After the most amazing evening at the watering hole, all four of us decided to build a campfire long the shoreline back near our tents. Using some rocks and sticks the group collected in the jungle, we lit a small fire with the lighter that Shawn uses for his cigarettes. 

          The dark night sky now casts a blanket of stillness over us. Countless stars shine above, accompanied by a pale full moon that reflects down on the ocean. The campfire crackles and pops, and the sound of the reef gently crashing out into the sea soothes us.

          "Damn. What a day, hey?" Shawn says, resting back in the soft sand.

          "What a day, indeed," I agree, getting ready to take another shot. I pop off the cap to the vodka bottle, and take a quick swig. I squint after the harsh liquid trickles down my throat. For a second, it feels like my nose and the roof of my mouth are burning. I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to liquor, but I stick it out for the group, and the sensations quickly go away. The group is also passing around a couple of joints, which we illegally bought back on the mainland before deporting to the mysterious island. They were horribly rolled and burn poorly, but it's a great experience, cast away in paradise. 

          "I think it's fair to say this tops Beverly Hills," I argue. "I would choose this any day over some California dreaming."

          Christina nods again. "I couldn't agree more. You can't find a place like this in North America. Everything nowadays is just technology, technology, and more technology." She casually sips on her white wine, straight from the bottle.

          "It's true," Shawn admits, flicking the ash off his cigarette. "Like seriously."

          "Yeah. It does sound a little extreme," I reply, adjusting my body.

          Christina places her bottle of wine in the sand, then glances back and forth at us. "So, does anyone have some cool campfire stories they wanna share? Something funny—or...something scary?"

          It takes a moment before anyone speaks up, before Shawn barges in.

          "Fine. I think I've got something." He looks over at Oscar. "Hey, bro, should I tell them about my old 'friends' who had that horrible experience? Remember, the couple from North Seattle College I told you about?"

          Oscar is laying on his back, watching the stars. He uses a backpack to support his neck, and has a half-empty beer bottle in his hand.

          "Yeah, man. Go for it," he says blankly, not making eye contact with any of us. "I'm sure they'll find it funny."

          Though Oscar seems a little distant tonight. Maybe it's just me, but I feel like he's in his own little world. That's odd for him. Usually, he's the one leading discussions and cracking jokes. I don't know. I've always been good at reading people's body language. Though maybe I'm just acting weird and have been drinking too much.

          Regardless, Shawn starts telling us the story. "Okay, so I had this friend in my last semester of college, right? And he met this girl who he was crazy for—and I mean crazy."

          "Aww, that's sweet," Christina mumbles over the fire.

          "Yeah, well. Let me finish," Shawn responds, continuing on with the story. "So anyway, they were kind of like a hippie couple, right? Almost like Brad and Cindy from the pub the other night."

          We all laugh.

          "So they liked to do some drugs together here and there. Well, my buddy calls up his dealer, and turns out the guy was out of town. It was probably bullshit, and the dealer just got arrested, but we're gonna play along for the sake of the story, okay?"

          "Okay," I answer, taking another shot to get prepared.

          "So, my friend and his girlfriend were pretty bummed out. They were really hoping to score some drugs that night. So out of desperation, they walked over to the local pharmacy and bought some over-the-counter cough syrup. I mean, they were young, they were in love—they wanted to have fun, right?"

          "Oh, oh, I smell trouble." Christina has another swig of wine.

          "So they get back home and they're happy now—they've got their drugs. After waiting a couple of hours for the effects to really kick in, they were starting to have a pretty good time together. Though keep in mind, they wanted to really trip, so they drank a lot of this shit. The drug is also dissociative, so in higher doses, you can have out-of-body experiences. Really, what I'm trying to say is, you have no control whatsoever as to what happens while you're high." Shawn drags another puff on his cigarette, building up the climax of the story.

          "Then what happened?" I ask, knowing something bad is coming, like the anticipation in a horror movie.

          "Well, one of the side effects to the cough syrup, it gives your stomach really bad gas. So when they woke up the next morning after a romantic night, there was...you know what...all over the bedsheets and carpets."

          "Oh my gosh...that's terrible!" I squeal.

          Christina looks mortified. "Jesus! Can't they just go buy some alcohol?" 

          Shawn is nearly in tears. "Nah, they were just minors at the time! Apparently, they broke up a few weeks later. They just couldn't look at each other the same after it happened."

          "Fuck, that's crazy." I shake my head, trying to control myself. "What a shitty way to break up. Get it? Shitty."

          Christina, equally amused, can't stop chuckling as she twists the cap back on top of her wine bottle.

          The smoke of the campfire burns away and trails up towards the stars. Everyone is laughing and having a good time. Everyone except Oscar.

          "Hey, Oscar, you've been pretty quiet tonight, hey?" Christina says as the humour dies down. "What's up? Usually, you never stop talking."

          Oscar hasn't moved since earlier, and is still laying in that exact same position with the backpack supporting his neck. It's good to know I'm not the only one noticing his odd behaviour.

          "Oh, yeah...I'm just a little...just—"

          "Just what?" Shawn asks.

          Oscar pauses for a moment before responding, placing his hand over his head. "I—I'm just not feeling very good right now...that's all."

