Camp Curlicue [a full-length play]

 

Camp Curlicue

 

Dramatis Personae

 

MARLYS BONIFIL, camp owner

TRAVIS BONIFIL, her 20-year-old son

STACY BONIFIL, her 18-year-old daughter

JEB MATTHEWS, retired knight errant

PEGGY MATTHEWS, his wife

SHASTA CUMMINGS, yoga instructor

CORY PHAFF, her lover

CASS, BRETT, KEGGER, RUTH, college grads

LONER, as far as anyone can tell

 

 

Act I, scene i. Morning light glistens through sycamores along the Current River of northeastern Arkansas. Some seventy campers—mostly RVs—are spread out liberally around Camp Curlicue, separated by low hedges and clearings for playground equipment and picnic areas. Cinderblock buildings painted schoolbus yellow define the bathroom/shower/kitchen facilities north and south; a larger building painted turquoise stakes out the launching of canoes and other beach activities. Directly west, a quarter mile away, a sprawling bungalow multitasks as the camp's reception/store/bar & restaurant/rec room/what-you-will. A split rail fence extends both north and south into the insulating density of cottonwoods and oaks; as if more security was called for, an old bloodhound named WATSON roams with stolid disinterest. JEB looks at the dog warily before knocking on the reception door.

 

JEB: Anyone home? I mean,... on the job? C'mon, now—sun's been up for, (consults his watch) well,

 

STACY (within): We're not open yet! Not for another hour. Seventy-two minutes, to be exact.

 

JEB: Nonsense! You're right there, already up and functional. I got a complaint, see? Pulled in here yesterday afternoon with the missus, paid for our spot and all, and—

 

STACY (opening the door): Mr Matthews, is it?

 

JEB: Yes, I'm here for Mrs Matthews, too, who's just now managed to get some shut-eye.

 

STACY: Is she sick, sir?

 

JEB: Not in the medical sense. But sick an' tired of partying.

 

STACY: Of partying?

 

JEB: Rules! You've got rules at this camp, I presume? Like curfew at 10:30? A drugs policy?

 

STACY: Drugs?

 

JEB: We smelt the wacky tobacky all through the night. Didn't you?

 

STACY (slowly closing the door): I... dunno. But I'm not really—

 

JEB: Your manager, then?

 

STACY: Pardon?

 

JEB: I want to speak to the manager, pronto.

 

STACY (thinking this through): Wait here, I'll see.

 

Tactically, the reception door faces the long driveway and little parking area instead of the span of the camp itself. JEB turns around to survey what the sunrise hasn't yet touched. Through thick bifocals, he stares at nothing in particular before reaching into his bib pocket on his overalls. His phone hasn't buzzed or beeped, but he reacts as if so.

 

JEB (into his phone): What, Peg, you're awake?... Just can't get a break, can we... Well, I'm at reception right now and will give 'em what's for. What?.... I said, 'I'll give 'em what's for'.... No, don't worry—try to get back to sleep.... I'll be ok. I might take a walk in these woods to let you have more peace an' quiet. (hearing the reception door open again) Okay, Luv, gotta face Round 2.... Bye-bye.

 

MARLYS: Mr Matthews? Can I help you?

 

JEB: I, uh, asked to see the manager.

 

MARLYS: Speaking. Though my daughter's really that, too.

 

JEB: You're Mrs Curlicue? I mean... curls an' all.

 

MARLYS (unamused, yet flipping a bed-head curl or two): The camp's called that for the meanders in the river. Looks like calligraphy from the sky. But you wanted to voice a complaint?

 

JEB: Oh, well, more a concern really. About rules. Curfew and such.

 

MARLYS: Too loud last night? Apologies for that—graduation, you know, and the solstice is in the air, and... It's been a long time for folks who've been cooped up.

 

JEB: Yeah, I get that alright, but... Me and the missus do an awful lot of camping all around the nation. And the kids graduating, sure—I'm not so old to forget about those days. But when they finally hit the sack, well, let's just say other night owls started hootin'. Not to make me an' you blush, Mrs Curlicue—

 

MARLYS: I'm Ms Bonifil, actually—

 

JEB: Ms Bonifil, but you had to hear the awfully loud sex going on. Seemed like for hours.

 

MARLYS: Did you... address it with them?

 

JEB: My word!

 

MARLYS: I mean, camps tend to self-govern, don't you think?

JEB: You'd want me poking tigers? Not on my.... Then there was some Hell's Angel pulling into camp just a couple hours ago—

 

MARLYS: Yeah, that was Loner. Been doing that for years. Harmless.

 

JEB: The noise! Doesn't it impact you, too?

 

MARLYS: Not more than the cicadas, already revving up for the day, a lot louder than Loner's mere minute.

 

JEB: But cicadas are part of nature; a motorcycle is... the opposite.

 

MARLYS: Listen, Mr Matthews, we can give you a refund if that helps. I understand from Stacy you only paid for one night. Feel free to stay beyond the check-out at noon if you might catch up on sleep that way.

 

JEB (placing his hand over the bib pocket, as if feeling for a beat): Hmm. Not so sure. But thank you, Ms..ss..

 

MARLYS: Bonifil. (extending her hand) Marlys, if you'd like.

 

JEB (pretending not to see): The bloodhound there is also a Bonifil?

 

MARLYS: Watson? Adopted as one. He stuck around some eight or nine years ago after his owner drowned.

 

JEB: 'Zat so? The river's quite dangerous, then?

 

MARLYS (hesitant): Y'know, it's too early in the morning—I shouldn't have brought that up.

 

JEB: Why not? (starting to walk away) Truth is truth.

 

 

Act I, scene ii. Noon, the same day. RUTH, in a sleeveless smock, sits on a log lightly strumming a guitar, stopping every five chords or so to jot notation in a moleskine at her feet. The zipper of the nearest tent starts and snags and starts again to release KEGGER, who gestures awkwardly before running toward the woods in his evident need to pee. BRETT exits the tent a moment later and stretches like an undersized bodybuilder. He picks a dandelion and pokes it into RUTH's hair bun.

 

RUTH (still strumming): Because?

 

BRETT: Because you're Bohemian. A Janis Joplin—

 

RUTH: Who'll die at twenty-seven.

 

BRETT: No, no—you'll beat the odds. How long you been up?

 

RUTH: A while. Enough to get an earful from a boomer who said we kept him and his wife up all night. I mean, we weren't so obnoxious, were we?

 

BRETT: Kegger's laugh carries like a frickin whale, you know that. But I don't think we were any worse than those dudes over there or there—oh, and especially over there in the kamasutra camper!

 

RUTH: They were pretty loud.

 

BRETT: Seriously. But hey! Call of the wild...

 

RUTH: Kinda what I'm working on—musically, that is. You care to be my first audience to this?

 

CASS (crawling out of the tent, yawning noisily): What's this first audience business? Thanks for leaving me out.

 

RUTH: Leaving all our beauty sleep for you.

 

BRETT: Yeah, it's working nicely.

 

CASS: Shut up. (cozying up to RUTH's right side) What's the song?

 

RUTH: You've heard me play the riff a buncha times, but now I'm making words. Calling it 'Black Bear'.

 

BRETT: Because?

 

RUTH: Because. Here goes:

I'll run like a black bear in the meadow

instead of going home, home, home.

I'll talk to the whisper of my shadow

wherever I'll roam.

 

Won't pretend that it's easy to conceive

such a life that's alone, lone, lone.

You can try to dissuade but believe me,

I'm fine on my own.

 

Gotta go... go... go... go...

Don't want any road

Won't do what I'm told

Can't wait 'til I'm old

to say I told you so, so, so, so

 

Black bear is running through a meadow

instead of going home, home, home.

I'll talk to the whisper of her shadow

wherever we roam.

 

Second thoughts I can do without

Nothin' doin' when it comes to doubt

Black bear, black bear at the break of day

Black bear, please take me away, ay, ay, ay

 

CASS: That's it?

