s i x

*

I have no interest in sports whatsoever. It's just never been a part of my life. Both of my parents would sooner curl up with a book than watch a game, and the only time I've ever seen football on TV is when my sister is channel-hopping. I never thought I'd see a live game of anything, but after the beach, Sam drove us to Petco Park, and that changed.

At first, I thought it was some kind of domestic zoo, but I was sorely mistaken. No pets to be seen, just a lot of guys in what looked like pyjamas. I soon realised they were baseballers and that we were watching a game at San Diego's stadium. My initial dread was quelled by a hotdog and a huge Coke.

Now, an hour after the game ended, I can't remember what happened. I didn't spend much time watching the pitch, or the field, or whatever it's called - the whole time was spent chatting to Young-mi, who had even less of an interest in the game than me, and Sam, who tried so hard to explain it to us and eventually gave up.

I liked the hotdog though.

As the van pulls into the campsite for tonight, I can't stop yawning. The game went on for a long time - I thought ninety minutes of football was ridiculous, but the baseball went on for three hours. Yes, it was really nice to chill with Young-mi, who has proven herself to be easy and undemanding company, but now it's getting on for eleven o'clock and we still need to put up our tents.

"I've never done this before," I admit as Arjun hauls over our assigned tent from the back of the trailer. He drops it on the ground and plants his hands on his hips, looking down at the bag of metal and canvas and then back at me.

"Me neither," he says. "First time for everything, right? We just need to find the right hole for the pole."

My cheeks go red but it's dark enough that he probably can't see. I hope.

After eleven long minutes of battling with what turns out to be a very simple frame and cover system, we have a tent. We're the last to figure it out, having turned down Young-mi's attempts to help. The girl claims to have never camped before, but she put up her tent like a pro. I'm pretty sure Carrie didn't even get a say.

"It'll get easier," Sam says, clearly trying to hold back his amusement at our ineptitude. Maybe I should have warned him and Arjun that I can follow instructions about as well as I can figure out taxes and tips. "By day four, you'll be pros at pitching a tent."

There go my damn cheeks again, burning up like the sun. Arjun snorts a laugh and the heat intensifies. Time to crawl into my sleeping bag and hibernate until morning. I'd happily do exactly that right now, ready for bed after a long day of driving and burning on the beach and gabbing at the game, but Sam gathers us in the middle of the wonky circle our tents have made, and I doubt it's to say goodnight to each of us.

"Everyone here?" he asks, doing a headcount. Satisfied that he's the ninth body, he then asks, "What're everyone's tiredness levels like?"

I could fall asleep on my feet, I think, but I don't say that. Especially not when everyone else seems to be buzzing. I should've finished my giant Coke to match their sugary caffeine high, but I couldn't get through the American sizing. I ended up sharing with Young-mi, and we still didn't reach the end. All I succeeded in doing was making my bladder uncomfortably full, so I had to race to the loo as soon as we made it back to the campsite.

"How about our first camp fire?" He pulls a guitar out from behind his back. Of course he has a guitar, which he idly strums as he instructs Adedayo to find a lighter while Brannan is sent to gather dry sticks from behind the tents. The guitar, old and battered and covered in stickers, looks as though it has accompanied Sam on every trek he's led.

"I, personally," Sam starts, still strumming, "believe that there's nothing like a campfire amongst soon-to-be friends. It pulls us together, drawing our souls into harmony, and the restorative powers of a song around a fire are..." He trails off and then mimes an explosion with one hand, his eyes distant and dreamy. His fingers return to the strings, effortlessly playing a tune I don't recognise.

Tiredness melts away, replaced by intrigue and some softened version of excitement. Sleepy anticipation, perhaps, as Brannan and Adedayo build a fire and Sam plays a gentle, repetitive melody that has me transfixed. It's like a lullaby, the quiet guitar and the whispers of a fire.

Before long, the flames are crackling and the nine of us are sitting around the flickering fire while Sam perches on a log he rolled over from who knows where. Once we're all settled, his tune seamlessly morphs into one that all of us seem to know, regardless of country or age.

"Heading down south to the land of the pines," Sam begins singing, in a voice that isn't objectively good but somehow works for the situation. A bit raspy, a bit pitchy, but so on brand. We can't help but join in. It's one of my all-time favourite songs, inherited from Dad. He decided to teach himself the banjo a couple of years ago, and he's got this song - and this song only - down pat.

As the song comes to an end, the guitar doesn't. Sam effortlessly shifts the tune to Take Me Home, Country Roads, and my heart feels strangely full. Everyone's singing along - a low, inharmonious meddle of voices so as not to disturb anyone else at the campsite - and the fire is the only light, and we're all in a state of sedated bliss.

Next to me, Arjun is tapping his foot in time with the music and Kristin and Klara start the swaying, which catches on when they bump into Carrie. It makes its way round the circle, and before I know it, my body is rocking to the beat of the song. Every now and then, my timing is off and I bump against Arjun. Every now and then, he bumps me back. We're sitting close, our elbows almost touching, and I can smell his deodorant mixed with the smoky bonfire, the flames reflected in everyone's eyes and magnified in Young-mi's glasses.

