"On AIR?????" The runner told the (i)daily gossip(i) and swerved to avoid the counselor on a bicycle. "They're gonna lose it." A short-haired, kinda quiet person looked really serious. A husband took on the serious look and scribbled something into a notebook. "What are you writing?" The wife wanted to know.
(i)Dammit!(i) "This is why my father encouraged against this." The girl's hair was frazzled. One sock was pulled up like a soccer player's and the other crumpled in an elastic-blown (i)totally(i). Some of us went to the top of the driveway of the campsite.
"Just so you know," a not tall person announced, "We're not leaving. And we're not (i)all gay(i) and most of us (i)are not, I repeat NOT(i), using." The counselor looked up from putting the bike chain back on the gear with a greasy stick. "Is someone talking to me?" She asked and acted like she didn't see five of us standing there. "Come on, let's get back in there." She backarmed an almost twin on the barrel chest.
"I thought I recognized that (i)dammit(i)," I said not leaving. "Oh. It's you." She plucked at the excess grease on the chain. "You know...it would be better if you weren't here." My face dropped. And my mind tried to think of why. "That, that came out wrong."
"It did?"
"What I meant was," she whacked at her hip, "This session is for (i)the couples(i)." Her hip let out a high pitched noise. She fwapped it. Smiled without really looking at me and said, "Yes." She patted her hip as the noise quieted. "What's up with your hip?" She poked at the chain. Te stick got a glob stuck on it. "I'm testing a new kind of hearing aid for someone." She flung the glob of grease at a tree. It stuck. "Well, for some people, not just (i)someone(i)."
"Yeah?! But why do I have to leave (i)for real(i)?"
"Well, it's for the couples."
No reaction.
"And Anderson (i)suggested(i) you go talk to the person camping in A6."
"Who's Anderson?"
She dropped her face down like she was looking over reading glasses right at me. "You don't know?!" No reaction. "Or, maybe, are you faking not to know?"
"I don't (i)fake(i) anything." No reaction. "Especially not like on that stupid commercial."
She got off the bike. She'd tied a bow in the elastic of her shorts. She grabbed the chain and dragged it back onto the gear. Wiped her hand on the shorts. "My father tied the bow," she tried to blink away a mosquito or something. "Wanted me to look nice." She pawed at her face where the gnat was bothering her. I tried not to laugh at the grease marks. "I wasn't sure if I could make it all this way on this piece of shit bicycle. Or, you know," she made air quotes, "'a bunch of ruffians'" give a fuck about therapy."
"Well, I'll tell you this." I sighed. Not wanting to leave, I dragged out the synopsis after I said, "All these people up in here have a lot of love."
"Drugs?"
"NO! Thank God. Except some recovery pot and one's on antibiotics."
"What happened to that one?"
"Long, long story, but pretty much (i)caught in the crossfire of hate(i). But," I eyed her reaction. "But," she'd heard. "But a bunch of us, not just here, are working on that topic. Now, who's Anderson?"
"Ellen's friend."
"One of Ellen's 10,000 (i)friends(i)?"
"Cha."
"You know, because of the stupid politics, she's only got 5000 now." She didn't say anything. "But, I
"I don't like to talk about politics and war." She parked the bike leaning against my truck. "You what? Faked that you're a fan?"
"No." My face flashed an (i)I oughta kick you(i). "I stuck up for her. Said publically, 'She's not EVIL.' That was at the campground where they found a dead body."
"Sounds exciting. I'm late." She brushed passed me and might as well have closed a door to the campsite.
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