 

RUTH: Whadya mean?

 

CASS: No, it's good. Gloomy as hell, but...

 

BRETT: The fingering is great—the melody's awesome. I mean, these lyrics are... too, but

 

RUTH: You don't like the 'home, home, home' thing—

 

BRETT: I... I gotta get used to it. I was rather attached to—

 

CASS: The fingering, we know. Jesus, you science majors are all about the tactile. But I'll agree that the melody is nice without the need to jam in all the diction. Wait, sing it again now that Kegger's here.

 

RUTH: Nah, maybe later.

 

KEGGER: What's up?

 

BRETT: Surf's up, big guy—race you to the river!

 

KEGGER: Ladies coming?

 

CASS (leaning her head on RUTH's shoulder): In a bit. Warm it up for us, huh?... Or maybe not, on second thought.

 

RUTH: He's already gone. Not a man of second thoughts.

 

CASS: Because you're hoarding all of them. Care to spill on your song? (hooking her pinky with RUTH's) I can be your shadow...

 

 

Act I, scene iii. Early evening, the same day. MARLYS, with an apron on, comes into the reception office from a door connecting to the restaurant. Seeing no one around, she walks through to another door connecting to the store, where STACY leans against the counter, scrolling on her phone.

 

MARLYS: Sales slow in here, or...?

 

STACY (shrugging, not looking up): Typical, I guess. That guy this morning told me it's against the law for me to sell alcohol.

 

MARLYS: Why, did he want me to do the transaction?

 

STACY: He wasn't even buying beer. Just watching as I sold it to somebody else.

 

MARLYS: To one of the college kids? Did you at least card them?

 

STACY (mock-annoyed): I know who to card, Mom. But it was the guy from site 69—I put it on their tab.

 

MARLYS: Reminds me—gotta talk to them.... Your brother around? I need help in the restaurant.

 

STACY: He's unloading canoes, I s'pose. Truck came through about twenty minutes ago.

 

MARLYS: Could you call him, Hon? I need all hands on deck. Maybe turn the sign on the door, too, and lock up for a half hour.

 

STACY: The sign says 'Back in 5'. (now into her phone) Hey Trav, Mom needs you in the restaurant.

 

MARLYS: At the bar, actually.

 

STACY: He's not old enough, either.

 

MARLYS (leaving): Listen—I run this place, not Mr Meddlesome.

 

STACY (following, after locking up): When are we gonna get the chef back, Mama? I mean, if that boomer has a legit issue, it's our twelve-hour days—thirteen today, since he woke us up...

 

MARLYS: You know how much the past year hurt us, Stace. We're treading water now—not sunk, like we could've been. Besides, except for little rushes like this, your twelve hours aren't exactly slave labor. You're sportin' a nice tan already, toning your muscles in the cool of the river, enjoying plenty of down time...

 

STACY (mumbling): ...with none of my friends.

 

MARLYS (kissing her forehead): There, there—you have new friends to make at those two tables. Try to convince them to order pizzas, please, especially Hawaii—we got a glut of them in the freezer.

 

They separate to their tasks, MARLYS indicating to a third table that their order is almost ready before disappearing into the kitchen. STACY taps into her phone the menu numbers for the items each customer wants, including a why-not Hawaii, then fetches their drinks. TRAVIS enters with a worn-out look. He goes behind the counter and washes his hands.

 

MARLYS (coming out of the kitchen and undoing the apron strings): Thanks, Tee—I just put a few things in the oven, if you—

 

TRAVIS: I aint done with the boats yet.

 

MARLYS: They can wait—no ants in their pants. Humanity, on the other hand, gets rather antsy this time o' the day. I gotta do some rounds.

 

TRAVIS: Alright. Reception locked?

 

MARLYS: No, but the store is.

 

STACY (tapping drinks): For five minutes, anyway.

 

MARLYS: Long as it takes.

 

She exits and breathes deep the sultry air. As she walks, she taps each fingertip of her left hand as a mnemonic of things to attend to before waving them away at some kids on the jungle gym. They have no idea of duty—their faces alive in the lack of concentration. Still, they wave back and giggle through another nuance of their pirate plot. MARLYS checks the recycle area and contorts into a moue at its disarray; she, or more likely TRAVIS, will need to shovel the spillover, maybe construct a sign to remind folks to crush their beer cans and plastic bottles. Underscore the obvious. She walks across a couple empty lots, scanning them to troubleshoot the golden rule of leaving camping sites. Keeping her direction, she spots JEB sitting outside his rig a hundred feet away and waves at him.

 

JEB: Oh! Um...

 

MARLYS: Hi, Mr Matthews. So you guys decided to stay another night?

 

JEB: If it, ah, won't be—

 

MARLYS: Don't worry—I'm headed that way to address it right now.

 

JEB: Should I stop in at reception later?

 

MARLYS (a tad bemused): No, tomorrow before noon is fine. See ya.

 

JEB: Okay. (over his shoulder, less audibly) We're good, Peg; that was the manager....

 

MARLYS continues walking to lot 69 and the silent Winnebago, its cab drapes pulled.

 

MARLYS: Hello? Anyone home? (reluctant to step from gravel onto grass, but doing so anyway) Hello?

 

SHASTA (within): Just a sec. (muffled) C'mon, Tiger, rise an' shine. (coming out in a toga-wrap towel) Hi there.

 

MARLYS: Yikes—didn't mean to get you up!

 

SHASTA: No worries. Can I help you?

 

MARLYS: Well, in a roundabout way you can. I'm Marlys, from the office...

 

SHASTA: Office?

 

MARLYS: Reception—I think my daughter registered you.

 

SHASTA: Oh, yeah. Pretty gal. (toward the open door) Cory, we've got a visitor—grab us a couple beers.

 

MARLYS: Nothing for me, please—I'm just making rounds.

 

SHASTA: Sure? Nice an' cold.

 

MARLYS (to Cory, coming out in shorts): No thanks. But I'll ask that you crush the cans when you're through. I assume you recycle—

 

CORY: Oh, indeedy—and reuse. Just haven't figured out how to reduce, yet.

 

SHASTA: What do you mean, 'reuse'?

 

CORY: Can't go to the well too often, Confucius says.

 

SHASTA: Speaking of, we haven't done the river yet. Maybe Marlys here can—

 

MARLYS: River's lovely, of course, and my son can rent you a canoe. Most parts are too shallow to swim, but over the years we've dredged enough by the beach for a little dip.

 

SHASTA: Ooh. Wanna do that right now!

 

MARLYS: But it's getting dark, which (making a namaste gesture) leads me here: there was a complaint yesterday—actually this morning—about noise? Do you know what I'm referring to?

 

CORY: Those buzzy insects? They're fine with me—it's Mother Nature, after all.

 

MARLYS: No, not talking about the cicadas. Though I suppose it's in the same ballpark....

 

SHASTA: What, their unleashed libido?

 

MARLYS: Yes! That's it—well said.

 

SHASTA: Thank you. Sure you don't wanna beer?

CORY: Or a soda? Perhaps a Shasta?

 

SHASTA (thwacking him lightly, then addressing MARLYS): He's so damned proud of his only joke!

 

MARLYS (forcing a smile): Uh-huh... I don't get it. 

 

 

Act I, scene iv. Later, the same evening. WATSON lounges by a campfire the college grads occasionally stoke with a motley assemblage of windfall branches. The old dog eyeballs the end of KEGGER's carved stick, where a split bratwurst dripping to beg release from the direct flames.

 

CASS: Five bucks says you lose that in the next 30 seconds, if you dare keep it in.

 

BRETT: Oh, he'll keep it in, alright! The charrier the better, for Keg....

 

KEGGER: Five bucks? That's three beers at the Curlicue shop, or four when we swing by Trader Joe's.

 

RUTH: Who says we're doing that?

 

KEGGER: The canoe rental dude. Tomorrow, after he picks us up from the ten-mile bridge, he said he'd swing into town and (the brat plummets and hisses) —shit! How close was I?

