under a pre-dawn misting T'see sky full of moving stars and still dazzling planets, the person tuned as far as sound the last song played. Didn't turn the transistor radio off, just listened to the static. Had looked like a kinetic person sculpture for hours even putting a chopping block segment of log on top of the campsite rock to reach for the signal. Everybody uses that rock for everything when organized people aren't tending camp. But Agnes had shown us how to scrape lice down our forearms with the special comb, onto a piece of paper that we couldn't write or draw on 'til it got shared for messages and our hands were rinsed off with a soapstone, and our "graywaters" were in the shallow hole far away from the creek.
A greasy, scar doodled-faced pit bull wandered past the picnic table. Ribs showing, nose whiffing it stopped and pawed at half rolled up tinfoil. It's hers, someone hoarsely whispered peeking through stacked up, sawed tree. The dog had sat and gently so. Faced the person and pushed his butt backwards, those back legs still bent normal, but the front legs just pointed out front totally straight. It was checkmating the black low-top Converse sneakers jutting out from under an arranged splay of layers of skirts. Person didn't even look up from the static.
Wasn't but twelve minutes before America's music, Country, came back in fairly clear. The person smiled. Hooting and hollering was like an echo to a whistle and hand-cupped relay--Mustah re-got the license.
Not as the last song, but they'd played it. What we'd agreed upon as kind of a Creatives anthem.
I will sail my vessel....
Some of us had fought with each other over which it should be, and it was already tense when a famous General added into the mess of people milling around the Censors and told the man in the ironed jeans, "They'll be LUCKY if they get to call it an anthem."
The kidgloves had come off.
"Dad. You're," lips crouching pursed, "What?!" He turned in the French Maid Halloween apron with the half burnt dishtowel, and his glasses all smattered in vegetable oil. I clenched my jaw. "Embarassing yourself," I finished my sentence. "HONEY! THEY FOUND HER!" He thrust the fish cooking in the fry pan at Agnes who put up her hands to fend off the hot side.
Other kids came towards us. "Is it ready?"
"Make the sghetti girls," Ginger ordered. They put down whatever was in their hands on the picnic table seats and crashed into each other getting to the boil pan. One grabbed the gallon jug of water and the other the big metal grilling fork. I put the boil pan on the grate over the stick fire. Then went over to her and asked, "Are you all right Agnes?" She nodded solemnly then sheepishly grinned. "I soused him."
"She," hiccup, "did."
"Bad Daddy," the youngest girl smacked him on the butt with the fork. "Hey now," he wheeled. "Ooooooo, the feesh," Agnes angled in the grab the panhandle. "She learned that from Ginger," Dad said of getting spanked. "Oh my God," I said exasperatedly.
"But I DON'T WANNAH hang out with the HENS," a booming almost man voice was heard. "Get out!" A man's voice said. A car silently but for the squeaking rolled up to the campsite. The boyman got out crossed his arms, stomped a foot hard, slammed the door, and said while pointing his finger and stabbing talking points into place, "I'LL BE THERE!!!"
"WE'LL SEE MR. GET THAT BOOTFOOT CLEARED UP."
"Mike, did you sign up?" A sister asked real loud.
The boyman's head turned and dog on a porch sank eyes lower, then turned back to see the car rolling away. The man's antlers could be seen sticking up over the seats.
There was a quiet quieter than quiet then in the campsite. We'd been on vacation so far as anyone'd been sayin'.
"OH HI MIKE!" Dad's armhairs, redtanned glistening, arm flapped out in a wave. He turned towards the fire. Then he ripped at the apron strings with both hands while he forced his mouth to smile NYC business-salesman and tears poured out his eyes and nose and the sides of his mouth. The middle sister dropped the stiff sghettis into the boiling water and tried to comprehend. Littlest girlfriend sister struggled with the doublebow on the apron and her hands shoving it left and right and daddy's smooching hers away brushed but didn't tangle. Daddy pulled it down like it was a pair of boxers and stepped out of it. "What's for dinnie?" Our brother called out. "Spaghetti Mike," Dad called back but looked towards the toilets across the camp road. Then he went towards, but started running to anywhere.
Everybody but Daddy'd eaten by the time our brother had scrubbed his feet to raw pinkish red. We called him Salmon Feet and explained 'cuz Mom calls Dad Lily Feet, and promised to tell our other brother "the update". He'd gotten some offers on the Mustang but was holed up in a mancamp where real people over the age of 18 were in real combat.
First the antler-wearing Ranger appeared without the antlers. "Is it time already?" Salmon Feet hopped to and asked. "No son. I need you to stay put at least until tomorrow. But," he looked over all our shoulders up to where they say the Emperor lives, "But what ?!"
He looked back into the boyman's eyes and asked, "Do you think you'll be awake 'round sunrise?"
"What time here?" He looked around at the multiple ridges.
A tan towncar came towards our site but the brakes jerked it to a tired stop at a camp closer to the toilets. A middle age woman in dress clothes got out and helped an elderly man to the boys side. The ranger put a fist in the air and like knocked twice on an unseen door. This started a stream of people walking down the Jab rock, not much of a mountain, but it had sufficed as a practice group-ascent area for the day. The people didn't look like "hippies". They were in good shape. They didn't talk out loud to each other. And they didn't gesture. Some had walking sticks. Some wrinkly faces but watered right and clear complexions. They were beautiful, all.
The middle aged woman had helped the man back into the car and they drove loop and passed by us slow. Someone put up a hand, We're alright. They almost hit another car coming in too fast, so the brakes jerked the car to a stop again and let the faster vehicle bumpily jet past the toilets. It too looped the campground and came to a perfect stop behind the Ranger. A back door opened and it was Mama. Everyone but Tim flooded her, knocking her back into the car. She went across the backseat, got out the other back door and looked at us all over the car's roof. "Wha, where's Daddy?" She asked.
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