The Bear

We used to camp alot when I was younger. We'd go about three hours north to Ruidoso; usually make it in about two and half, the way my dad drove. To be honest, it was hardly camping - no fishing, no hunting, no camping, even - but that's what we called it. We always stayed in the same second-story condo overlooking a patch of firs and a shallow end of the lake. It was natural, but convenient - everything home wasn't. I don't remember much from those times, as often as we went, but I do remember how silencing the darkness was. It could stop trains, and leave you deaf to your own thoughts. Besides the drive over, that's what I anticipated the most - the silence.

I had the house to myself tonight. Not as quiet as I remember the woods being, but enough to take me back. I thought it'd be more pleasant.

I'm standing there, in the patch of firs below the balcony, looking into the condo below ours. It's abandoned, the door mangled and loosely hanging from the hinges. My uncle's somewhere behind me pissing. He said it might have been a bear...maybe just some kids with an axe, fucking around. At this point its close to dark, maybe ten minutes from it. My brother's on the balcony looking down. He starts throwing wood chips, being the little brother he is. I remember why I'm not looking down with him. The ribs. We'd tied a couple of half-eaten ribs from last night's dinner to a string and planned on hanging them from a tree limb nearby. Maybe we'd see a bear. The sun's nearly down and my uncle's a little deeper in. I can see the stars. Even now they're more visible than in the city.

I have work in the morning and a test on Monday. Passed up on some friends, even. Shouldn't have. I remember what it is about this kind of silence that I can't stand. You can still hear your thoughts.

The meat nunchucks are dangling about three feet above my head. My uncle said the higher the better. I look back up to where my brother was and just like that I'm immersed in darkness. The balcony light is off and the sliding doors are shut. My eyes forget to adjust I guess, so when I turn back to look for my uncle I see nothing. This is where the silence hits me like a train. But this time I don't lose my thoughts.

I'm on the couch now, the same one we found my grandma laying on. It's weird the shit people hang on to. That day I tore the door off its hinges, I was hoping my eyes wouldn't adjust. I was hoping it would be like the night in the woods - darkness upon darkness, silence upon silence. But it wasn't. I saw the couch first, then heard the cries, then saw the bear. He came back for me. Maybe because we teased him.

I want to say I love this time alone, but I'd be lying. Someone once told me solitude is where we find ourselves. He must've read it somewhere, because he didn't know what he was talking about. I used to despise people who couldn't be alone. Always thought they would make horrible wive's and husband's, but I didn't know what I was talking about. Most of the time, I don't. But I'm sure of this.

I don't want to be alone.