 

CASS: twenty-six seconds. But don't let that go to waste—you still gotta eat it.

 

KEGGER (sliding it out with the stick): Nah, you'll get your five bucks, but I aint eating this. Hey, com'ere pooch—

 

RUTH: No, don't do that. It's too hot anyway!

 

Too late, as WATSON is faster than his baggy body betrays. No spring chicken, though, he drags the tube steak by the pinchers of his fangs into the grass, then licking it clean from clinging ash before snarfing at safe temperature.

 

BRETT: Hey, that was charitable, but also the last one.

 

RUTH: That was dumb. And I thought tomorrow's plan was we were going to paddle back by ourselves...

 

KEGGER: Upstream? Hell, no.

 

RUTH: It's an extra charge, right? Plus I'm in this for some exercise. The Current River is barely a current from what I see—barely noticed an upstream or downstream today.

 

CASS: But we were just floating in the eddy of this beach. Ten miles downstream would be, yeah... worth the ride back.

 

BRETT: I can paddle upstream with you, if...

 

RUTH: If I wanna be alone with you in the watery wilderness?

 

BRETT: Um...

 

RUTH: Joshin' with ya—of course we'll do that. An' let the less frugal spend their last five bucks at Trader Joe's.

 

KEGGER: Well, y'all's gonna have to pitch in for groceries anyway—

 

CASS: Not if you're trashin' our stash. (pokes the fire a bit) Hey Ruthie, that's a good title for a song, huh?

 

RUTH: What is?

 

CASS: 'Trashin' our stash'—like a wake-up call to a wasteful planet.

 

RUTH: Planet or world?

 

CASS: Take your pick.

 

RUTH: No, there's a difference. The planet is incredibly efficient—aesthetically so. The world is what we do to it.

 

KEGGER: For fuck's sake, here we go again! Haven't we made this trip exactly to get on the good side of nature? I mean, what do you want?

 

Silence for a while. BRETT goes over to pet the bloodhound and CASS continues to stoke the fire. KEGGER stares blankly until he seems to realize he's doing so. He shakes his head like there's a bee in his hair and then lifts his bulk to grab a couple beers from the cooler, giving one to RUTH. She reluctantly takes it, opens for a sip and passes it to CASS, who frowns playfully. She slugs a fair amount and stretches to give it back to RUTH, but the latter stands up and ambles into the tent.

 

CASS (hissing at KEGGER): Now see what you done?

 

KEGGER (equally quiet): What? This s'posed to be Camp Eggshells or somethin'?

RUTH (coming out with her guitar): Have I introduced you guys to my new Spotify crush?

 

CASS: You haven't introduced us to any crush. Which is okay... Ups your sexiness, actually.

 

KEGGER: Who's your new crush?

 

RUTH (settling back on the log): 'Typhoon', from Oregon.

 

KEGGER: Ah! My girlfriend in Canada type of thing...

 

CASS: Ignore him. Give us a taste of Typhoon.

 

RUTH: This one's called 'Empire Builder'... and I'm sure I won't recall every word—

 

CASS: Word? or planet?

 

RUTH riffs for three-quarters of a minute and mumbles the opening lines, gaining vocal confidence in "North Dakota metastasizing" and glancing at KEGGER to see if he's going to 'for fuck's sake' again. He doesn't, but grabs another beer at the coda, where "Everybody's angry" and "Everybody's lonely" and some modal words about love. BRETT skulks back to the circle, as WATSON heads into the darkness, toward the bungalow.

 

RUTH (singing "the possibility" as the final phrase on the final strum): And that's it.

 

CASS: You jealous, Brett? Some serious competition with this... What d'you call 'em?

 

RUTH: 'Typhoon'. And nobody has to be jealous. It was just a...

 

KEGGER: It was a damn good song, is what is was.

 

BRETT: Agreed. But I think I like 'Black Bear' better. Can you play that again?

 

RUTH: You didn't like the words!

 

BRETT: I... wasn't listening to them very well. It's because the melody's entrenched in my head.

 

CASS: Entrenched?

 

BRETT: I dunno—embedded?

CASS: That's better. (to RUTH) Maestro, proceed.

 

Act I, scene v. Approaching midnight, the same day. While music beyond RUTH's guitar plays in a light mix of euphony and cacophony around the campground, the noise is more conspicuous in exuberant anecdotes and laughter. The MATTHEWS' lot, however, is removed enough from the nearest clatter as to nearly not hear it. A short phrase on the camp's PA—really MARLYS' voice from a bullhorn—reminds folks that 'curfew means quiet time; thanks for complying.' If not completely, the noise noticeably subsides.

 

JEB (in the total darkness of the RV): Wow, would get a load of that!

 

PEGGY (almost whispering, as if to advise JEB to do likewise): What, dear?

 

JEB: Obedience. Rule of law. Activism paying off.

 

PEGGY: Yes, it's worth some satisfaction. But maybe we're over-sensitive sometimes, don't you think? I mean, this is how some people relax...

 

JEB: 'After midnight, we're gonna let it all hang out'? Fine and good at a rock concert in the city, but.... We've been down that road, too, you know, Peg.

 

PEGGY: That we have. No stick-in-the-mud in our genes...

 

JEB: No, sirree. Our first real date with Steely Dan, remember that?

 

PEGGY: Oh Jeb, it's too late for memory lane...

 

JEB (singing sotto voce): 'Peg... will come back to you. Peg... will come back—'

 

PEGGY (chuckling): —shush, now. Kids'll give you what's for...

 

JEB: I suppose you're right. Can't be hypocrites, after all.... Wouldn't it take the cake, though, if I started singing that real loud at, say, six in the morning? Ha! No? (pausing to consider how much to muse) I won't, of course. Gotta stay in character. Just wish the world would respect each other's space and circumstance. Smoke if you wanna—not younecessarily, Peg!—but don't cloud up my breathable air. It's that simple. Have at it with your orgies, but don't invade my own privacy! I've got my rights to precisely the converse of your'n, and—what was it that Voltaire said, Peg, you remember?—'I may disagree with what you believe, but will fight to the death your right to say it.' Just do so S-I-L-E-N-T-L-Y so we all can all get along, yes? And maybe, once in a while, a stick-in-the-mud is what this world needs. God knows, otherwise, humans use sticks to stir up god-awful schemes. Why not let good enough alone, you know? Like camping to get away from it all—the rat race, the concrete jungle, the sirens for crises we probably shouldn't have had in the first place, if we just kept our nose clean as humanity.... Efforts today make tomorrow more free. I can tell, Pretty Peg, by the pace of your breathing, your sweet dreams agree....

 

The darkness is deeper in the absence of further soliloquy. Only JEB stirs a moment later in the crescendo of a motorcycle coming into camp and circling around to a stop in a lot a stone's throw away.

 

JEB (whispering intensely): And should I throw such a stone? Peggy, did that Evel Knievel wake you?... Lucky duck. Still—you won't mind—I think I'll go out to have a word, seeing as... well, we'll see how the squeaky wheel.... Dagnabbit! A knight's work is never complete!

 

JEB exits and strides with stealthy purpose toward the glint of the Harley and the helmeted figure just now turning the machine off.

 

JEB: So you had to indulge in some idling revs, just to be sure we all were aware you've returned!

 

LONER (raising the visor): Excuse me?

 

JEB: Your... idling revs—you just had to indulge—

 

LONER: Listen, ol' man, you don't want to do this.

 

JEB: You can't tell me what I want or don't want! Moreover, you can't know if I'm speaking just for myself!

 

LONER: Aren't you?

 

JEB: For myself and my missus, trying to catch up on yesterday's lack of sleep—especially 4 in the morning, if that rings a bell!

 

LONER: No.

 

JEB: That's when you came in last night! or morning! whatever it was—you broke the camp's curfew...

 

LONER: You through? Or you want me to drive donuts around your missus 'til 4 in the morning?

