Page 24 of Befriending the Bear
“Yeah, but…” Fraser paused, seeming to choose his words. “I’m not used to it anymore. Being seen like that. My crew used to watch out for each other, but civilian life is different. People are polite but distant. Today felt like being part of something again.”
I understood that too well, the difference between being surrounded by people and actually being connected to them. “The f-festival brings out the best in people. Makes everyone feel like f-family for a day.”
“That’s what my crew was like,” Fraser said, his voice taking on that storytelling quality I’d come to love. “Ten or so years ago, we had this rookie, Martinez. Kid from East LA, tough as nails, but he’d never been camping in his life before joining up. His first big fire was in Montana, middle of nowhere. We’d been spiked out for five days, sleeping in the dirt, eating MREs.”
He paused to take another spoonful of soup, and I leaned forward, already drawn into the story.
“Third night, we hear this godawful yelling from Martinez’s sleeping bag. We all jump up, thinking bear or snake or something. Turns out a field mouse had crawled into his bag, looking for warmth. This kid who’d faced down gang members in LA was screaming bloody murder over a mouse the size of my thumb.”
I smiled, picturing it.
“We could’ve mocked him, you know? Made his life hell. That’s what some crews would do. But instead, our captain—this grizzled old guy named Buck—he sits down next to Martinez and tells him how he cried when he came across a badly burned deer who’d gotten trapped in a forest fire. Then each of us shared our most embarrassing or vulnerable moments. By morning, Martinez wasn’t the rookie who’d screamed about a mouse. He was one of us.”
Fraser’s eyes had gone soft with memory. “That’s what real family does. They see you at your worst and make space for it instead of using it against you.”
“You make it s-s-sound almost magical…”
“Magical? No, far from that. We had fights and clashes for sure, especially when we were exhausted. But underneath, we had each other’s backs. We were still family.”
“That’s hard to r-replace…”
Fraser let out a long sigh. “Impossible. It’s a connection forged in fire. Literally.”
“Are you still in t-t-touch with your former crew?”
“Yeah, but it’s hard when they’re constantly out there. In the coming winter months, it’ll be easier, and we’re having a meetup in November.” He swallowed thickly. “It’ll be good to see them again. And my parents and brothers. They’re all still in Montana.”
“Are you c-close with them?”
He hesitated. “Not as close as I’d like, but that’s inevitable when you’re gone as much as I was. And my decision to settle here instead of in Montana doesn’t help either.”
“You didn’t want to st-st-stay there?”
“I needed a change of pace. A fresh start.”
“M-my parents m-moved to Florida. We’re not close.” I wasn’t even sure why I was telling him that. Maybe because I wanted to acknowledge his pain without making it too obvious?
“Why?”
“I d-d-didn’t always st-stutter.”
Fraser turned to face me fully, giving me his complete attention without crowding. Just present, waiting, the way he always did.
“W-we were at the q-quarry. Family picnic. I was f-five and couldn’t swim yet, but I wanted to be b-brave like my older cousins.” The memory was old but still sharp, like sea glass that could still cut if you held it wrong. “I went too d-deep. Went under. My cousins couldn’t find me. They said I was down for almost three m-minutes before my uncle pulled me out.”
“Jesus, Calloway.”
“They d-did CPR and m-m-managed to get m-me back. B-but when I c-came to in the hosp-pital, I couldn’t stop sh-shaking. Couldn’t speak without the words st-sticking. The doctors said it would be temporary, but…” I gestured helplessly. “Forty-three years later, still waiting for t-temporary to end.”
“I’m sorry,” Fraser said, and I could hear that he meant it—not pity, but genuine sorrow for the scared child I’d been.
“The thing is,” I continued, needing him to understand, “m-my parents never st-stopped trying to get me f-f-fixed. Sp-speech therapy, p-p…” I had to take a breath and restart. “Psychiatrists, s-social workers, and m-more speech therapy. N-nothing worked. They m-meant well, b-but all it d-did was makeme f-feel broken. D-d-damaged. They c-could never accept that this was now who I w-was.”
“I’m so sorry,” Fraser said again, and I felt the words deep inside me.
“I learned to be okay with it. Found ways around it, through it. It g-got better when I m-moved to New York. Then M-Marcus made me believe it didn’t matter. That I wasn’t b-broken, just different. When he d-d-died…” I had to stop, breathe through the tightness in my throat. “When he died, it felt like d-drowning all over again. Except this time, no one came to p-pull me out.”
Fraser’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach for me, but he kept still. “You pulled yourself out.”
