A group of young teen boys gather for their typical, jovial campfire but this one night, things turned into a much different outcome. These boys knew the meaning of friendship.
Braden stood up once the campfire was well on its way and moved back to the log bench. He stared into the churning flames and tried to shake the haunting image of his older brother lying on the cold metal table in the emergency room.
The fire glowed underneath the hickory branches. The popping sounds of the jagged bark mesmerized the four boys as they positioned themselves around the bordering ashes. It was here at the campfire that the four friends gathered, on an almost weekly basis, just to be together. But ever since Braden’s older brother was killed in a swimming accident three months ago, the atmosphere had changed and it was often unpredictable.
Braden was forced to face a variety of emotions that were foreign to him. He experienced the denial, the bargaining with God, and the the deep sorrow from his devastating loss. And somewhere in all of this, his emotions were shifting to anger.
Braden reached for a long stick and gave the bottom logs a good poke, sending flames spiraling upward. “I’m going to make it right,” he muttered.
Feeling the heat of the fire, he looked up and into the eyes of Tom, his best friend.
“Did you hear me? I’m gonna do something!”
The flames gained force, sending sparks to the outer perimeter of the fire ring, almost landing on Fats’ shoes.
Fats, known for his persistent weight, had been barraged with fat jokes for so long that he deadened himself to reality with the use of humor. He looked up at Tom, who seemed trapped behind Braden’s words. He wasn’t trying to ignore Braden but this time he needs to rescue Tom from the growing tension. So Fats, in Fats’ fashion, typically changed the subject before Tom could say anything.
“Hey, guys, anyone up the challenge?” he proclaimed. “You know what I’m talkin’ about!”
Known for his accurate timing, Fats held the record from last summer and still remained champion of all fart lighters. It was a juvenile talent that he perfected and achieved with the least amount of effort. He could light a fart anywhere, anytime, and better than anyone he knew. These type of contests were always more dramatic over the campfire and best used for comedic relief to get the night started.
“Hand it over,” Fats said to Spoons. Spoons had been Fats’ sidekick since third grade. Being neighbors, they did practically everything together. He reached down in his shirt pocket, pulled out his red lighter - the official fire starter - and tossed it over to the pro.
“Okay, boys, let the master work.” Fats positioned himself on the flat stump, leaned back, lifted his legs, ignited the Zippo, and pushed with ease. An immediate explosion occurred sending a force across the campfire that sent bits of flames swirling in the air.
“Not bad,” Spoons said as he dodged a flying spark. He grabbed the lighter from Fats’ left hand. Spoons was known to be a major competitor.
He positioned his lean body on the ground, perhaps hoping for better traction, and let one rip. But the lighter didn’t go. He gave it another try, this time sending a poof to the logs.
“Not much to work with,” Fats laughed.
“Very funny,” Spoons said as he got up, brushed the dirt from his backside, and sat back down on the low stump next to Fats.
“I mean it, guys. I’ve got to do something! Who’s with me? Tom?” Tom was familiar with Braden’s pain. Perhaps his grief wasn’t identical, but his dad died in a car accident when Tom was only six. And it had been a long recovery for him and his mom.
“Braden, listen, losing someone isn’t easy. And I know…”
Braden cut him off. “You don’t know what’s it’s like. None of you do!”
No one could contest that accusation, nor did they want to. The tone of the fire and conversation were quickly shifting. Flames peeked through the side limbs of the fire ring and sent sparks directly past Fats and Spoons.
“That hickory can sure pop,” Fats interrupted and tried again to switch the conversation over to something more palatable. “Anyone hungry? I’ve got some marshmallows.”
“Sure. I could eat some,” Spoons said.
“And how about some music, Spoons?” Fats added. Spoons was also the musician of the bunch, and he played a mean spoons on the side of his leg.
“Are you guys listening? I’m going to find Steve and let him have it.” Braden’s remarks cur through the heat. “He let my brother drown! Are you guys with me or not?” Braden leaned in and his face turned red.
“Braden, it was an accident. Steve was his friend,” Tom said. “You’ve got to start accepting that. Why don’t you just talk to him? I’ll go with you, if you want.”
“Talk’s cheap and there's nothing more to say.”
The only response Braden heard were the sounds of the burning hickory and the hooting of an owl in the distance. Fats reached in his pocket and pulled out a bag of marshmallows.
“Come on, Braden, let’s just think about this. We’ll eat first, Spoons can give us a mean tune, and…”
“Damn it, Fats. Is that all you think about - food!” Braden stood up. He looked taller than normal and the campfire outlined his silhouette. He kicked a log into the fire causing the flames to sputter from the ashes.
“Braden, this isn’t Fats’ fault. It’s no one’s” Tom shouted.
Braden walked over to Tom and stood in front of him. “I can’t believe you just said that. Then whose fault is it exactly?”
“Hey, come on, guys, not tonight. We’ve been over this before. Let’s just sharpen the sticks for the marshmallows,” Spoons said.