 

JEB: I've put the manager of this camp on alert! I would be happy to go to the next level.

 

LONER: Then do it, old man. Call the cops, all I care. Fall on the sword of harassment. But if you think you'll get any sleep thereafter, well.... Sleep well on that thought.

 

JEB (gulping): I... and my... missus will. Can't fault me for at least calling you out.

 

LONER (doffing the helmet and turning away): Nor can you for me doing the same.

Act II, scene i. The next morning, 8am—the proper opening time of the camp's reception office. MARLYS is busy at the desk with a stack of receipts and a mousepad trained to run a cyber maze. The landline rings and she uses the receiver to flip some curls from the nestle of her ear and shrugging shoulder.

 

MARLYS (into the phone): Sure, next week we got space.... Do you want to reserve a lot now? You can have a look at our website, even reserve through that.... Same as our name, campcurlicue—all one word—dot com.... No, not capital Q—in fact, no letter q at all; that mistake's been happening too often lately.... Why? Oh, nothing—forget it. Our name is for the curlicues—two c's—in our river.... The Current River.... You're right, that's spelled with a single c.... Say, can you hold for a minute?

 

MARLYS reaches for her mobile phone and speed-dials. She presses the landline into her cheek as a makeshift mute and side-mouths what she needs to say into the speaker phone.

 

STACY (as a disembodied voice): Geez, Ma, I'll be down in a minute!   

 

MARLYS: I owe you an hour sleeping in, I know,

 

STACY: Seventy-two minutes, if we're counting.

 

MARLYS: We're not, but I need to open the store—

 

STACY: For that nosy old man?

 

MARLYS: Stace, you're on speaker phone. But yeah, he's out there tapping his foot.

 

STACY: Oh, Joy.

 

MARLYS: I'll handle him. But could you come take the reception phone? Got a client in the making.

 

STACY: And you want my charm to close the deal.

 

MARLYS: Something like that. (unmuting the landline) Hi, sorry to keep you.... My daughter is coming downstairs if you'd like to.... Did you find our website? No, the two c's are separate. Well, three c's when you factor in the 'camp'.... Yeah, one word. Before the dot com, that is.... You know, you're right—that's a fourth c.... Ah! Here's my daughter—she's much better at explaining! See you soon, we hope.

 

STACY (mock scowling as she takes the phone, then speaking cheerfully enough): Good morning, this is Stacy at Camp Curlicue.... Yes, Stacy with a c—just one....

 

The store has just been unlocked from the outside by TRAVIS, who ushers JEB in with a bellhop's bow. MARLYS bounces into readiness at the cash register.

 

JEB: Er, thanks, young man. Didn't mean to take you out of stride.

 

TRAVIS: No prob. Enjoy your shopping experience! This fine lady will be happy to—

 

MARLYS: Happy to know the washrooms have been checked, yes?

 

JEB: Excuse me?

 

MARLYS: Oh, I was speaking to Travis, Mr Matthews.

 

JEB: But I have checked the washrooms this morning.

 

TRAVIS: And? What's the scouting report?

 

JEB: They... pass muster. I mean, as far as campgrounds go.

 

MARLYS: Well, we're a fish in those waters. (to TRAVIS) Hey, Sweetie, grab a couple bales of t.p. from the storage shed—I know the north building is running low.

 

TRAVIS: Aye, aye. Have a good day, Mr Matthews.

 

JEB: Um, I... you, too. (waiting until he leaves, then to MARLYS) You're not just trying to appease the village curmudgeon, are you?

 

MARLYS: I dunno. Who are you referring to? (smiling to put him at ease) And how went the night, Mr Matthews? More peaceful, I hope?

 

JEB (thinking): Well....

 

MARLYS (after some wait time): 'Well' is better than before. Will you be staying another night with us, then?

 

JEB: Should ask Peggy that.

 

MARLYS (a touch confused): You'd like... me to ask her?

 

TRAVIS makes his way to the north washroom with plastic-wrapped bales of toilet paper rolls sandwiching his head. He puts one down on the concrete foundation and unlocks a closet to shelf the other one. He grabs a swab mob and bucket.

 

TRAVIS (just outside the women's door): Hello? Anyone home? Cleaning lad... (goes in)

 

CASS (entering a minute later): Oops—didn't mean ta—

 

TRAVIS: No, I'm done here. Clean as... as

 

CASS: as a baby's butt?

 

TRAVIS: S'posed to be a whistle, right? And wouldn't a baby's butt, ah—

 

CASS: smell like baby shit? Sure. Which is tolerable.

 

TRAVIS: Are you a mom?

 

CASS: a mom? Did you just ask me that?

 

TRAVIS (unsure): Um... I should, um, get back to....

 

CASS: You're the boathouse guy, yeah? We're renting a couple canoes in a few hours. You're going to meet us at a ten-mile bridge, or something like that?

 

TRAVIS: Exactly that, if you're part of the 'Kegger' reservation. It would help me out if you guys gave me a call before that bridge so I could—

 

CASS: Are you asking for my number?

 

TRAVIS (fumbling): Psh...sure—yours, or Kegger's will do. But we can cover all details at launch.

 

CASS: Lunch?

 

TRAVIS I'll... I'll see you, then. Have a good, um—

 

Act II, scene ii. A turkey vulture circles the mid-day sky to the curious delight of children in the playground, two of whom raise pretend shotguns to blam-blam-blam the bird to oblivion. In seeming response, the creature descends lugubriously and scatters the shrieking crowd. It lands between the trampoline and recycle bins, defecates upon its careless legs, looks around for easy pickings and, finding nothing, flaps its massive span about fifteen times before an improbable lift-off, a random dribble of shit upon JEB and PEGGY's passenger side mirror, and a vanish toward the over-there of the river. LONER, observing beneath a cowboy hat, walks to the restaurant and lines up behind SHASTA and CORY ordering at the bar.

 

STACY (behind the bar): A what?

 

SHASTA: A sex on the beach. Cubed, not crushed.

 

STACY: Cubed... what? Sex?

 

CORY (laughing): Let's not get ahead of ourselves! It's a drink, see?

 

SHASTA: You don't tell a bartender 'it's a drink', dummy.

 

STACY: Well, I'm not really a bartender. Or barmaid, would it be? For girls, I mean?

 

SHASTA: 'Tender' swings both ways in my book. You could be a barmaid if you like—but it sounds like you need some lessons. Can you make a fuzzy navel?

 

STACY: Um... if you describe—

 

SHASTA: Cuz it's that plus a shot of vodka.

 

CORY: If the glass is tall.

 

SHASTA: I like 'em tall. (eyeballing LONER) For instance...

 

LONER: Listen, I'm just here for to order a beer and bratwurst, if you don't mind. (to STACY) Could you bring that to my table when you've finished with them?

 

STACY: Sure.

 

SHASTA: 'Them'?

 

CORY: Us! Cubed by now, I think.

 

STACY: You mean ice cubes in your drink?

 

SHASTA: Well, Cory's mind wanders. But that's what I want: suckable ice cubes from here to the beach, where we intend to drink and swim.

 

STACY (holding a tall glass): That's not so safe with, you know, real glass. Or alcohol generally around the water. I mean, free country an' all, but...

 

SHASTA: Yeah. But. Live free or die.

 

CORY: We're from New Hampshire, see. That's our state motto.

 

STACY: But?

 

CORY: No, now that's our state animal! The wild butt roaming the countryside at night—sometimes by day. Gotta be keep an eye out for the—

 

LONER (from the corner table): Would you knock off the goofiness and let a person be.

 

SHASTA: Excuse me?

 

LONER: Let a person be.

 

SHASTA: Including me, right? I should let myself be. According to thee.

 

CORY (waiting a couple beats, addressing STACY): So, I guess we'll take our drinks in plastic cups. Mine's a simple screwdriver, same shot of vodka as her sex on the beach.

 

STACY: Like, half and half?

