Day Twenty

Day Twenty

The first thing they do after waking you up on Fire Day is make sure you're prepared for Fire Night. There is no Chuck on Fire morning. You do not have to run, because presumably, all the walking and hiking and trying to not kill yourself out in the wilderness will be enough activity for you.

Phil runs a backpack check. Everyone gets a very big pack to lug around on this adventure. He walks the room, checking our supplies.

Parkas, hats, two pairs of thick socks, jeans, hiking boots, winter hat, warm gloves. I don't have hiking boots, so he sends Gideon to the lost and found to find me some.

I slip them on. They're a little too big and feel heavy on my feet, but Phil says they'll do.

Rolls of toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and a small shovel that fits in your backpack.

"So you can dig a hole and do your business and then bury it," Phil explains helpfully.

"Lovely," I say. "This gets better by the minute."

Backpack, personal tent, first-aid kit, flashlight, wool blanket, sleeping bag, tarp, mat, knife, bottles of water, and packets of dried food for snacks.

Brandy looks at the knives.

"Are you going to make us, like, catch and kill and cook our food?"

"Maybe," Phil says. "Want to?"

He winks.

She pales.

"No," he says, patting her on the shoulder. "The food will be taken care of. No killing out there."

The second thing is eating. You don't have to cook that day. You do get breakfast, though, and Phil says to load up, so Brandy eats three helpings of everything. I try to eat, but I'm still thinking about Holly. She should be here with us, since she was part of our core group.

I hope she made it somewhere safe.

Gideon is strangely quiet as we eat. She liked her Fire experience, so I thought she'd be more excited for us, but all she says is "Good luck."

We meet outside. There are six of us: me, Billy, Brandy, Josh, Charlotte, and Nick. Phil and Tracy are our guides.

"Single file," Phil calls out. "Keep up. We have a long way to go until we can take a break."

I sigh. The pack is heavy and it's hard to keep good balance with it on. I'm behind Brandy and Charlotte, who seem to be having no problem.

I stop to readjust my straps. They're thick and difficult.

"Let me." It's Josh.

"I can do it," I say. I give one more good yank on both sides and almost pitch forward onto my face. He catches my shoulders.

"Thanks," I say.

"No problem. I did this before at another place. It gets easier. I don't think this is going to be that bad, though. The one I did was a whole week long."

We start walking together.

"That's long. A week," I say. My shoulders are already starting to pinch under the straps.

"Yeah," he answers. "Hey, you know I'm out soon. I think a day or so before you. I can't wait. I feel cooped up."

"Where…the other place?" I ask. "What was that like?"

"It was in Colorado," Josh says. "Three months, mandatory. I crashed my dad's car. Last year. I wasn't messed up or anything. It was more like a behavioral camp."

"Well," I say. "You seem pretty well-behaved to me, so I guess it worked."

He laughs.

"I'm not an outdoorsy person," I tell him. "I mean, I like nature and I'm glad it's here, but I don't really want to spend an excessive amount of time in it."

"Same," he says. "I mostly play games, watch movies, stuff like that. Chess."

"I get lost at chess. I like Scrabble, though. I'm excellent at Scrabble."

"Cool. I think there's a board in the activity room. Let's do it when we get back. If we survive."

"Right," I answer, watching something kind of furry and disturbing skitter across the dirt in front of us. "If we survive."

—

After a few hours, we stop for lunch, which is dried fruit, nuts, water, beef jerky, and tofu nuggets. Tracy takes Charlotte and Brandy a ways off to pee, but I'm going to wait until we get where we're going, when it's dark, even though I'm feeling a little uncomfortable.

Before we start moving again, Tracy whips out the Polaroid.

"Yep," she says. "Even out here, we commemorate the moment."

We walk and hike for six hours. I know this because Charlotte has a watch.

Everywhere we go, I look for signs, even though I know I shouldn't because it's probably useless, but still…signs of Holly. A footprint. Maybe she dropped something. I don't know.

Anything.

But it's been five days. Someone had to have come and gotten her. Maybe she had a plan. Maybe someone knew to meet her out here.

—

When we finally stop, you can tell this is where they always do this, because there are remnants of other fires, like dark pits and blackened branches.

Phil claps his hands. "This is where we make camp. The first thing is shelter. Does anyone know why?"

"So we can get out of this stupid place?" Nick asks. His cheeks are red from the cold.

"Ha ha," Phil says. "Yes and no. One, yes, you need this step to complete the program. But two…what do we do when we need to stay warm and safe from the environment?"

"Um, go into my bedroom?" Charlotte says. "I mean, come on. "

"What if you don't have that? Play along nicely, Charlotte."

She throws up her hands. "I don't know, man. You tell me."

"You need to protect yourself. You need to start before it gets dark so you have something in place for the night."

I raise my hand. "And we do this…how?"

Brandy raises her hand. "I have spent a considerable amount of time watching Alone, so I feel pretty confident in saying we need to start collecting branches and stuff to build a shelter."

"Excellent," Tracy says. "Though we do have tents, in case we need them."

