Campfire
"IT SMELLS FUNNY."
"I have to pee."
I stifled a laugh as I watched the noisy kids from Oakland spill out of the old, yellow school bus, their voices an indistinct chorus, becoming distinct as they stepped outside into the fresh midmorning air. Standing with the wranglers, we welcomed fifteen boys, fifteen girls, plus a few adults.
This was a seriously racially diverse group, probably reflecting the melting pot demographics of the East Bay. The kids looked shiny and new, with cell phones, wearing fresh jeans and clean tennis shoes, compared to the five of us program staff, who all had trail dust on us from riding horses early that morning.
I could see their young faces taking in the ranch buildings, the animals in their corrals and pens, and the landscape of brown hills, orchards, vineyards, and fields. None of them had ever been on a farm before.
"Hello!” I yelled cheerfully. “Welcome to Headlands Ranch! I'm Marie!"
"What the fuck is this shit?" I heard from one of the boys, a tall African-American with a very precise haircut, dark smooth skin, and a grouchy look on his face.
"I have to use the bathroom," whined a ponytailed Asian girl, the only one of the group wearing cowboy boots over her pale jeans.
"Ohmigod it smells," said a redhead with freckles, wearing clothes that were a little too big. She held her nose. "It smells bad."
"What, there's no WiFi here?" complained a Hispanic boy, very sharply dressed, in a button down shirt and skinny jeans.
I ignored them all and kept talking.
"I am so glad all of you are here. Let's get you set up and then you’ll meet your horses."
"Cool," said a small African-American girl with a shy smile, her hair in three thick braids.
A few other kids smiled at me and I was instantly charmed by the combination of their enthusiasm for the farm with their inexperience due to their urban background.
A tall, attractive, bald man with mocha-colored skin and dark eyes, wearing well-fitting jeans and a plaid button down shirt, came up to me and said, "Nice to meet you, Marie. I'm Maurice Jenkins, and I run the Bay Area program for these guys."
"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking his hand.
"I'm the boys' group leader," he continued, "and Tricia Pham," pointing to a petite woman with amazingly cool dark jeans and a fluttery top, "is the girls' group leader." I shook her hand.
After settling the kids in the bunkhouse, we headed over to the barns, the stables, and the corrals, to see the horses. As we were walking over, Will pulled up from his rounds around the ranch in his now again mud-covered truck, and hopped out, moseying over to meet the kids with Trixie at his heels.
He looked mouthwatering in a faded, tight blue t-shirt that showed every ridge of his torso and his usual jeans, belt buckle, and boots. His hair curled underneath a trucker hat, sticking out at the bottom. He looked at me and smiled.
I heard Tricia Pham breathe out "Oh. My. God."
I called out, "Everyone, this is Will Thrash, a genuine rancher, whose family has owned Headlands Ranch for four generations."
Will looked at all the kids and gave them his grin, speaking in his deep drawl. "Welcome. Glad you're here. Hope you like ridin'." Then he looked at me. "I know Marie does."
I hoped that no one else would pick up on his innuendo.
It still made me hot.
We spent the rest of the morning organizing the kids into their groups, assigning them to the wranglers, and having them meet and pet their horses. Then it was time for lunch. Will sat with me, leaning against me as much as he could without being obvious—or at least I hoped we weren't being obvious. Then he left to go meet with some visitors who looked like they were from the city. I wondered if they were the developers that he was so worried about earlier.
After lunch, the kids learned how to care for the chickens, goats, and other animals, and I planned a campfire for that night.
THE CAMPFIRE WAS a failure.
The fire wouldn't light. Between me, Jimmy, and Hector, we couldn't get it to start. So Hector came back with a bottle of lighter fluid, which made the boys perk up and Will grumble about his insurance premiums and the cost of Worker's Comp insurance. He'd been pretty sullen since his meeting with the suits, but had come by the campfire and stood in the back, leaning against a tree, watching me but not participating.
Then it took too long for the tall flames to die down into coals so that we could roast marshmallows, so we didn't do that.
I made an attempt to get the group to sing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" in a three-part round, but I had to do it all by myself, because all of the adults said, "I don't sing." Will looked at me with a "No way in hell am I singing" look on his face.
This seriously pissed me off. He really was an asshole sometimes.
But these were kids. Everyone knew the song, right? My singing voice wasn't great, but what good was a campfire if you didn't sing around it?
It didn't work. They just stared at me.
Will put his hand over his mouth, chuckling.
That wasn’t nice.
No one laughed at my jokes, except Cookie, who always looked like he wanted to laugh at me. God. These kids just didn't want to look uncool.
Will silently left in the middle of all this, clearly amused by my enthusiasm and the lack of response of the kids, and not helping in the slightest.
As he walked away, I saw him stifle a laugh as I tried, yet again, to get the kids to sing, saying "Come on, everyone! Let's do this!"
I needed help. I didn't need to be left struggling alone by the guy who wanted to get in my pants. Jerk.
After a few more attempts at group activities, I gave up, letting the kids just hang out around the campfire. Some took out their cell phones, while others chatted with each other. They seemed to like this better than an organized activity.
I implemented a no cell phone rule beginning immediately.
What a depressing end to the day. I wanted to make connections with the kids and have some fun. I did not want to be a freak show.
When the kids were finally in bed that night, I went to my bunk and crashed, tired, and for once not thinking about joining Will in his bed.
But I couldn't sleep. I was pissed.
I got more pissed the more that I thought about it.
Will should have set aside any embarrassment and supported me. I’d needed help getting these kids to open up and, instead, he’d left me.
I texted Amelia.
Will just treated me like shit.
What?! Honey. What did he do?
I had a bad first day with this group of city kids from Oakland and he just laughed at me and watched me crash and burn instead of helping to make it better.
You know what the right answer is, right? You need to talk with him. Guys can't read your mind and sometimes they don't know when they hurt you.
I sighed. She was right. She had such a healthy relationship with Ryan, she knew what to do. I got out of bed, put on flip flops, put my hair up in a messy bun on the top of my head, grabbed a hoodie, and headed over to Will's house.
When he opened the door, barechested, in sweats, he started to say, "Wondered if you were gonna come over—" but I pushed him inside, and started immediately talking to him in the hallway.
"I'm pissed at you. You treated me like shit tonight. Remember last week, when Clarissa said your hair sang that you were true and passionate and kind? Well it didn't feel like that. It felt like you were a jerk and an asshole. I needed some help and you didn't stick up for me. You treated me like I was the monkey exhibit at the zoo. And you want me to go out with you? Well this is why I won't. I'm just an amusing cunt to you, not girlfriend material. You don't say much, Silent Sam, so I watch your actions. And your actions tonight were shitty, Will."
He stared at me, his brown eyes big, and then he reached over to brush my cheek. I flinched and brushed his hand aside and continued, "I was being laughed at enough by the kids and they were completely disrespectful. These are tough kids, Will. They don't know about camp life. I bet a lot of them are raised by a single parent or a grandparent or have family members on drugs or aren't doing well in school because they have no support and no role models. I need to do silly things with them. Wholesome things. They don't need everything to be cynical."
Will let out a deep breath and put his head down. Then he raised his head and looked at me.
"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes softening.
"What?"
"I'm sorry," he repeated sincerely. "You're right, that was a dick move. Fucked up. Didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't realize—"
And then the house started shaking, the pictures started violently moving on the walls, the lamps started skidding toward the end of the table, and I heard the crash of glass breaking.
Earthquake!