 

CORY: Shot for her, another for me. Hers needs a capper of peach schnapps, then orange juice to the top, factoring in the ice cubes, of course.... Yep, perfect.... And, ah, sorry for the teasing—the state motto is 'live free or die'.

 

STACY (shaking the carton of orange juice, and reflecting): Why, exactly?

 

CORY: Why what?

 

STACY: Why the either/or?

 

CORY: Cuz it's what it is. (to SHASTA) Right, Hon?

 

SHASTA (glowering at LONER, who pays no attention): Fuck what is. Let a person be—that's the marching order 'round here.

 

STACY: Kinda sounds the same, in my ear.

 

SHASTA: Who's asking you? Just make the damn drinks.

 

CORY (waiting a few more beats, to STACY): Can you put these on our tab? We're lot number—

 

STACY: I know—sixty-nine... Here you go. Stay safe.

 

CORY: Thanks.

 

SHASTA: Actually, we'll take the rest of the vodka bottle—same tab.

 

STACY: We don't really do that. I mean, you can come back for more, I guess.

 

SHASTA (blowing a pouty kiss toward LONER): Bet your butt I'll be back.

 

She and CORY exit. STACY puts a fresh bratwurst onto the roller grill and taps a mug full of beer. She brings it to LONER, who looks out the window toward the river.

 

STACY: Here you go. Brat'll be ready in a couple minutes.

 

LONER: No hurry, thanks.

 

STACY: Thanks.

 

LONER: Thanks for my thanks?

 

STACY: For, you know, speaking up for me.

 

LONER: You speak well enough yourself.

 

STACY: Sometimes. Just... gets tired around here, having to be the face of the place.

 

LONER: Do you have to be that?

 

STACY: Tough year. Want to get Mama back to a comfort level. I'm skipping a first year of college for this—tuition's too high, and... from what I hear of loans, it's scary. Especially if I don't know what to major in yet. They wouldn't make me declare in the first year, but... It seems a lot of money to wonder about. Worry about, I mean... Or both—wondering and worrying, which... I don't know.

 

LONER: It's a racket, this business of 'higher education'.

 

STACY: Did you go to college?

 

LONER: Back in the day. Year and a half to realize what I'm missing.

 

STACY (pausing, unsure): Namely?

 

LONER: I won't profess.

 

STACY: Like, be a professor?

 

LONER: I won't profess.

 

STACY (looking toward the counter): I think your brat might be ready. Do you want another beer?

Act II, scene iii. A mile or so downstream on the Current River, RUTH and CASS paddle in one canoe, bow and stern, parallel to BRETT and KEGGER in another. The sunlight poking through the arching trees is intense enough to dry their hair in a matter of minutes after the off-and-on splash fights.

 

CASS: Good thing you didn't bring your guitar, huh?

 

RUTH: You loathe my 'Black Bear'—I know it.

 

CASS: No! The opposite. Can you sing it, at least?

 

RUTH: La, la, la... No.

 

CASS: C'mon, don't be that way. I have a question for the composer. Why does the song begin "I'll run like a black bear" then change in the middle to "black bear is running"... I mean, does the singer become the thing she's singing about?

 

RUTH: You want to know if I consider myself ursine.

 

CASS: Okay, let's say I do.

 

KEGGER: Hey, what's going on over there, a wedding proposal?

 

RUTH (ignoring him): I actually wondered about that. Starting with a simile and turning it into a metaphor. Or if it should be the other way around.

 

CASS: Explain.

 

RUTH: Well, if I say you are like a horse, then I'm comparing you to that creature. If I say you are a horse, then I'm redefining you—taking away your personhood.

CASS: You think I'm a horse?

 

KEGGER: Nice ass, at least.

 

BRETT: Kev, put a lid on it, will ya? This is interesting.

 

RUTH: Probably nicer to be equine than ursine. You're graceful and strong. Got a beautiful mane.

 

CASS: Big nose.

 

RUTH: So I first thought the song would have an observation of the animal and the singer—

 

CASS: You—

 

RUTH: Fine, me. I'd imagine being that free to run through a meadow, but still be human enough to return to my middle class bedroom with tortured barbies...

 

CASS: And Care Bears—I've seen 'em.

 

BRETT: But instead, you imagine the black bear and then evolve into one.

 

KEGGER: Hey, this is boring.

 

CASS: Shut up, Kegger. What do you have to offer that's so interesting?

 

KEGGER: Well, I was going to bring up your black bear, all fuzzy wuzzy for ya at the launch...

 

RUTH: What's he talking about? The canoe guy?

 

CASS: You're going to get this paddle up your ass.

 

KEGGER: Ooh, feisty!

 

CASS: I'm not kidding.

 

BRETT (standing and turning toward KEGGER): Hey, dude, looks like you need to chill! (He puts all his weight upon the starboard edge and forces the boat to flip. KEGGER flounders in the water and curses the flotsam he needs to retrieve—mostly cans of beer. BRETT holds the bow and encourages the other canoe on) We'll hang here a while, gals! Don't get lost, okay?

 

CASS (laughing): We might!

 

RUTH (paddling to create distance, then catching her breath enough to ask): What did he mean by that? Is there something going on?

 

CASS: He's dying to be jealous. And evidently auditioning for Proud Boys.

 

RUTH: The fuck. (returning to her stroke) And not that it matters, but...

 

CASS: But what?

 

RUTH: Do you have a thing for the canoe guy?

 

CASS: Travis?

 

RUTH: Is that his name? I didn't catch it.

 

CASS: He introduced himself to me this morning.

 

RUTH: Where?

 

CASS: The girls' bathroom.

 

RUTH: Huh?

 

Now on the bank with the canoe upturned, KEGGER pops open a beer and tosses another to BRETT, who changes his hands of protest into a clumsy catch.

 

KEGGER: Peace offering, call it.

 

BRETT: This is, what, our third summer together?

 

KEGGER: We didn't get out last summer.

 

BRETT: Granted, but the four of us have had reasonable camping experiences, would you agree? (KEGGER nods and swigs at the same time) And strictly as friends, right? No sex that I'm aware of—

 

KEGGER: I can imagine them two scissoring—

 

BRETT (trying to ignore that): And if you think your inuendo is gonna get you any luck or respect or, I don't know, even a fuckin' laugh... Dude, you just gotta cool it. Cass is a class act—no, not an act; she's...

 

KEGGER: You like her, too.

 

BRETT: We're friends, Kev! Is she a prettier friend than you are? Sure. But so is your mom—hell, even your dad.

 

KEGGER: I can knock your teeth out if you're asking for that.

 

BRETT: It's my point. Think for a moment—a serious moment, if you're capable—about how beautiful Ruth is. And not compared to anybody. Just herself.

 

KEGGER: She's a black bear—her own claim.

 

BRETT: Yep. And I wish I had a fraction of her vision... and heart.

 

KEGGER: Hey—you flirt with her all you want, I'll keep to my instincts with Cass and her nice—

 

BRETT: I will knock your teeth out if you say any more. (They stare at the slow flow of water and finish their beers)Alright, let's right this canoe and catch up. (KEGGER complies silently) Time-out's over; you can talk.... Or not, fine with me.... I'm not trying to kill the joy.... (they push off at begin paddling) Just sometimes, especially after the anticlimax of graduation,... I feel, I don't know.... like I need to be more of an—

 

KEGGER: ass.

 

Act II, scene iv. PEGGY and JEB wash their lunchtime dishes in the semi-covered outdoor kitchen adjoining the southern washroom building, school bus yellow. 

 

JEB: Kind of quiet around here for a change. Should bottle this...

 

PEGGY: And throw it out to sea? Message in a bottle?

 

JEB (chuckling): Meant it a different way, but maybe that, too. It's not that I need dead silence or anything—

 

PEGGY: You married a chatterbox, after all...

 

JEB: I did not marry a chatterbox! I married a lovely, thoughtful, um...

 

PEGGY: Cat got your tongue?

