INDEFINTE

Masyn

Life seemed so simple. At least, that’s what I grew up thinking.

I grew up simply, in a small town in northern Michigan. My father was the owner of the grocery, and spent nearly every waking hour there. My mother raised us, me and my brothers. There are four of us. We grew up simply, spending hours in the woods behind our house, told not to come back until we couldn’t see the sun.

My brothers were my protectors growing up. When I was little, protecting me from the dangerous wild things and boys at school. The later persisted into high school. Being their only sister, they many times blocked any advances by the riffraff of the school. Not that I wanted anything to do with the offerings of Lakeview. There were two types: the farm boys- those who had spent their whole lives on the farm and would live their days out there; they drove big trucks and had even bigger opinions. And the wanna be city boys; they had ideas of grandeur- getting out of our small town. They had ideas of entrepreneurship and stars in their eyes.

I fit into neither of these categories. Sure, I wanted to leave here, turn on down the road and never look back. But, I loved it here. I loved the simplicity of it all. I knew everyones names. I knew everyone’s parents. It was easy. It was so simple.

We grew up three miles down the road from my mother’s parents. My grandmother was a lively person: dressed always in bright colors and a flamboyant personality. She loved her family fiercely and welcomed everyone she met near and far with open arms. My grandfather was a far simpler man, quiet and reserved. He started the grocery store many years ago, before my mother was born, and had passed it down.

It is because of them, that I met him.

It’s late July, before my freshman year of college. We’re on our family’s annual camping trip. We’ve been doing this far as long as I can remember. My grandparents and my family pack up and drive 40 miles west to the lake. Since, my grandparents had taken so well to camping, they spent most of the summer there. My family and I were following in August this year.

We arrive and my father backs our camper in to our site, two down from my grandparents.

My dad opens door of his truck and begins unpacking. When we were little, piling us four kids into this truck was not such an ordeal. Now, that we’re bigger, it’s nearly impossible.

“If you don’t remove your fucking elbow from my rib cage, I’m going to break it.” My oldest brother, Jackson, threatens Luke, the next oldest.

“Maybe, if you weren’t the size of fucking Sasquatch, we wouldn’t have this problem.” Luke spits back.

I am used to this constant bickering. Jackson and Luke have always been this aggressive

They took turns being the football star of our small town. Jackson, has since graduated high school, and attends school at the University of Michigan on a football scholarship. He is my fathers pride and joy. He attends nearly every one of Jackson’s games.

Luke stayed home, choosing instead to attend the university 30 miles from home to become an engineer.

“Just get out of the car, and help your father. And watch your language.” My mother pleads. She is a saint. Raising four kids, and didn’t kill any of us. She’s a small framed woman with delicate features and shoulder length blond hair. It’s not a wonder she caught my father’s eye so many years ago.

Peter, the brother closest to my age, sits quietly listening to music. He plays lacrosse, not football much to my father’s dismay. He’s smaller framed than Jackson and Luke, looking far more like my mother and me. Though, he got my father’s dark hair and eyes.

We pile out of the car, I’m sure to passers by we look like the circus.

I stand and stretch; the 40 miles being squished between Jackson and Luke is less than pleasant. The dull roar of speed boats running up and down the lake is peaceful, welcoming almost. The light breeze coming off the lake blows my hair into my eyes. I turn away from the lake.

Jackson and Luke have started setting up their tent. When we were little, we would all pile into the camper. In yet another facet, that’s just impossible now. I walk to the side compartment and pull my tent out. I was granted my own space after complaining to my father for many years that my brothers were disgusting creatures and snored so loud, they could wake the dead.

I unfurl my tent, and begin putting together the poles. I turn when I hear shoes crunching up the gravel. I hear my grandmother’s signature yell of excitement.

“Laura! David!” She yells and runs to my mother, and pulls her into a tight embrace. She’s dressed in a bright green summer dress and still has her apron on. My mother resembles her in nearly every way: the same small frame and dirty blonde hair. She has a warm smile and could make anyone feel at home. She begins to chatter excitedly to them, and I turn back to my tent.

It takes me fifteen minutes more to finish the set up. I walk to the back of my father’s truck and pull my duffle bag and sleeping bag out. I have no less thrown them in the door of my tent when my grandmother walks up behind me and screeches my name.

“Masyn!” She yells excitedly, and pulls me into a tight hug. She smells like home and campfire.

I live for this.

“Hi grandma.” I respond when she releases me.

