The sign was made of logs and branches with crudely routed wood lettering. Lena immediately envisioned a herd of oversized 1950’s automobiles pulling up to the provincial sign, each filled with miniature versions of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans with their little noses pressed up against the window--waiting, eager to be released, parent-free, for a week at camp. The sign brought a feeling of familiarity and a smile but it was the “Pets Welcome” that sold it for Lena.
The small crowd in the office was remarkably friendly. Some chatted with Lena as she registered and offered help with setting up if she needed it. Others chatted among themselves creating a much desired, lively and welcoming atmosphere after her dismal social experiences of the past three years. Lena registered for two nights then went about finding an out-of-the-way space to set up. She located one with a shade tree, perfect except for debris left by the former campers.
Eager to clear the space, set up, walk Pepper, then eat and call it a day, Lena hurried to find a rake. She found a Broken Arrow employee standing with a shovel--a promising prospect for what she needed--and greeted him with a friendly smile and explanation for her need of a rake. He said nothing. His only response was a cold stare. This reception was unlike the one she received in the office but very much like the average person she dealt with during her stay in that little town in Pennsylvania that town she referred to as The Little Town of Horrors. She noticed the white paper label stuck to his shirt that read, in sloppy print, “Jose” with the “s” backward. Though the nametag appeared to be a joke, she couldn’t be certain. Lena extended her hand, “Jose?” He didn’t flinch; he just continued to stare at her. She proceeded to introduce herself. He stared. Thinking that he possibly didn’t speak English, or that there was some other limitation, Lena was ready to mime her need of a rake. She held out her arms with one hand atop the other but before she went into raking motion Jose pointed to a shed and said in perfect unaccented English, “Get a rake out of there.”
“Okay, great,” Lena responded still upbeat, and grateful. She asked him, in the same cheery voice, if the closed door to the shed was unlocked. He merely stared, stone-faced. She waited. It was obvious he had no intention of answering. “Ooookay, I’ll get the rake out of the, hopefully, unlocked shed.” Two thousand miles from Pennsylvania, far from that small town she had no regrets leaving behind, Lena confronted a darker skinned version of the rude and rejecting residents she frustratingly dealt with for three years. She tolerated their rudeness in silence but never inured herself to their unfriendly cold dispositions and always wished that she had the security and tenacity to speak her mind during her relatively short life there, if you could call it a life.
With no intention of Jose actually hearing her, Lena mumbled on her way to the shed, “Who stuck the cactus up your ass!” It felt good to say something in response to rudeness for a change. Unbeknown to Lena, Jose did hear her and his stone cold expression turned into a grin.
Lena raked the area clear and with the help of a passerby, she was able to back her camper into the space and level it with ease. She stuck the rake back into the shed as soon as Jose left the area. Lena walked Pepper and fed him early. She made herself a cup of coffee and peeled back the wrapper on a fruit bar. Pepper had already jumped on the bed to claim position. He had a way of positioning himself with his legs fully extended and paws pressed against the wall that would secure and maintain his chosen space.
It wasn’t long before Pepper was snoring. The once muffled snore that began as a pup had increased in volume and vibration with age--both amusing and comforting to Lena. She arranged herself around Pepper, stretched out her legs and rested her head against the pillow. And waited. She would not fall asleep but wait for sleep. Her body wanted and needed the sleep but once again her mind wasn’t having it. The thoughts had a will of their own: Lauren, Dead People’s Stuff, Sam, Monterey, and the descending spiral of loss. She wanted to focus on the future but the past seemed to always take center stage and everything else had only a brief appearance. These thoughts were her haunting, and they preferred the quiet of the night.