 

JEB: Peg o' my heart—that's what I wanted to say. By—it so happens—the Harmonicats. So, yeah, perhaps the cat does got my tongue.

 

PEGGY: 'does got'? Oh, dear.

 

JEB: You got me tongue-tied, alright. (starts drying what's been rinsed) So, what would you like to do with the rest of the day?

 

PEGGY: Oh, I dunno. Still not feeling the best—not sure I'm up for canoeing...

 

JEB: You wouldn't have to paddle, you know. Could even set up a pillow for you to lay out.

 

PEGGY: Isn't that a little dangerous? I hear there are some rapids on this river.

 

JEB: Nothing more than Class III, and we don't have to go that far. I saw a map in the reception and it's actually Class I for at least a mile in both directions. Well—hard to say 'directions' on this winding, wending riverway. Upstream, downstream, gentle eddies here and there... Liquid serendipity.

 

PEGGY: That's why you should go out and experience it—don't fret about me, as I wouldn't enjoy lying at the bottom of the canoe.

 

JEB: But I wouldn't just leave you here alone! I certainly don't need to exper—

 

PEGGY: I won't be alone: the camp lady's here,... her daughter and son. The extra set of footprints in the sand, remember? The rough times in life when they weren't there, the old man feeling all alone... "but that's when I was carrying you!".... Ring any bells? I see you haven't darkened the doors of a church lately!

 

JEB: Have you?

 

PEGGY: I'm kind of ball-and-chained to you, aren't I?... No, I'm kidding—but at least those sermon points come to mind once in a while. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil"... and something about still waters—

 

JEB: You leadeth me to them—that's the Lord telling you to come into the canoe...

 

PEGGY: Ha! Almost alluring. But give me some time to consider; let me settle my stomach. I see the camp lady coming; I'll use the loo right now in case—

 

JEB: —she's a chatterbox?

 

PEGGY: Exactly! (exits)

 

MARLYS, at distance yet, checks the recycle bins. She crushes some stray cans and picks up other debris, shaking her head at the need. She brushes her hands against the nearby grass but keeps them away from the rest of her body as she comes toward the washroom.

 

JEB (to MARLYS, as she steps onto the concrete platform): Never ends, does it?

 

MARLYS: Dirty hands? No, I suppose not. Didn't take Covid to teach me that. Can I borrow a squirt of soap?

 

JEB: Sure... it's dish soap, though.

 

MARLYS: No matter, does the job. Thanks. (she washes and shakes her hands dry, politely refusing the dishrag JEB extends; she looks out to the middle of her camp) Nice and peaceful today, huh? Even the cicadas have chilled out...  That was a joke.

 

JEB: Yeah, I get it. Humans act like animals because they forget that they are. Or—how did Mark Twain put it: "man is the only animal that blushes—"

 

MARLYS: Is that so?

 

JEB: He goes on: "the only animal that blushes—or needs to." Yeah, you gotta give it to Twain, heh-heh. Needs to!

 

MARLYS (smiling): I only read Huck Finn. Being on the river, 'n all.

 

JEB: Yeah, that's a fine novel. Though I can't imagine the shallows here could create so much drama.

 

MARLYS: Oh, you'd be surprised. The rocks are more dangerous than depth; it's not crazy to see helmets stay on these easy bends. A person can fall out of a canoe without the cause of white water.

 

JEB: Shhh—you don't want to psych out Peggy...

 

MARLYS (looking around, then softly): Where is she?

 

JEB: Ladies' room. Still not feeling up to snuff. I ended up eating her portion of lunch. We hate to waste food, you know.

 

MARLYS: Sure, but... maybe some rice would do her well? Or bananas—got 'em fresh at the store.

 

JEB: Rice is a good idea—we have some in the camper. Peg's not much for bananas.

 

MARLYS: Not bananas for bananas?

 

JEB: Don't know why. I'm a banana person. Vanilla ice cream, Hershey's syrup—can't beat that!

 

MARLYS: A split—come on by the restaurant during happy hour. Everything non-alcoholic is half price then. Promotes that side of the menu, if you know what I mean.

 

JEB: Alcohol is full price then?

 

MARLYS: Well, then we wouldn't have much of a happy hour to promote. Twenty-five percent off.... Business, you know, and building back.

 

JEB: Sure, I'm not against the hooch per se. Just the noise that comes with it. Anyways, I'd rather be on the river then—a happier couple o' hours. It's why we chose this place, really. (croons wistfully) 'Way down upon the Swanee River, far, far away'...

 

MARLYS: Hmm. 'Longin' for the old plantation'?

 

JEB: Come again?

 

MARLYS: Song's pretty racist. Your voice is nice, though.

 

JEB (fumbling): I... I'm not... that—you gotta believe... that I don't really know...

 

MARLYS: Don't worry about it, Mr Matthews. Just that... a lot of people shuffle in and out of here. Their 'get-away' brings plenty of baggage. The river—Swanee or Current—isn't to blame for what we do with it. I guess the main thing this place can hope to achieve is truer happiness than an hour or a bottle or a boisterousness—in bed or... well, I should be getting back to work.

 

JEB: I'm sorry about the plantation thing... I didn't—

 

MARLYS (patting his arm): Come by for that banana split. And we have Pepto Bismol for Mrs Matthews if—

 

JEB: Thanks, we have that in the camper, too.

 

MARLYS (walking away): Okay, just reach out with whatever you need.

 

JEB: Will do. (turning toward the washroom door) Hear that, Peg? Mrs Curlicue is here for—

 

MARLYS (laughing, at distance): It's Mrs Bonifil! Or 'Marlys', if you will.

 

JEB: Marlys, yes.

 

PEGGY (still within): Much obliged, Marlys.

 

JEB: I don't think she heard that, but.... You feeling better?

 

PEGGY: Oh, you know...

 

JEB (gathering the dishes): Yes, I suppose I do.

Act II, scene v. At the ten-mile bridge, TRAVIS sits upon the top rail, reading a paperback. He dog-ears a page and takes out a pen to write something in the margin, then turns to read most of the next page. He looks up to survey the din in the distant curve of the river. He tucks his pen into the page and the book to his back pocket, then clasps his hands into an orb the size of a heart and blows into a gap between his thumbs, sounding like a mourning dove.

 

KEGGER (bellowing from one canoe): Land-ho!

 

CASS (from the other canoe): Oh, wow!

 

RUTH: It's ten miles already?

 

BRETT: Actually twelve—the bridge isn't named for the camp, at least... (trailing off) that's what... 

 

CASS (standing up to stretch): You didn't forget us!

 

TRAVIS: Course not. But I'm not sure I wanna jump in if you tip yourself over.

 

CASS: You wouldn't save me? Ah, c'mon, don't be like that!

 

RUTH: Don't you dare get me wet!

 

CASS (slap-shooting the paddle against the surface): Too late!

 

KEGGER (copying the maneuver from his seat): Woo hoo!

 

TRAVIS: The landing ramp is after the bridge, this side.

 

He swivels off the bridge rail and makes his way down toward the bank he had pointed to. The canoes float toward him accompanied by whoops and 'ECHO! Echo, echo' under the bridge. He doffs his sandals and wades in to pull the first canoe's stern to a flat ledge by the ramp.

 

CASS: Thank you, Travis, knight without the shining armor.

 

TRAVIS: Pleasure is mine, Cassandra.

 

KEGGER (steering his and BRETT's canoe to bump up against the girls'): You know Cassie's full name?

 

CASS: I'm never Cassie, Kevin. And if you haven't noticed in the past year or so, I've warmed up to my christening.

 

RUTH: Named after Cassandra Jenkins, right?

 

CASS: Yeah, exactly: Mom and Dad just knew an unknown fifteen-year-old a half a nation away would set the indie music scene on fire.

 

BRETT: Who's she?

 

CASS: See? Exactly.

 

KEGGER: I thought it was for the prophetess of doom. Maybe you were a colicky baby.

 

CASS: Maybe you still are.