This feels like one of those moments when reality exists in another dimension, when the world feels a bit off kilter in a strange and disorientating but kind of nice way. Like going to the supermarket at two in the morning or stopping at a strange service station on a long, late-night drive. Fleeting, transient snapshots of an alternate reality that feel like they could be part of a dream.

Sitting in the middle of a dark campsite in San Diego, swaying and singing with a group of people I've only known for a little more than twenty-four hours ... this is one of those times.

My heart aches, but it's not in a bad way. It's almost nostalgia, as though I'm remembering this time from the future, and it throws me. Hard. I'm here, I'm present, singing along when the song becomes Time Of Your Life even though I only vaguely know the words and I don't even know why, and yet I can feel myself already missing this moment. Like I know it'll be over soon, and I can't bear to let go.

But there are ten more nights after this, eight of them at a campsite. This won't be our last campfire, but I'm struck by the sudden realisation of how much I need to savour each minute of this trip. It'll be over before I know it, and I don't want it to end.

That thought leads me down a dangerous path, one that has me thinking about things I wish hadn't ended. I think about George. I don't want to, but he leaps into my mind's eye. His pale, freckled face. His thick hair and his grin. His skinny arms and his long fingers. His lips. His touch. His chin on top of my head. His hand around my heart, ripping it from my chest.

Fuck. My eyes are wet. I blink hard, dragging myself back into the moment that I'm now missing all because I started thinking about how much I didn't want to miss it. Arjun nudges my arm. His fingers graze my elbow and land on my knee.

"Hey," he says, his voice low enough that Sam's strumming obscures it to everyone but me. "March?"

"I'm good," I say, before he's even asked if I'm ok, which is probably a sure-fire sign that the answer is no.

"Is it the song?" he asks, and I'm about to say no, until recognition hits me square in the chest. I do know this song. It came on the radio the day everything fell to shit and I remember thinking how horribly accurate it was, and also how wrong. Yes, it was unpredictable, but I couldn't see how it was right. How could something so shit be right?

I mean, I know Green Day weren't singing about me, but it felt like it in that moment and now it's bringing back that moment in stark, dizzying contrast. Sitting in my car, gripping the steering wheel so tight it hurt. The stitching leaving its mark on my palms. My throat tighter than it is now; my vision blurrier.

"Yeah," I say, forcing the word out past the lump in my throat, and I wave my hand as though it's no biggie. "Just ... bad memories." I wrap my arms around my knees, hands clasped, and breathe in deeply. This will pass. I give it a minute, and then the song is over. The simple notes become the iconic intro to Hotel California and the vice in my chest loosens its grip.

Arjun's eyes are on me. His gaze lingers a moment. I can feel it; I can see the curve of his cheek out of the corner of my eye, the sweep of his long eyelashes, and I wait until he turns back to the fire. I can't hide the glistening of my eyes but I can avoid that painful moment of contact.

I'm not over it. I'm so not over it. But God, I want to be. I want to be able to hear George's name without my chest lurching; I want to hear that song without crying; I want to talk to my parents without the consuming guilt that I'm lying to them every time I don't tell them who I am. Who George was to me. Why he doesn't come over anymore.

The flame dies out. The music fades as Sam's fingers slow and then stop. Next to me, Arjun stifles a yawn that sets me off, and our group fractures as we peel away from the nucleus to our tents. It's a warm night, so once I'm in my sleeping bag, I shimmy out of my shorts and my t-shirt. Arjun isn't so discreet: he changes before zipping himself in for the night.

"You don't have to talk," he says quietly once he's settled, less than half a metre of space between us. "But if you want to ... go ahead."

"I don't want to," I say slowly, as though I'm testing out the words, hoping it doesn't sound too dismissive. I don't want to, because I'll cry again. My eyes are already stinging from the smoke of the campfire, and I've wasted enough time thinking about George already. He's had his quota for today.

"Ok. Well, if that changes, you know where to find me," Arjun says, his voice a deep murmur, and I face him in time to catch the slightest upturn of his lips.

"Thanks," I say, meeting his eye this time. I can't voice the swell of gratitude that pushes out the ache in my chest. His simple words give me a strange sense of hope.

"Anytime. Night, March."

"Night, Arjun."

He rolls over. I do too. I'm still awake when his breathing changes; when he mumbles in his sleep; when words become snores. I lie there wondering how other people get over a break-up, how they can move on and do it all over again. I stumbled my way through the first three stages of grief within a couple of weeks, but now I'm stuck on the fourth.

Maybe it's doubly hard because George was everything to me. My boyfriend. My best friend. My confidant. We had the strongest foundations, but I guess a bad enough tornado can wrench a tree from its roots.

*

the end of the first week of properly scheduled posts! how are you guys finding it? also, what time zone are you in and what time do you generally read?