Wildfire: The underdog

Chapter 21: "You can't wait for things to get better."

Day 96

"You can't wait for things to get better." Joyce was out of Allison's earshot, the girl with whom she seemed to have a constant bicker match over almost anything. Supposedly, Allison refused to cooperate with anyone unless she earned something out of it. I'd commented to Joyce about it: this is what she'd said. "That's not how the world works."

It was here, as we wallowed in the hush of the woods around us and in the faint crackling of fire snapping the twigs, where we unwind after a grind-inducing day. We were present, in a moment of humility, sitting around the campfire that Johnathan had built. He allowed his pent-up anger—well, almost everyone's—to pour out like a pot boiling with pressure. Six people showed up on some nights—the usual. In a few cases, even twelve. Tonight Allison showed up—something she rarely did—which made a difference in dragging the soothing vibe with her pessimism and neverending head-butting between her and Joyce.

Back in college, back when I had friends, me and a couple whom I met would do this: sit in a circle, kumbayah and lounge around, waiting for the next class. But life has changed ever since I got here. I barely laughed anymore and didn't make jokes since I had to be ridiculously mindful about what I said. Each time I remembered how simple, uncomplicated, and how easy it was to make friends. Of how good I had it: Good grades, an all-inclusive environment, an authority who understood our struggles as a hip uncle would do for a nephew. But most importantly, the university gave me amazing friends.

After breaking up with Delilah, my idea to move on consisted of getting back on the grove with a new group of friends, kind of what a girl would do, minus cutting or bleaching my hair. Delilah got me in trouble, and I loved her for it. My college friends were the opposite: saints with different religious beliefs, which sometimes impeded more racy conversations. And yet I loved them for it.

One time, Delilah and I had this idea to drive to the beach. It was the first time we ever hung out together, the seven of us, outside of uni.

Delilah, Francine, Frank.

We were almost strangers back then. Not knowing much about who we were was the definition of blissful ignorance, which brought gratification and a sense of belonging. I remember Frank had made us laugh through most of the day. One of Francine's girlfriends brought a volleyball, and we played a match on the sand. I remember how badly I didn't want the day to end. Somewhere among the seven of us sitting on the sand under twilight and the waves, I knew we wouldn't do this again. Good times like these, as I've established in a fragment of my pessimistic mind, were bound to come to an end eventually.

"Ninety-six days," I heard Paul say, snapping me from my headspace and back on top of a thick log amid August, the summer air slowly dissipating into obscureness.

"What?" Joyce squawked.

"Since the C-Virus reached the nation," Paul replied.

Flames danced rhythmically in warm colors, enhancing us in a yellow shade: Paul, Joyce, Billy, Hubert—and the kid who arrived last week, Rocky. Eighteen years, totally aloof in his world, unaware that we began shushing about him across the bonfire.

"That kid over there," Paul was next to Joyce as he directed towards me, bobbing his head at the new guy. "That's Rocky. We call him AirPods. He dropped out of college and began his job as the janitor for a fast food chain—"

"Wasn't he suspended after he got caught doing shrooms on campus?" Joyce intervened as I was stunned at how she obtained this information. AirPods was across the fire, singing to himself, staring at God-knows-what. (At nothing, maybe?) It's like the guy was on shrooms right now. He was anywhere but here.