“I’m so excited y’all are here,” she explains animatedly, waving her hands about.”Grandpa has done nothing but sit in his chair all week. Maybe he’ll get up and move his lazy bones now that y’all are here.” She laughs, and walks on to Jackson and pulls him into an embrace.

I just shake my head. She never fails to make me smile.

I crawl into my tent and unroll my sleeping bag and begin unpacking my things.

I hear a clap and peak my head out.

“Alright kids,”my grandma begins, waving her hands in an attempt to get our attention. “I’ve started dinner. It should be done in about a half hour.” She turns and starts walking back to her site.

She whips around suddenly. “Oh I almost forgot! I invited some new friends for dinner! You’re gong to love them!” She flails her arms around in an excited fashion, her many rings glittering in the late August sun.

Oh lord, I think to myself. My grandma could make friends with a cardboard bench, given the chance. I crawl out of my tent. Jackson and Luke have finished setting up their tent and have began throwing their bags through the door. Peter is still helping my father to finish setting up the trailer. My mother has finished pulling bags and coolers of the bed of my father’s truck, and loading them into the trailer.

The warms August breeze that flows off of the lake is comforting; it feels like home. I walk into the trailer and begin helping my mother put away the food.

“Are you excited, honey?” She asks, putting cans in the cupboard. “Your last camping trip before college!”

“Yup,” I say looking over some bruised tomatoes; Gravel roads and produce are not a good combination.

I hear the boys squabbling over sleeping bag arrangements. My dad is attempting to settle their tiff.

Grandma’s voice raises above theirs. “Come on kids! Dinner is done!”

I look to my mother, “I’m going to run to the bathroom really quick, and then I’ll be over.” She nods her head, and I exit. I turn to the gravel road and make my way to the bath house.

The campground is busy: there are a lot of families here trying to squeeze out the last bit of summer. There are kids squealing with joy and running after each other with squirt guns. Groups surrounding fire pits, beers in hand, laughing. I live for these moments. Simple, easy moments. Later, I will cherish these memories of simplicity. I don’t know this yet, but I will.

I have made it to the door of the bathhouse, when I see a shiny car driving up the gravel road, rounding the curve. It doesn’t belong here. These are simple people, with simple lives and simple cars here. I can’t see the driver, the windows are tinted too darkly. It moves slowly, and it’s wheels crunch under the gravel under it, the low rumble of the motor attracting glances. I watch it for a while before it disappears. I’ll have to remember to look for it later when I go for a walk.

I wash my hands and look in the mirror, attempting to fix my hair. My hair is long and barely blonde; I’ve always hated it. My grandma tells me it comes from her side of the family the illegally came here on a boat. I suspect this is another of her tall tales. My hair dwarfs my small frame. I’m much like my mother in this sense. Everything about me is just small. I can’t hardly figure out how my brothers and I are possibly related.

I start walking back towards my grandmother’s campsite. I can hear the cacophony of voices: my brothers arguing over a chair and beer. There are a few voices that I don’t recognize: a woman’s and at least two men.

I round the corner corner and the shiny Audi from a few minutes ago comes into view, along with an unfamiliar truck. These must be the friends my grandma was speaking of from earlier.

I walk to where my grandma has amassed a pile of food-she, after raising her own brood of four boys and my mother, learned there can never be enough, especially with my brothers around.

“Mase,” my grandma waves her hand at me. She is standing next to a middle aged man and a very petite woman. I suspect they are a little older than my parents. “ I want you to meet Tom and Jean.” They are friendly, greeting me with smiles. I reach my hand out to shake theirs but am instead pulled into a hug.

Tom is a tall man, and my face is buried into his chest when he hugs me. Jean is by some miracle smaller than me, and I have to lean down to hug her.

“I met them when grandpa and I were walking one night. They’re camped on the other side of the channel.” My grandma explains animatedly.

“And we were friends right away!” Jean adds. They’re like clones. Sisters separated at birth, I think to myself.

My grandma turns her head when I hear a car door close. I turn my head as well.

“Oh! And here’s Gabe!” she exclaims. She waves her hand excitedly at the shiny car.

The door of the Audi opens.

And I feel like I never have before. I feel weak. And dizzy, and like I might possibly be sick.

He’s tall, towering over six feet. He has dark hair and features, and the most piercing gray eyes I’ve ever seen. My god. He doesn’t belong here, I can tell this instantly. He’s dressed perfectly. He’s unearthly.

Fuck.