BAD LAD

I was staggering and by trial and error looking for the tent that I share with Jo. I don’t know why the gang wanted to spend the evening in this rotten campsite. Oh, yes... to fish. These idiots were so ripped at dawn they hadn’t even put f*****g bait on their damn hooks! Fish are stupid, but not that desperate. Nevertheless, because of their completely idiotic idea, I find myself like a big dork... a big dork with more alcohol than blood in his veins. A big dork desperately trying to find the right tent: a feat to achieve in a field of this size, especially one invaded by absolutely identical tents! A damn needle in a haystack, yeah! “s**t,” I mumble. I pull on the canvas of a tent that I managed to grab despite my drunken balance, then smile. Grunting, I take off my boots, which weigh a ton, and then undo the zipper of the entrance. When I come across a soft fabric that doesn’t stink, I’m surprised but too drunk to understand that this is precisely a sign that something is wrong. The very idea that Jo is a fan of laundry triggers a stupid giggle. Not without difficulty, I take off my jeans, followed closely by my t-shirt, and sigh with comfort. “Sacred party, huh, Jo,” I whisper. I probably have a silly look on my face, the one that all gloriously high guys show, having f****d like crazy. Two Swedish sisters. Bombs. Suddenly... “KAAATE!” yells a shrill voice completely terrified, hysterical even. I immediately open my eyes and freeze. I drank too much to get my brain to assess the situation right away. I’m only sure of one thing: Jo doesn’t yell this way, so, it’s not Jo in this crappy tent. If it’s not Jo, fuck... but who’s this?! Several things happen simultaneously: the zipper of the tent opens, a beam of light blinds me, and, in pure reflex conditioned by many similar first contacts with law enforcement, I raise my hands in the air: “Hey-oh!” I shout, hoarse. “Who are you?” spits a female voice. “And you are?!” I squint, scowling, hands still wisely raised to prove my willingness to cooperate. “It’s rather for me to ask, I’d say! What are you doing in my sister’s tent? Dirty s*x maniac! Get out of there!” The chick, whoever she is, barked her order and I have no idea what else she has in her hands except for her flashlight. I just pray that it’s not a gun: I’m far too ripped to appreciate being shot like a rabbit at the start of the hunting season. “Okay, fine, no need to get excited!” I grumble. I obey and get out of the small tent, pulling up several stakes and then tripping over the groundsheet. Once outside, I’m trying to dodge the damn light, but the chick makes it her duty to follow my every move with it. And that sucks. I can’t think of a better way to get on my nerves. “Can you turn off your f*****g light?” “No.” “You’ve got a gun pointed at me there?” “A spear gun.” “Lovely. Look, it’s a mistake. I walked into the wrong tent and...” A sarcastic laugh interrupts me. “You seriously think that I buy that? You’re not the first creep who’s after my sister!” Okay. Okay, calm down. How can I get out of this? I’m almost naked and a crazy chick has me covered with a spear gun. Why can’t I do anything like everyone else? Not even getting drunk in a shitty f*****g campsite! “I didn’t know that your sister was in this damn tent!” I say to her, chuckling. My voice has a sharper tone than usual, but only to underline the ridiculous aspect of her assumption. Now, she shines the beam on my boxers, then quickly goes up to my face. The gesture of her light is more than eloquent: she doesn’t need to do me a drawing explaining the path of her thoughts. “Sorry, honey... but I never had time to get dressed. Do me a favour: stop your brain from galloping into the lowlands because of this little detail.” “Call me honey, and I play darts with your stomach for a target. Julie? Julie... are you okay?” A frightened little squeak answers her in the affirmative while I pass a weary hand over my face, a gesture I repeat to get the small whitish light from my eyes. I utter a curse. I’m starting to get irritated: the tiredness, more whiskey than plasma in my blood, the moisture-saturated air, and I’m freezing. “Look, I don’t need to take advantage of a chick to f**k. I have only one principle and it’s this one, right? Now just calm down, stop putting your f*****g light in my face, and stop pointing that fish gun at me. I’ll grab my clothes and go. Okay?” She seems reluctant. The seconds during which she dithers seem endless, which inevitably aggravates my bad mood. Finally, she drops her bloody light and I sigh. “Seriously... what took you so long?!” I mutter between my teeth. I stoop and get my clothes without a glance at the petrified shape, the one that’s sitting in the corner of the tent. “What the f**k’s going on!” grunts a voice that I recognize at once. “It’s nothing! I went to the wrong tent!” I reply in a loud voice to Jo. “Seriously?” he laughs back. He seems to find it funny. Weird: me, not at all. Sent packing at the end of a spear gun while on a world-class bender: doesn’t make me laugh... not even a little. While I go to meet him at the site next to that of the hysterical Julie, I see the eyes of the crazy chick follow me. I can’t help it, but the idea that she keeps her eye on me until the last second puts a wry smile on my lips. Yes, I would watch me too if I fell on myself. When I finally fall on the right sleeping bag, this one feels much less laundered and more like dirty socks. I sigh. “Seriously? You walked into the tent of the church mouse next to us?” he says, laughing again. He doesn’t see it, but I raise an eyebrow, lying on my back, arms folded under the nape of my neck, staring at the shadows of the mulberry tree branches waving above our heads. “Church mouse...?” “Right. I went to church and I did Sunday school. Although, the nuns were more brutally tough-talking.” I smile. And the other one? Holding me at gunpoint with a spear gun, for sure, you have to be slightly on the edge and... oblivious. “I like the church mouse,” he says. “She’s hot?” I’m sure he nods with enthusiasm. “Curvy blonde, with the look of a good sister.” “And the other?” Here too, I can’t do anything about it: a girl who puts a gun in my face in the middle of the night without blinking intrigues me and... excites me a bit, I must admit. Usually, nothing can get me out of this void which I’m stuck in every damn passing day, at least, nothing which can arouse my interest. I sometimes wonder what would manage to get me out of this feeling of emptiness that I continuously experience. I have fleeting parades: f*****g, alcohol, and pot. At least... it’s been that way till tonight. Maybe... “I don’t know. She wore a large hoodie and baggy jeans. I don’t know what she looks like, and then I was in a hurry to go down for a few beers on the beach... I didn’t check her out.” “Oh, a tomboy, or whatever!” I mumble while closing my eyes. “Maybe, yeah.” We fall asleep on this last exchange snoring like the drunks that we are.