Page 23 of Love Never Happens with your Brother’s Best Friend

“What’s in this stuff? It’s hurting me.” I rub my eyes but instantly regret my actions.

“High potency DEET. It’s the only thing that works out here,” Rita says coolly. “It’s probably not a good idea to rub your eyes. You’ll just make things worse.”

“I can’t see!” Tears stream down my face as the stinging intensifies.

“Brodie. Relax. Blink a lot. Blinking helps. That’s it. Blink it out,” Rita says as she comes over. I sense her presence beside me. “Here’s some water. Wash the bug spray from your eyes.” She puts her water bottle into my hand.

“Rita. Can you do it?” I whine like a little kid and imagine how I must look. I’m grateful that no one is around to film this pathetic episode.

“Alright.” Rita places a hand gently on my arm. “Lean forward and tilt your head to the side.”

The cool water rushes onto my face making me gasp. It goes up my nose and, in my mouth, but eventually, it’s in my eyes and soothes the stinging. I move to wipe my face with my hands, but Rita stops me.

“You’re just going to do it again,” she laughs. “Keep your hands away from your face. Use your sleeve. Man, you’re just like a child.”

“Ah. The wilderness.” I’m laughing too. “I was made for this life. If my fans could only see me now.”

“You’re not the first to have a bug spray incident,” Rita says. “It’s like an initiation test, something painful that you learn from. You’ll remember for next time.”

“There’s going to be a next time?”

I’m still partially blinded but I know Rita is smiling at me. I feel she has let down her guard, just a little. Maybe she feels sorry for me and the lamentable state I’m in. The same compassion and pity she would have for a rescued puppy, perhaps.

Rita links her arm through mine and steers me back to sit on the bench in the shelter as if I am elderly or infirm. I squint around the camp which is almost completely dark. In that short dramatic, bug-spray window, daylight has vanished. The surrounding shadowy trees have absorbed the heat of the day, replacing it with cool, damp air that also rises up from the ground.

“I’ll get the fire going,” says Rita walking towards the firepit. I can just make out her light-colored hoodie as she arranges a small wigwam out of twigs and leaves. Then she pulls something out of her pocket.

“Hey, is that newspaper?” I observe, my sight returning. I walk over to join Rita. “Isn’t that cheating?”

“Using paper? Not at all.” Rita screws up the paper into twisted ropes and places them under the twig wigwam. “It’s called being prepared.”

She flicks her Zippo and ignites the ends of the paper ropes which catch instantly. Orange flames leap up sending a rush of cinders skyward. Rita moves quickly, adding more twigs and small lengths of wood to the fire.

“So, can you do that thing?” I say shoving my chilly hands into the pockets of my hoodie. “You know, lighting a fire when you rub sticks together? Does that really work?”

“Yeah,” Rita says laying a large stick across in front of her, then another carefully on the other side of the fire. “I can show you if you want.” She places a large length of timber across the top, over the flames. Soon the wood burns brightly.

“Alright.”

As I kneel beside Rita, a swirl of smoke hits me full in the face. I start coughing and stumble backward.

“Careful.”

“Oh no!” Smoke stings my eyes. “I’m blinded again.” Tears start streaming once more.

“Ah, poor Brodie.” Rita laughs at me. “Stay as low as you can, so the smoke doesn’t get you.” I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. “Maybe we’ll save the fire-lighting lesson for another day.” I blink away the wood smoke and stay a safe distance from the fire, still wiping the smoke from my eyes. “It’s a good thing the rain didn’t come through here,” Rita says. “Damp wood makes starting a fire almost impossible.”

“Yeah? So, what can you do in a damp wood situation?”

“Lighter fluid.” Rita holds up her Zippo.

“You’re a genius.”

“Thanks.”

I pull up one of the larger logs close to the fire, remembering to stay low. We sit side by side hypnotized by the dancing bright flickers. The smoke discourages the pesky insects and I relax in the glow. My eyes have finally stopped running.

“Are you hungry?” Rita asks, still looking at the flames.

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