          Hearing his words sucks the fun, positive energy out of the group, and is replaced with concern.

          "Oh, no. Are you sick?" I sit up and give him my full attention.

          He shakes his head slowly. "No...not sick. My head, it's just...killing me. I literally feel like there's a rock and roll concert going on inside my brain. Everything is just...pounding. Over and over again."

          "Maybe you're having a migraine? I used to get them all the time back when I was a kid." Christina seems tense while speaking, as if she's worried about him. Even though she denies it, Christina does care a lot about Oscar. "Do you think you got too much sun today? Or maybe it's the alcohol playing tricks on you?"

          "Nah. I've had a sunstroke before, and it's definitely not it. And I've only had two beers today—one on the boat—and one now." He shows us the half-empty bottle beside him. "I—I just don't know what's happening. I've never felt something like this before...never."

          "It's okay, man. Don't worry," Shawn tells him, reassuringly. "Is there anything we can do for you to make it better?"

          Again, Oscar waits a brief moment to respond. "No...I think I just need to sleep, then I'll feel better tomorrow. I'm gonna go to bed now, guys. See you in the morning." With serious effort, Oscar manages to pick himself up, and make his way over to the tent, leaving his beer bottle behind in the sand.

          But I call out to him one last time. "Oscar—"

          "Yeah?" he replies, unzipping the door to the tent. He looks back at me with a tired, drowsy facial expression.

          "Are you sure you're gonna be okay?"

          "Yeah...yeah, I'll be fine." He nods again with droopy eyes, then lethargically climbs inside the tent, and is gone for the night. Though why do I get the feeling he's lying to me?

          The laughter amongst the group turns into a deep silence, along with the fire still sparkling and burning, and the reef of the ocean crashing softly out in the distance.

          "Well, that's a bummer." Shawn glances down towards the sand, putting out his cigarette. "I think I might head to bed, too. We've got a big day tomorrow—Pierre will be here first thing in the morning." He stands up, dusting the sand off his shorts.

          "Yeah, same. I'm feeling pretty tired myself." Christina yawns, looking over at me. "And don't worry, Jane. I'll check up on Oscar throughout the night."

          I smile at her—a concerned smile for my brother's sake. "Thank you, Christina. I really appreciate it."

          She smiles back, then starts making her way to the smaller tent, and crawls inside.

          Shawn is still standing there. "You coming to sleep, babe?"

          "Yeah, I'll be there in a few minutes. Just give me a second." I want a little time alone before bed. It's been great hanging around my friends, but I'm the kind of person who needs some space, too.

          "Alright. Just don't be up all night. Love you."

          "Love you, too," I reply, hearing him slip inside our tent and vanish.

          Now alone, I listen to the cracks and pops of the campfire, watching each flame burn a pumpkin-orange. I also take note of the reef crashing out in the ocean. When we were out there in the boat, it was strong and scary, but from here it sounds so calming and peaceful, relaxing me like melatonin before bed.

          I pull out my phone and type in the password. I go straight to my photo gallery, curious to see how my pictures turned out from earlier in the day. From the streets of Hanoi, to the earthly wonders of Ha Long Bay, I see countless images that bring a smirk to my lips. My favourite, being the one that Pierre took of us on the beach here just before he left, earlier today. It's so funny. We look like some crazy Americans lost in the middle of nowhere—which is pretty accurate to our reality. 

          However, I keep scrolling through my gallery, when something very...very odd catches my eye.

          What the? How is this possible? I shake my head, staring at this one single picture that stands out from the rest. There, in front of me, is a photo of my ex-lover and I, Dean Johnson—the boy who stole my heart on the Seattle monorail back home. I can't believe this. I swear on my mother's grave, when we broke up, I deleted every single picture of us. It was the hardest thing I have ever gone through. I cried and cried for days on end, having to let go of all the beautiful memories.

          This is now the second time during the vacation that he's made a mental presence in my life. The first was back in Seattle when we had boarded the plane. I looked out the window and randomly thought about him, reminiscing on everything we've been through together—the good and the bad. I remember this exact photo like it was taken yesterday. We stopped an elderly couple on a warm, spring morning and asked them to snap it. Dean is standing behind me in the picture with his arms wrapped around my waist. Our smiles are brighter than the sun itself, along with a tree of freshly blooming flowers behind us in the background.

          But how? Why is he showing up all of a sudden since the Vietnam trip began? And more importantly, why do I sense a wave of sadness that pours over me as I glance at the image of us? A wave of sadness that makes me want to...see him again. 

          Oh, come on, Jane. Jesus Christ...you've moved on. You should be in the moment and cherish every second of this vacation. People here care about you—even love you. There's no time to be upset about the past. It's over.

          So I tap the Delete button, watching us disappear forever. 

          I shake my head again. Why am I getting these weird vibes? First, I felt anxiety on the beach earlier. Then, Oscar being in so much pain he can't even sit up straight. And now, a picture of Dean I haven't seen in years shows up. 

          I grab the vodka bottle and finish off the remainder of liquor, again feeling the harsh liquid sting in my mouth. 

          I stand up slowly and make my way over to the tent.

          I need to get some sleep.