 

KEGGER: I'm cryin' for a beer by now, that's for sure. We heading to Trader Joe's, um, Travis?

 

TRAVIS: Yep, as agreed. I need some things for the camp anyway.

 

KEGGER: Awesome. And—stupid me—I left my wallet in the tent. Can I borrow some cash, anyone?

 

BRETT (fishing a bill out of his pocket and giving it up): Here. Kinda damp. It's my last twenty, so a bit of change would be nice.

 

KEGGER: Thanks, man.

 

They all help secure the canoes—one to the trailer, the other to a little respite on the ramp. CASS hugs RUTH before sliding into the pick-up's front seat. KEGGER stuffs his bulk to the rest of the passenger side, and TRAVIS, after double-checking the bungies, gets into the driver's side.

 

CASS: Sheesh! How would we even fit the others if they were to come with?

 

TRAVIS (thumbing toward their touching shoulders): fold-outs in the back there, if you want one of them.

 

CASS: No, I'm good. (turning to KEGGER) If you don't breathe too heavy.

 

KEGGER: On the contrary—you take my breath away.

 

CASS (calling out the open window): Ruth! What's that song you like by Jenkins? It's goin' be a 'hard drive'...

 

RUTH (recalling, lightly singing): "The mind, the mind is just a ha-a-ard drive"...

 

CASS: Yeah, the mind, but one of the verses is about a pick-up truck, no?

 

TRAVIS: I promise I'm a good driver.

 

BRETT: See you guys in a couple hours.

 

TRAVIS: You two are sure? Got the energy?

 

BRETT: No worries—I haven't broken a sweat yet.

 

RUTH: And we can't get lost, can we?

 

TRAVIS: No, I suppose not. Have a good journey back.

 

The truck and trailer wobble up the incline to the road, and with final waves and hoots from KEGGER, disappears from the river's vantage point. RUTH looks in their direction for a half-minute anyway, while BRETT arranges the canoe's paddles and seat cushions, mesh bag with apples and bottled water.

 

RUTH: He supposes we can't get lost.

 

BRETT: Good enough endorsement. You want front or back?

 

RUTH: Isn't the guy always the helmsman?

 

BRETT: I actually enjoy the front—digging into the water like a Clydesdale. But I'll do whatever.

 

RUTH: Ok, I'll try steering. Cass was pretty good at it.

 

They push off and paddle in relative silence, especially not to disturb the snapping turtles they had seen before encountering the bridge. A half mile further, a concentrating egret causes them to swerve to the opposite bank, grab a tree root and admire the white bird's hunt.

 

BRETT (whispering): We didn't see this before...

 

RUTH (as silently): Cuz Kegger bullhorned everything away...

 

BRETT: Yeah, one of the reasons I wanted this return trip... (waiting a minute more) Wish I had my phone to photo this.

 

RUTH: You left yours at the camp, too?

 

BRETT: I knew we'd be soaked at one point or another. Plus—I'll retract—I'm glad not to have it for a change. A person's gotta exercise the memory more.

 

RUTH: Good point. And the unstrung songs... (waiting a minute more) So, shall we?

 

BRETT: Okay. (dips in his paddle) Bye-bye white bird.

 

RUTH (after a dozen strokes): Kegger relief is one reason. What are the others?

 

BRETT: Huh?

 

RUTH: You said, "one of the reasons" to paddle back.

 

BRETT: Exercise, for sure. Serenity.... The lab that is our natural world.... Yours?

 

RUTH: Ditto. I didn't need Cass relief, though.

 

BRETT: She can be intense, too.

 

RUTH: But the opposite of noxious. Kegger is..., well, we should be nice to one another.

 

BRETT: Funny to think this is our third trip. Something adheres.

 

They paddle without speaking for a while. BRETT grabs a water bottle and gestures an offer to toss the other to RUTH, who shrugs a why-not? BRETT then gets back to paddling as RUTH leans back on the triangular platform of the stern.

 

RUTH: Mind if I lounge like Cleopatra?

 

BRETT: If you want me to be the slave galley, you gotta sing some chanty or something. Even 'Black Bear' again...

 

RUTH: Nah, that one needs a guitar. But I do have another one I've been working on; don't think I need to strum the rhythm. Give me a second. (she positions her paddle like a guitar and simulates the riff) Okay, I think it'll go. Doesn't have a title yet, so if you want to advise: (sings)

Praise the day — we can be happy

Raise a babe to never break the faith

                        that we can be happy

                                    & stay that way

 

Used to think like a boulder

            on the brink of tumbling down

Now a little bit older,

            found peace with the ground

 

No fear in the falling, 

                        no need to learn at all

                                                how to land

 

like a cat stuck in a tree

and the only one to blame is me

'cause I climbed there on a whim

and now I'd better sink or swim...

(sighs) And I forgot the rest.

 

BRETT: It's great—bouncy.

 

RUTH: Like a beach ball?

 

BRETT: Well, the "we can be happy" does that. The "falling" business adds... whad'ya call it,... graveness.

 

RUTH: Gravity? Like literally, I guess. I wonder if 'grave' came from 'gravity', like a dead person getting sucked into the earth's core.

 

BRETT: Maybe. Gravity doesn't exactly 'suck', though. Not like magnetism.

 

RUTH: "No such thing as gravity," my dad whispered at my third-grade science expo. "The earth just sucks."

 

BRETT: Did you laugh?

 

RUTH: No. Because he believed that.

 

BRETT (silent for seven strokes): I'm sorry.

 

RUTH (sitting up to paddle again): You don't have to be.

They cover perhaps a mile without saying much, steadily tacking to avoid the central flow against them, taking pleasure in the smoother, shaded sides. A trout jumps a couple yards in front of BRETT.

 

BRETT: Whoa! See that? A rainbow, I think.

 

RUTH: Yeah. Maybe we can catch one and grill it up.

 

BRETT: Hungry?

 

RUTH: Well, not for trout per se, but...

 

BRETT: Let's pull up over there by those rocks. Chomp some muesli bars.

 

RUTH: I didn't know we had muesli bars!

 

BRETT: Had to hide 'em from Kegger. Not that I'd rather he snarf all his other junk, but...

 

RUTH: Quarantine turned people into one kind of 'unk' or another.

 

BRETT: What do you mean?

 

RUTH: Saw it as a meme: the year made you a hunk or a chunk, a monk or a... I forgot the last one.

 

BRETT: Punk? Skunk?

 

RUTH: No—now I remember: a drunk. But it's all pretty silly. You seemed to come out hunkier.

 

BRETT: Shucks, just want to stay in shape. (hops out to pull the canoe onto the pebbly shore) I got to take a whiz—I'm not running away!

 

RUTH: Like a black bear?

 

BRETT (striding away and calling over his shoulder): Hey, pretty nice—there happens to be a meadow!

 

RUTH (lying down on the mossy bank): 'Zat right? Can't beat this, though... Wake me up before you go, go...

Act III, scene i. Late afternoon, the same day. SHASTA and CORY lounge in the beach area watching unsupervised kids wade and make sandcastles. STACY is working at the boathouse nearby, decidedly not on lifeguard duty (as she warns the kids, pointing at the 'SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK' sign). They've been there awhile, however, and a distant voice calls them to scamper back to their campsite.

 

SHASTA: Thank God, that! I thought they'd never leave.

 

CORY: They were fine—just playing. I like the one asking if we'd like any food or drinks from their sand café.

 

SHASTA: We could wet our whistle with something real. In the meantime, though, (standing up and disrobing to nakedness) last one in's a rotten egg!

 

CORY: Babe, they can still see you!

 

SHASTA: So? There's tree cover enough—

 

STACY (from the boathouse): Miss, um—

 

SHASTA: 'Shasta', minus the 'Miss'. You wanna come in, dear?

 

STACY: No! Just that you need, like, some kind of swimwear. (coming nearer)  I'm sure my mom has a suit your size—

CORY (still in his robe): How about my size?

STACY (giving a quick side glance): I don't think so. At any rate, you can't be doing this.

