Meeting Kent (Book Part 28)

Previous

The primitive campground is a flat, grassy oval, bordered by weathered railroad ties. Picnic tables dot the space, each sheltered by crescent-shaped windbreaks, their curved structures a half-hearted attempt to tame the elements. While the idea of a solitary night under the stars tugs at me, the growing scatter of tents being pitched by other campers sparks a small hope for social interaction. I drive three-quarters of the way around the loop and park in front of a car already settled in.

On my walk back from a rank, non-plumbed toilet, I notice the once-empty car behind me now has its door open. Its occupant—a figure with a calf muscle as chiseled as a mountain ridge—is swapping shoes. They glance up as I pass. My thoughts spiral: Solo traveler? Good-looking. Nice smile. Heavy eye contact. My heart does an unexpected backflip as I manage a smile, say “Hi,” and propel myself forward toward my car.

I busy myself with small tasks—folding clothes, reading a few pages, jotting scattered thoughts in my journal—but my attention drifts, one eye always half-aware of the fellow traveler. As the light fades, headlamps and flashlights bob across the campground, casting brief pools of light as everyone completes their final tasks of the evening. My parking neighbor’s tent stands tall now, a small fortress against the night. I contemplate setting up mine, but the ominous roll of thunder and the threatening clouds convince me otherwise. Tonight, the cozy interior of my car will do.

The sky deepens to an inky blue-black, and lightning cracks across the horizon. Though it’s still too early to sleep, I fidget restlessly. Opening my car door, I step into the night, my eyes adjusting poorly to the dark. My hand skims the car’s cool metal surface, feeling for the curve that leads to the trunk. As I lift the handle, a voice cuts through the darkness.

“Whoa!”

I spin around, startled. A hardly visible man is a few feet away, his outline illuminated by my trunk’s light.

“Sorry about that,” he says, hands raised in apology. “Didn’t mean to scare you—it’s just… that lightning strike was impressive.”

Relieved, I exhale a nervous laugh. “Not a bad spot for watching it,” I reply, noting his perch on the hood of his car.

“You can join me if you want,” he says far too quickly.

Of course, I want to; I’ve wanted nothing more since the moment our eyes met earlier. But the thought of actually sitting there, so close to him, ties my stomach in knots.