Spring Break (ONC 2023)

10: Musical Chairs

You may think starting a fire would be child's play. Smokey Bear used to make it seem like all it took was a stray spark to make the world burn, but it must be only accidental fires that light so easily. Starting one with fuel collected from a forest drenched with a week's worth of rain proved more difficult.

It didn't help that the house was heated by gas and electricity, and no pile of firewood lay readily at hand.

We'd divided ourselves into teams. Michael, Logan, Rose, and I gathered dead branches, while Cece, Nick, and Mercedes got the music going.

That was the plan, anyway.

As Rose and I dropped another armload of sodden twigs on our sad, as yet unlit bonfire, I looked up towards the silent house, and shuddered. 

"What's taking so long, I wonder?" Rose asked, speaking my thoughts aloud.

"Who knows. They're probably arguing over what genre to play," I said.

Michael dumped a large branch on the pile and scoffed. "Nah. You wanna piss off some old rich people with loud music, you play hip hop. Obviously."

"Anything would be better than nothing," Logan remarked, dropping what appeared to be half a rotten stump. "This quiet is getting to me."

"Urgh!" Rose stifled a shriek, backing away from the stump. "Are those maggots?"

"Termites," I said, leaning in for a look, and sighed. "Rotten wood won't burn well, you guys, especially if it's wet. Were neither of you boy scouts?"

"Were you?" Logan sneered.

Ignoring his jibe at my failure to perform a certain standard of femininity, I shook my head.

"Nope. My dad took me camping a lot, though. We'll need a lot of tinder to get this going, but fortunately, wet wood smokes a lot, which is what we're after. Come on—some rolls of toilet paper should do it."

I turned and walked towards the house, and—somewhat to my surprise—the others followed me.

"Paper towels?" Rose suggested, pointing to the kitchen.

"Sure," I said, "and we'll need something to get it started. Matches, or a lighter."

"I've got a lighter in my bag," Logan said. "Be right back."

Without waiting for a reply, he took off and sprinted up the stairs to the second floor.

"Logan! Hey, we're supposed to... stick together," I shouted, trailing off with a sigh as he ignored me.

"Idiot," Rose huffed. "Come on, let's find some more paper products."

As Michael grabbed the towels from the kitchen, Rose and I poked around the hall closets and the nearest bathroom in search of toilet rolls. Finally, in the cabinet beneath a sink, we hit the jackpot. I collected an armload and moved aside for Rose to do the same, but she was absorbed with something in the little trash can by the door.

Bending, she picked something out of it and held it up.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Empty pill bottle," she said, holding it out for me to see.

Most of the label was torn away, but a bit remained—just enough for me to read the last part of a drug name: -azepam.

Lorazepam, or possibly diazepam. I knew because I'd been prescribed the first when my anxiety had been at its worst. I hadn't taken it in years, but I still always had it with me, just in case. I had a bottle of it in my backpack, in fact.