Posted on

Breaking Camp – Part 48

I turned around and began to retrieve my belongings from his tent. Once again I stood with my hands full realizing I forgot to unzip my own tent.  But what was the purpose of moving everything?  The tents served their purpose.  We’d be leaving later in the day, so it didn’t matter if I segregated my sleeping bag and blanket from his.  Everything was getting loaded into the truck today.

The collection of bedding spread on the floor of his tent haphazardly where I decided to leave it. That might have been how it looked during the night, I thought to myself, especially since his jeans and red shirt were still in with the clutter.   I left the mess and grabbed my backpack and a pair of panties from my tent and headed in the opposite direction.  I also stopped to grab a bottle of water and some paper towels from the truck.

I removed and draped my pajama bottoms around my neck, performed my morning routine and used the water and paper towel to cleanse myself, trying to wipe away at least the physical remnants of the night. I kicked dirt into the hole angrily wondering if maybe his claim to not remember what happened was a ploy to not have to engage in sex with me again.  He didn’t strike me as the type to play games or pretend, but his weak explanation left me cold, and not just from the wind blowing against my exposed skin.

Attempting to recall any details from the night that I may have missed, it occurred to me as both interesting and odd that he never said a word throughout. I found it completely in line with his laconic character, but the more I thought about it, I wondered if maybe he did sleep through the experience.  Yet I found it hard to believe that anyone could exert that kind of force for that long a time and have no memory of the event.

I slid into a new pair of panties, stepping out of my shoes so as to not get them dirty, then likewise put my pajamas back on. My calves hated me from the angles and strain of this process over the past few days, and I would be glad to get back to my apartment and just sit.  Ah, the simple joys of indoor plumbing.

I doubted he would return to camp before me, which turned out to be correct, giving me plenty of time to brush my teeth, detangle and pull back my hair, and change into clean clothes. I left my backpack by the fire ring in case I needed it during the day.  Once I finished my routine, I put all of my dirty clothes and supplies back in my tote and loaded it into the back of the truck.  My tent happened to be next on my list and once it was bagged and in the truck bed, the idea avalanched and I decided to pack up the entire camp.  When I went to his tent to roll my sleeping bag, I saw his jeans from the previous day laying where I folded them.  I reached into the pocket and found his book of matches and decided to start the campfire.  It could be hot and roaring by the time he returned and I began hurrying through as many tasks as possible to be useful.

After starting the fire, I removed all of our belongings from his tent. I placed all of his clothing in his duffle bag, making a point to put his toothbrush and toothpaste in a convenient location so he could use it when he returned and placed his gear next to my backpack.  I tried not to snoop as I secured his belongings, but I did like that his book of choice for this weekend had been To Kill A Mockingbird.  I expected a CJ Box novel, or something from the Longmire series.

I carried the stacks of blankets, the sleeping bags, and the empty water jug to the truck.  I secured the axe and even pushed the chainsaw away from other objects so they would not tear if they bumped into its craggy teeth.  By the time I added his tent to the truck, I single-handedly broke camp.

Advertisements

About Pam Portland

For a decade and a half I worked behind a series of desks, peeking out from around my computer monitor. Seeing the United States in bits and pieces wasn't enough to satisfy me, so I am grabbing my virtual pen and taking flight. Welcome along!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s