"Ohh," Nick says. "Shelter building. I think this is where the knives come in."

He looks positively glowing at that thought.

Everyone collects their knife from their pack. Tracy directs us to mesquite trees, warning us about the sharp stickers, and tells us to look for other types of fallen branches, like cottonwood.

Josh and I try to saw at some mesquite branches, but it's not as easy as it sounds, because they are sharp, and it's painful if you hit the wrong spot. We finally get some together and collect branches from cottonwoods. Everyone is fanned out, arms full, looking and wandering. We are allowed to use branches that have been left behind from other Fire trips, too. They're scattered around the site in loose piles that Phil pointed out.

When it seems like we have enough, Tracy shows us how to make a kind of A-frame for our personal shelter by lashing branches together with long strands we shave off the mesquite branches. The strands act as a kind of long, thin rope. It's very hard to cut the branches into decent strips, though.

After that, we have to drape our tarps over the A and secure them with actual rope, which Phil has been keeping in his own backpack.

This takes an incredibly long time. My A-frame falls twice, but I'm determined to get it back up.

"You need help?" Tracy asks.

"No," I say sharply. I'm still testy at her about Holly.

She holds up her hands. "All right, then."

"Well," Billy calls out to her. " I need help."

He's gotten twisted inside his tarp. Tracy heads over to him.

"Voilà," Josh says.

I turn around.

His shelter is perfect.

"A week in the Colorado wilderness," he crows.

"A-plus, bravo, good for you, mountain man," Charlotte calls out. Her frame is crooked, but she's done. I look over at Brandy. She's almost done, too.

My heart sinks. I'm on my third try. Why didn't I let Tracy help me?

Finally, I think I get everything solid and throw the tarp over. I hold my breath.

It stays.

I loop the mesquite rope through the holes in the tarp, tying the ends.

It stays.

I feel a little bloom of accomplishment.

Suddenly Brandy calls out, "UNFAIR," pointing to two huge, real tents on the edge of our campsite.

Phil and Tracy look at us like So what?, smiling away.

"Well," Phil says, laughing. "I mean, if something does happen during the night to one of your fine homemade establishments, you can seek shelter with us. And you do have your own little tents, just in case."

"I'm sure Bella will bunk with Josh if things get rough," Charlotte chortles. "Or maybe even if they don't."

"Oh my god," I say. "Shut up. "

Charlotte sticks out her tongue at me.

I don't even want to look at Josh, because I'm a little ashamed that while we were hiking here, I did have some thoughts like Oh look a starry night in the wilderness what if we kissed, that sort of thing. Not gropey, just kind of soft and fantastic stuff.

"Sorry." I finally look at him. "I'm sorry she's a jerk sometimes."

But he doesn't look mad or embarrassed.

In fact, he has a weird expression on his face.

Like maybe he was thinking the same thing about me when we were walking.

I mean, it's not going to happen, because if we got caught, we'd get in trouble.

I turn back to threading my mesquite rope.

And also…I don't even know how to kiss anyone when I'm sober, because Dylan was my first kiss and I was buzzed when it happened then and most of the times after. What's it like to kiss someone when you're sober? How much did my buzz contribute to how great I thought our kisses were? Maybe they weren't great after all.

I would, though, kind of like to find out if they would be.

What it's like.

Without being drunk.

"Bella." Tracy's voice snaps me out of my reverie. I can feel a blush creeping across my face. Can she tell what I was thinking?

"Let's get started on your fire, okay?" She pauses. "Are you all right? You look a little flushed."

"I'm fine," I say. "Totally fine. Ready for fire."

—

Phil gathers us in a circle. He shows us how to use our knives to carve a V-shaped notch in the center of one branch and to cut a second small branch in a certain way to make something called a spindle. Then he says we need to find tinder, which is like tiny leaves, dried grass, and twigs, and shape it into something that looks like a small bird's nest or bundle. He moves quickly, and it's hard for me to follow. I wish I had something to take notes with, but I do the best I can.

It's pretty hard to cut that V-shaped notch, which is small, with gloves on, so I take mine off, even though the temperature is dropping at a pretty speedy rate. I'm much better at finding the little things for the bundle. I'm pretty proud of my bundle.

And then it gets hard.

I hate this spindle. I'm trying to stick it into the notch in my wood, which is not a very good V, and I can't get a good latch. It takes me several tries. I finally do, and then I start rubbing the spindle back and forth, over and over and over, between my hands.

Like, over and over and over.

Like, for years.

I cannot get a spark, and you need a spark to blow on so you can add a small dry piece of bark to catch fire and then transfer that shit to your little tinder bundle and hope like hell the flames catch and you have a tiny fire that you can make into a big fire with more branches and keep going for god knows how long.

That's the plan, as far as I can tell, but it is not working forme.

My wrists are starting to ache from twisting this spindle.

It's getting downright freezing, too. It's December in the desert, which means it's friggin' cold, no matter how thick my jeans and socks are. I don't know why they didn't have us wear long underwear, too.

