knowing he can’t fight bear if there’s no bear? He is… how you say… loo loo?”
Harriette returns to her seat and picks up Connie’s hand again. She says, “I think you expressed the sentiment perfectly, Marta.”
A slow, jazzy rendition of “Dancing In the Moonlight” comes on the sound system, and Joe and Elise get up to dance. All the seated people gaze longingly at Elise’s shapely, bare legs.
“Marta, would you be able to take me home later?” Connie asks the former tennis star.
“Oh, yes,” Marta says. “I take everyone home. Whenever we want to.” Connie smiles at Marta.
“This is nice,” Kristin says, nudging Ryan. “Don’t you think this is nice? We should do this more often.” Ryan puts his arm around his wife, and they all watch the happy couple dance.
Joe and Elise continue slow dancing even when the music changes to Liszt’s “Liebesträume.” They decide not to share the news of Elise’s pregnancy with their friends just yet. Harriette sighs. Ryan decides he should cut back on Riley’s tips. Kirstin is thinking, “This is nice.” Marta slides her feet back into her polar bear slippers. Connie is formulating her break-up text to Miles. It isn’t going to be a lengthy communication—Connie has a nifty way of coming right to the point. To her, it was inevitable something would eventually split them up again.
I guess you could say a bear came into their campsite and tore them apart.
