Page 2 of Mountain Man's Valentine
I feel a big smile pull at my lips and spread across my face like a little girl who’s just received her first Valentine from her crush. I try to hide my excitement. I try to play it cool.
But I can’t.
I pop up from behind my little self-made bunker and climb over the tree, carefully swinging my legs up and hopping over.
And there it is, among the rustling thicket of dry leaves and wet branches, the quiet, cold breeze and the grey sky blotting out the late afternoon sun: a bright pink pop of color, unmistakably mine, right in the middle of my target.
Not bad for a first try.
I started this game last year, but I never took a shot until now. It’s something I found online, and I was absolutely intrigued right away. Kind of a mixture of capture the flag and traditional paintball, but here, you collect targets by shooting at them.
And the game is held on Valentine’s day every year.
Of all days.
So of course, I had to sign up.
The game is played with a combination of the honor system and swift, rapid disqualification if you happen to be caught cheating.
That’s also part of what I like about it so much. Like I said, it requires discipline. And self-focus. And it’s a solitary game, which also drew me to it.
I unpin the target from the tree. The paint is dry already, probably because of the altitude and the dry air up here in the mountains. I fold up the paper target and tuck it into the left pocket of my oversized coat. I look around, wondering where the competitor I heard rustling around went off to. I probably scared him away. He probably took one look at me and doubted my ability because I’m agirl, and then ran away whimpering when he saw that I hit my target so gracefully.
Smirking to myself at my victory, I reach into my other pocket and pull out another chocolate. I deserve this.
There are more targets out here, but it’s getting late. The sun is setting. It’s the late afternoon, and the sun sets early out here in the late winter. I should probably get back to the camp before it gets too dark.
Anyway, my personal goal was to hit one target. And I completed that goal.
With flying colors, I must say.
The raspberry dark chocolate melts in my mouth as I throw my rifle over my shoulder.
Ialwaysbuy my Valentine’s day candy a year in advance for the following year. It always goes on sale the day after Valentine’s day, and it’sat leastfifty percent off. It’s not like I have anyone to buy it for on the actual day, and no one is buying it for me either, so I wait for the sale. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I save it in the freezer and forget about it until the next year. It actually stays well packed away in there, and it’s my treat to myself on the 14th every year.
Most of my classmates are out on dates today. They should be, and that’s the normal thing for a college student to do. Hell, that’s the normal thing foranyoneto do. Except for the crazies out here shooting at man-made targets alone in the wilderness on what’s supposed to be the most romantic day of the year.
But we aren’t crazy. I guess for a split second when I was researching what to do alone on Valentine’s Day and came acrossthisactivity, Ididthink it was crazy. But that was only for a moment. Then I realized that it’s actually pretty cool.
It’s actuallyperfectfor me.
I don’t really date. I’ve beenondates, but it’s just not something I’m all that interested in. The guys at my college tend to be immature. I’veseenit first-hand. I’ve seen how they romance a girl. Their idea of romance is a six-pack of cheapo beer from the convenience store and thensomethingin the bed of their pickup truck. I assume that thesomethingis sex, but I’ve never really gone that far. The farthest I’ve gone is one beer into the six-pack before growing bored with a guy just rattling off the features of his truck or the classes he’s taking at our school, without letting me get a word in, let alone asking me any questions or asking how I feel.
It’s just not worth it. They’re all talk - literallyallit is is them talking - and then they expect some kind of sexual reciprocation in return for hearing them ramble on at length about something that doesn’t interest meat all.
That’s not what I’m in college for. I’m not in college to meet a man, like a few of my classmates and past roommates are here for. I’m here to study, and if I meet the right guy, thenfine.It’s just not something I’m looking for.
I pull the hood of my coat up tighter around my neck, steadying myself with one hand against a frost-covered tree and peering around. All I see around me is forest - dense in some places, and then with small clearings in other places - but all it really is is trees and grey.
I start for my phone - not to call anyone, because there’s no service out here - but to check my compass app. Apparently phones these days are able to detect poles, which I never knew before, and I think is a pretty cool thing.
Opening up my app, I hear the rustling behind me again. It’s getting closer, so I look around again to check for any nearby targets another player might be trying to approach. Maybe I can get in another bullseye before the end of the day, after all.
“Hey!”
The voice is close to me - closer than I thought the footsteps were - and I turn my head to see a fellow player walking toward me, in the small footpath clearing through the trees that I just came from.
“Hey!” I call out, waving and shifting my gait so I’m facing him, still carefully holding myself up against a tree. It’sslipperywhere I decided to stop to figure out my bearings.
