Page 4 of A Little Campfire Blues

At least then, the policy was that members of the swim team, as well as other sports, could get a slip excusing them from study hall so they could go to the gym, the weight room, or, in my case, the pool and get some practice time in.

In my case, I had to check in with Coach first, not that he ever minded leaving his office to come sit poolside so I wasn’t unsupervised. It didn’t matter that I was lifeguard certified by my junior year; you couldn’t lifeguard yourself, Coach always said, so if he wasn’t already supervising whatever gym class was using the pool at the time, he’d just come out and supervise me and any other teammates who dropped in, of which there were several.

Swimming hadn’t been part of the gym curriculum when I’d returned, and the school board had been toying with the idea of eliminating the swim team altogether, one of many reasons I’d been working so hard to establish a team through the aquatics center. If the school decided to go ahead with one of the proposals to shut down the pool and locker room area and demolish it to expand the wrestling room, at least there would be something in place for the kids who still wanted to compete.

What I’d prefer was them keeping it open and allowing me to help bring in staff that could man the space all day so that gym classes could get back to including swimming and pool activities, which were awesome for building stamina as well as weight training, especially when you worked with water resistance.

A mound of paperwork had been involved in that proposal. I just hoped I could get it pushed through before the start of the school year. The longer time ticked by without the space being utilized to its fullest potential, the easier it would be for those wanting to shut it down completely to push their agenda through.

In the end, it all came down to dollar signs.

Which was why I’d used the contacts I’d made during my time with the Coast Guard to help me put together a scholarship fund for kids who wanted to use the aquatics center to build up their swimming skills and train for competition or even military service. I’d never have become a rescue swimmer if it wasn’t for all of the extra hours I’d gotten to spend in the water, mind blurred with the tranquil, rhythmic motion of being in it.

My drive would have left me a loner if it hadn’t been for Axis and Ezzy, but they never stopped figuring out ways for us to spend time together, even when Ezzy never had any desire to dip a toe in that chlorine.

Axis loved it, though. He never wanted to compete, and actually told me once that he hated the thought of failing too much to put himself in the position to disappoint anyone. Still, he’d join me in the water from time to time and even race me when there was no one else around to push me, because, damn, he was fast and would have easily earned a place on the team.

Most days he’d provide me with background music, unless Ezzy was quizzing us on some test we had coming up. They’d holler questions at me when I was catching my breath between blocks of laps, helping me keep my grades up because sometimes, I’d be too tired to study properly after a long practice session.

When they weren’t helping to keep one of us keep from failing, they’d be studying a script or writing one, getting ready for an upcoming theater performance they often had a starring role in. Axis and I always made as many shows as we could, and when he wasn’t busy playing or practicing with his band, Axis would help paint sets and even learned how to run the lightboard, becoming quite the accomplished theater tech during our four years of high school.

It’s not much different than a soundboard, and I’ve been running one of those since I was twelve,he’d pointed out when Ezzy asked if he really wanted to spend that much time at the booth in the theater. Axis had just shrugged and asked what else he was supposed to do when he hated being at home. Not that either of us could blame him for that.

I’d always known he’d leave the moment the opportunity arose. I just never expected it to be under the cover of darkness, with bitterness between us and no goodbyes.

That part had been the hardest to forgive, but I had, once he’d told me the reason. I just hoped Ezzy would give him the same opportunity to explain. That hurt ran deeper.

We’d always said that we’d never let anything divide us, only that hadn’t proved true in the end. Words Axis had spoken in a moment of frustration had divided us, and an unresolvable home situation had made it worse. Now we had the opportunity to make things right again.

I just hoped they’d both been honest when they’d admitted to having a desire, even after all these years, to make things right between them, because soon we’d all be together again, and neither knew just how much I needed us to find a way to be on the same page again.

Needed them.

Hell, time for me to be honest.

I’d never stopped needing them.

Chapter Three

Ezzy

You ever just have a taste for something very specific that haunts the edge of your memory until you track it down?

From the moment I hit the road for pride camp, I craved an orange creamsicle, and not just any orange creamsicle, but the kind Mr. Feely kept stocked at the corner of Seventh and Crabapple, at the heart of the neighborhood I grew up in. For just fifty cents you got a creamy burst of citrus perfection that tasted just like frozen orange cream soda. It’s still the only pop I drink, but it’s getting a lot harder to find these days.

I learned to become a connoisseur of craft varieties, stocking up on four-packs whenever I found them, even if that meant dedicating an entire cabinet in the cramped kitchen in my old apartment to them so I’d always have some on hand.

They were the last items I’d packed before my trip, carefully tucked into the cooler and covered with ice, so they’d stay cold until I could put them in the refrigerator at the cabin along with the rest of the supplies I’d brought.

According to the brochure, three meals would be provided each day, either in the dining hall or around the campfire, but I suspected they meant during what most people would consider mealtimes. A night owl like me could find themselves shit out of luck unless they planned accordingly.

That was me. Always the planner.

Which was why I told my phone to plot a course for the nearest grocery store. If I could find those orange creamsicle pops, I’d get two boxes for those nights when Roman and I were sitting around the cabin bullshitting about the past and everything we hadn’t been able to fill each other in on over the years.

Talking through a screen had stopped being enough years ago. I missed his hugs and the low rumble of his chuckles, the way his eyes lit up in firelight, especially when he was happy about something.

A few times over the years I’d thought about visiting him, especially when he was up in Alaska, but things had never quite worked out for me with school, work, and the associate teaching position I’d taken within the theater department. It was harder to try to plan something when he’d been out in Massachusetts, clear across the damned country, since I was too chicken shit to ever get on a plane.

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