I totally lied. I really didn’t feel better.
And as my blazing inferno slowly died, the car and tent quickly disappeared, and the tense darkness – once again-- crept back into our camp. We both sat in silence, listening to the fire crackle, focused on the slightest stray sounds that might be emanating from the blackness beyond.
On several occasions, we hear heavy underbush rustling and small twigs snapping in a grove of trees near the water’s edge. The sound is loud enough to indicate it is a larger animal—certainly bigger than a raccoon, I think. I immediately shine the spotlight in that direction. The noise stops. Then, nothing.
ME: Do you think that sound is getting closer?
MR. LACY: I think it came from the public beach area (right next to our campsite). There are some trash cans over there. Whatever it is—he don’t like your light.
Mr. Lacy chuckles. However, this time, his laugh doesn’t sound so dismissive. I switch off the spotlight.
ME: Maybe if we leave him alone, he will just go away.
MR. LACY: Do you wanna go in the tent?
ME: No! I ummm… let’s just sit here a minute, ok?
Several tense minutes pass. A large pile of glowing embers and the occasional small flickering flame is all that is left of our camp fire. It is completely black now. Mr. Lacy is just a dark outline, even though he is sitting right next to me.
A large twig snaps and some bushes rustle near the path just behind our tent. I grab Mr. Lacy’s arm. If I didn’t know that we would probably both tumble over in the flimsy lawn chair, I would have climbed into his lap.
A moment later, we hear the same heavy breathing from the night before.
I AM FROZEN. TERRIFIED. My fingernails are digging into Mr. Lacy’s arm.
We hear the large animal casually continue up the dirt path behind our tent and brush up against the other side of our car before crossing the road.
I relax my death grip on Mr. Lacy. But, we both remain motionless for the next few minutes. A still silence eventually returns to our camp. I switch the spotlight on and shine it across the road and up the hill.
Nothing.
I abruptly get up and head to the tent.
ME: I’m sleeping in the car.
MR. LACY: Whaat?!?
ME: I’m getting my sleeping bag and sleeping in the car.
MR. LACY: The bear is gone. He’s not coming back tonight. He did the same thing last night. Same routine. Came down the mountain. Checked things out. Rattled some garbage cans and then left. He even used the same path.
ME: I’m sleeping in the car.
MR. LACY: Go ahead then. But, I’m sleeping in the tent.
ME: You can’t sleep in the tent by yourself! You’ll be bear-food! And—and—that will like—you know--ruin camping for me FOREVER, you realize that, right?
Mr. Lacy laughs, again. A wry chuckle. I have no idea what I’m saying. All I know is I’m not sleeping in the tent tonight—and I don’t want him to either.
ME: Pleeeease. Just try it.
He shakes his head and laughs once more, but to my great relief, he agrees. We grab the sleeping bags and do our best to makeup a bed in the back of the car. We pile in and close the hatchback.
After ten minutes of uncomfortable tossing and turning, it is my turn to laugh.
ME: This isn’t gonna work.
MR. LACY (laughing): No kidding.
ME: Alright, I’ll sleep in the tent. BUT—I’m sleeping next to the door—with all my clothes on—and with the car doors unlocked.
MR. LACY: Good. So, open the door already, it’s hot in here.
I suddenly realize that I left the car keys sitting on the picnic table. I’ve locked us in.