I'm getting really frustrated that my spindle work is going nowhere. I decide to redo my notch. But the sun's going down and I'm losing light, so I have to dig my flashlight from my pack and it's way at the bottom.

Brandy is starting to lose it over at her spot and she asks Tracy for help.

And you know what Tracy brings her? Some sort of actual fire-starting contraption that's not a lighter but something akin to a tiny cell phone and does what a lighter does, and suddenly, Brandy has a spark that she desperately, lovingly blows, practically crooning to it as she transfers it delicately to her bundle and bam.

A fire.

I look over at Josh. He's sitting in front of a small, tidy fire, warming his hands. The flames glow on his face.

He's not even paying attention to me, he's so pleased with his fire. I look around. Everyone has their own little fire but me. And Billy.

Then something happens in me.

Like, a crack that starts spreading wider and wider, revealing stuff. Because I hate my unfire. I despise my nonfire.

And inside that crack is a bunch of stuff I have hated over the years.

I start frantically rubbing the spindle again.

This fire is the second grade and Hayley Mitchell pouring a tub of glue over my head and me having to get all my hair cut off to get it out. I mean, that was a shitty thing to do, right? But she was eight and so that stuff happens, you move on, blah blah. But I guess I haven't, because there's Hayley Mitchell and her mean self in my unfire.

This unfire is Hayley Mitchell all over again, taunting me. Telling me I'll never fit in, I'll have glue on my head forever. Glue girl.

This unfire is me getting my period in sixth grade, before everything went haywire and they sent us home and we didn't go back for an entire year, and not realizing what had happened until a teacher pulled me aside and said, "Dear," because I had a big red spot on the back of my jeans. I swear to god, for years after, when someone would call me "dear," I'd flinch, thinking I had blood on my pants.

This unfire is my first period and those bloody jeans.

This unfire is Dylan calling me too much. This unfire is another example of me not being normal, because across the camp from me, I can hear Billy yell, "I have a spark!" and Phil getting all excited and then Josh asking me if I need help and even Charlotte has a fire.

Tracy is in front of me now, taking out that infernal fire-making contraption again. And look, here comes Phil.

Great, now I have a crowd for my unfire.

I tell them to go away.

It's so cold. I'm losing control of my arms. They feel like warm rubber and I'm trying to rub that spindle so hard and so well and still it's refusing me.

This unfire is everything, all of it, the whole past year and what guy breaks up with his girlfriend in a parking lot? JFC, sit down with her and hold her hand and do it. This unfire is my parents not breaking up sooner and my dad not having the balls to tell us he had a girlfriend before just planting her in his apartment one night. This unfire is Laurel thinking it was okay to give me schnapps and dying on me and me afraid to tell my mother how that felt and this unfire is me for letting everything awful take root in me and grow there into something too tough and strong for me to fight.

I can hear them cooking tofu hot dogs and roasting marshmallows over their fires and I think I even smell hot chocolate and I can't stop the eternal waterfall of silent tears that's drowning my face.

Then I see a spark. Some shit-tiny little spark. A flick of orange, and I throw my spindle away and bend down and blow and it gets brighter and smoke comes up and a little flame appears, a beautiful tiny flame, and I hold my bark over it and soon enough the bark's on fire and I swear to the stars above and everything else that if that bark will just stay lit until I get it in my tinder bundle I will stay sober until the end of time and

I have a fire. I shout it out.

"I have a fire!"

Everyone cheers.

I grab some rocks and make a ring and place my branches and twigs in just the right way like Phil showed us and add more twigs and more dried grass and there it is. And I thought I would stop crying, but I haven't.

It's like I've opened something that can't be closed.

Tracy comes over and sits down and pats me on the back and says, "That's a swell fire."

"It is," I say.

"Then why are you crying?"

"I think I broke something in myself," I say quietly. "I don't know."

She doesn't look sad or mad or disappointed at that. She just says, "Bella, it's okay to ask for help. You don't have to kill yourself proving something before you ask for help. That's kind of the whole point of this. We teach you basic skills so you can have tools out there in the world and survive, but we also teach you that when those tools don't work, you ask for help. You recognize that you need help before you…break something in yourself."

"So I failed. I didn't pass," I say. "So I'm going to have to do this again. Because I refused help."

She kind of laughs. "You didn't fail anything. In fact, you showed a tremendous amount of tenacity, and I think that refusal to give up is going to serve you pretty well."

"But I need to ask for help," I say.

"Yeah," she says.

So I say, "I'm goddamn starving. Could you help me cook some tofu and make hot chocolate? Because I don't think I can use my arms anymore."

—

The hot chocolate is good. I sit on a rock around the main campfire, next to Josh, while Phil plays guitar, and I'm so exhausted I can barely hold my cup; my arms are still rubbery. Josh's parka'd arm is slightly touching mine, and that feels really good. I know he can't exactly leave another warm mouth print on me out here like he did at the Star Pit, but this counts.

Not first-kiss-under-a-starry-sky kind of good, but good nonetheless.

I made fire.

And I only have ten days left.