Braden turned and glared at his other friend. He felt cornered as if he were battling his grief alone. “Then you explain it to me, Spoons.”
Spoons tried to ignore him. All the guys knew that Braden wasn’t himself and for good reason. They had been there for Braden ever since the accident, but they realized they hadn’t been able to him Braden totally accept his brother’s loss. So they let it slide when his anger burst out, especially around the campfire where it was fair game to talk about anything.
Spoons reached back to his jean pocket and pulled out his Swiss army knife. “I’m just gonna sharpen some sticks we can roast these marshmallows. Okay?”
“Damn those marshmallows!” Braden lunged for him. Spoons toppled to the ground. Braden threw the first punch.
Fats tried to intervene and the bag of marshmallows went flying into the fire. The plastic bag melted on contact, sending a bluish hue into the air.
“Braden, what the hell are you doing!” Fats shouted as he tried to grab Braden’s left arm.
Within seconds, Braden positioned himself atop of Spoons, who braced himself from the blows with his left hand.
“Get off!” Tom shouted. He jumped across a low stump, pushed Fats aside, and tried to pull his best friend off Spoons. “You don’t mean this!”
Spoons made a defensive move and rolled to his side, but Braden was relentless. He grabbed spoons by the arm, rolling him over. “Damn it, Braden, get…” Spoons’ pleas were cut short by a sudden sound of anguish. Spoons’ eyes winced and he gasped.
Tom finally got a good hold of Braden’s right arm and pulled him back. That’s when he spotted the blood.
Braden fell backward. Fats crawled over to Spoons who was lying on the ground with his Swiss army knife embe dded into his side. “Shit, Braden, look what you’ve done!”
Spoons’ breathing was irregular. He curled up trying to grab his torn shirt. “I can’t breathe,” he muttered.
“Damn it! I’ll get help,” Tom said as he ran to his house, about 30 years away.
Fats cradled his hurt friend. “Spoons, let me see,” he said, trying to inspect the wound.
A sudden wind blew in from the north, causing ashes and bits of marshmallow to swirl around and hit the side of Braden’s jeans. He jerked himself back. “I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean it, Spoons.” Braden’s voice got lost in the campfire.
Though it was minutes, it seemed like hours until the EMT’s arrived. They immediately took Spoons’ vitals and then transported him.
Braden remained at Tom’s to extinguish the fire while his buddies left for the hospital. Kicking some loose dirt over the last burning embers, he moaned, “It was an accident.”
Spoons had a punctured right lung and a bruise over his left eye but he would survive.
The next day, the campfire brawl was the talk in the school hallways. rumors flew like wildfire.
Tom and Braden walked to the cafeteria line where they were to meet Fats. That’s when they spotted Steve who was standing ahead of them. Braden’s emotions churned and he stopped just short a few feet away.
Steve shifted his weight and put his hands in his pockets. Slowly, he turned and walked toward Braden and Tom.
“Spoons okay? There’s been a lot of talk going around school. You know how it is.”
“Yeah. Can’t believe any of it,” Tom said. “Spoons will be fine.”
“Well, tell him I said hi.” Steve paused and then looked directly at Braden. “You okay?”
“Listen, Steve,” Tom interrupted, “we’re going to go to the hospital to see Spoons tonight after school so we’ll tell him.”
“It was an accident, you know. An accident,” Braden murmured.
“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know,” Steve replied. He instinctively put his hand on Braden’s shoulder. “If you need anything, Braden…well, you know.”
Braden froze and his eyes burned. The familiarity of this brotherly touch was unmistakable.
Steve stepped back in line and grabbed a ray from the metal bars. Tom nudge his best friend.
“Hey, you okay?”
There was a moment of recognition and finally Braden replied, “Yeah…Yeah, I am.”
There was a familiarity in this story of many campfires that I had the privilege of joining. But the seriousness of this one, with Brandon's anxiety over his brother's death and the eventual fight leading to puncturing of Spoons's lung is not the kind of talk around the campfire that I'm familiar with.
You may have used a voice dictation system like I do to write this because there were many typos that appear to be the result of failed voice recognition. Anyway, they interrupted by reading often making it harder to get into the story. I jotted down a few corrections, but there are many more…
"Fats, known for his persistent weight."
"Known for his accurate timing."
"These typos context (??)…"
“… On the ground …"
"Talk's cheap and there's nothing more to say."
Ezra's a closeted medium. She's a novelist who writes stories about seeing dead people and claims they're fiction. Her life with Grant was peaceful until a rebel ghost named Jenna entered her life who doesn't like Grant. Allie, the resident ghost, li
A girl and her horse...a desperate journey...one unforgettable summer.
Stormwind of the North Country: A young-adult wilderness adventure for ages 11 to 16. $8.95 plus shipping from Amazon.com.
Braden stood up once the campfire was well on its way and moved back to the log bench. He stared into the churning flames and tried to shake the haunting image of his older brother lying on the cold metal table in the emergency room.