SHASTA: It's not prohibited on your sign, is it?

STACY: Doesn't have to be—it's the law of the state!

CORY: Yikes, we've got a paralegal here, Shast. We can't be flirting with the law...

SHASTA (getting out, stretching, and putting her robe back on): We'll be good. Don't bother with your mother's hand-me-downs—I got a suit back at the Winnebago.

CORY: Last one there's a rotten egg?

SHASTA: I'll take my own sweet time (blowing STACY a kiss), thank you.

 

They walk toward their lot, passing JEB, who avoids eye-contact even as SHASTA flashes open her robe. STACY shakes her head and returns to the boathouse.

 

JEB (approaching the boathouse): Young lady, young lady!

 

STACY: I know—I reminded them of state law.

 

JEB: Well, yes—good on ya. Never too young to practice civic duty.

 

STACY: I wanted to start pre-law at the university, but,... the pandemic.

 

JEB: That's holding you back?

 

STACY: The finances are. Gotta work like crazy this year, then maybe...

 

JEB: Sorry to hear that. And maybe I can provide a little more business. Wanted to rent a canoe, if I may.

 

STACY: Usually that goes through my brother, who's gone to pick up a group that left this morning. I'm just here sorting out life preservers and such.

 

JEB (despondent): Oh...

 

STACY: But I guess I could go over my brother's head. As long as you didn't need an arranged pick up downstream.

 

JEB: The current isn't very strong—no pick up would be necessary.

 

STACY: Looks could be deceiving, Mr Matthews. At least you'd want to bring your phone if you felt... tuckered out. Not that I'm doubting your—

 

JEB: No, no—you're being prudent. And I'm no spring chicken, to be sure. But the ol' ticker is rather road-tested, and... well, I'd like to enjoy the curlicues of the river, that's all.

 

STACY: Okay. And would Mrs Matthews be joining?

 

JEB: Mrs Matthews?

 

STACY: Yes, for her lifejacket—I don't know her size.

 

JEB: Oh, just... yeah, my size. We're peas in a pod—or a canoe today, as it turns out! She wasn't sure there'd be a canoe available, so this will come as good news.

 

STACY: We got plenty. In fact, what color would you like?

 

JEB: How about yellow?

 

STACY: We have orange or red—no yellows left.

 

JEB: Orange, then. I'll go and get us ready.

STACY: I'll have it pulled out right over there. We need all boats in by 8pm, but I'd advise a little earlier—gets dark awfully quick when folks lose track of time...

 

JEB: Oh, a couple hours will fit the bill. Thank you very much, Miss..., um...

 

STACY: 'Stacy', minus the 'Miss'.

Act III, scene ii. The restaurant is empty despite the slant of sun farm animals would associate with feeding/milking time. MARLYS pours herself a coffee and a capful of Bailey's, looking up to see LONER saunter in.

 

MARLYS: Caught me.

 

LONER: Come again?

 

MARLYS: Drinking on duty. Spiking the punch.

 

LONER: To each his own. I'm no traffic cop.

 

MARLYS: That said, you're here for a second time today. Not planning to hit the road tonight, I hope.

 

LONER (wandering over to the same table as before): Hopes dashed, probably. But if it satisfies, I'll take what you're having. Keep me alert.

 

MARLYS: Minus the Bailey's?

 

LONER: Didn't say that. I can take my business elsewhere, you know.

 

MARLYS: No, no—the customer is always right. I won't commit business hari-kari. (pours a cup of coffee and brings over the whole bottle of creamy liquor) Add to your own sense of proportion.

 

LONER (uncertain): Sounds like an ethics test.

 

MARLYS: No, I just don't want to measure. Mind if I join you, though?

 

LONER: Suit yourself.

 

MARLYS (fetching her cup, then topping it off with a short pour of Bailey's): It's my break, after all.

 

LONER: You guys are working your asses off here. Maybe you could make us haul some of the load for the privilege of the place.

 

MARLYS: Are you asking for a non-salary job? Like, what Walmart pays?

 

LONER: You've seen me over the years, free-loading, basically, besides the tiny fee you put on the site. Just think it might do well to, I dunno, have folks clean the johns, or kids rake the beach... I could help maintain your machinery—Travis, bless his heart, is no mechanic from what I've seen.

 

MARLYS: That's awfully kind of you. Not sure if Travis would smile or frown at that...

 

LONER: He can handle the truth. And the truth is, there's a lot better things to be good at than greasing gears.

 

MARLYS: Like what, in his case? I know my own answer, but would love to hear yours. What gifts do you see in my young man?

 

LONER (topping off with a pour of Bailey's): You're pretending I'm a close family friend.

 

MARLYS: Inviting that, for all your familiar mystery.

 

LONER: Travis is, like you, a Labrador retriever.

 

MARLYS: What? You calling me a bitch?

 

LONER: Not more than I'm calling him one. How can that be a bad comparison? A seeing-eye dog, a sturdy-at-the-shoulder, water-savvy, intelligent, faithful being. Who's shit at greasing gears.

 

MARLYS: What's with this "greasing gears"?

 

LONER: When I needed a wrench for my spark plugs, he was pretty clueless. Lent me a vice-grips that of course didn't fit—

 

MARLYS: —of course.

 

LONER: And the tutorial went from there. He drives safely—as a Labrador would—but doesn't have a good understanding of torque.

 

MARLYS: As a Labrador wouldn't. And, since I'm supposed to be that, too, I wouldn't pass your tutorial either.

 

LONER: No. But then again, I wouldn't pass yours.

 

MARLYS: What kind of tutorial would a Labrador give, anyway?

 

LONER: Civility. Mind if I smoke?

 

MARLYS (looks around for anyone to call foul): If you open the window more. Be discreet.

 

LONER (lighting up): See? That's civility.

 

MARLYS: That's an ex-smoker with empathy. And you probably have more of that than you think, Loner.... Remember when Stacy cried the whole night after her dad stomped outta here—what, four years ago? And she threatened to run away in the opposite direction of that bum; she emphasis that word, 'opposite'. Like she wanted an inverse relation to the equation. And you, the next morning, offered her a motorcycle ride, remember?

 

LONER: I asked your permission.

 

MARLYS: Yeah, you did. And—we barely knew each other—it was the kindest thing...

 

LONER: I rode a mile down the road and back. Didn't lose sight of the camp.

 

MARLYS: That's the point. You honored her need to... leave. And stay.

 

LONER: She only had a rafting helmet on—that was my stupidity that you should've caught out.

 

MARLYS: I knew you'd drive carefully. 

Act III, scene iii. TRAVIS pulls into camp with CASS and KEGGER and they all get out at the boat house, where STACY rakes the beach. The sun slants just above the distant bungalow.

 

CASS: So thank you, Travis, for a tour of Arkansas! We missed Bill Clinton's Hope, but maybe that can be tomorrow's odyssey.

 

TRAVIS: Hope? That town's clear the other end of the state. The detour wasn't so outrageous, I... hope.

 

CASS: Just joshin' with ya. You an' me can do Hope tomorrow.

 

KEGGER: I'll pass on that.

 

CASS: Hope? or smashing us against the driver's door?

 

KEGGER: Seems like you didn't mind it a bit.

 

CASS: Maybe I didn't. That's for me to know and Trav to find out.

 

STACY (approaching): Hey, I'll help you unload.

 

TRAVIS: It's alright. The canoers have to complete the whole experience. What I call cleaning up the toys.

 

KEGGER: I've gotta hit the loo, so... rain check on that, dude. But thanks for—what's it called, Cassie? the odyssey?

 

CASS: The audacity of you trying to be funny. And stop calling me—

 

KEGGER (waddling toward the washroom): Cassie. Prophetess of diminutive doom.

 

CASS: Good! He's gone. Now we can hide his twelve-pack of Pabst and say we drank 'em all. You'd need to be in on this, Stacy.

 

STACY (bemused): Have we... really met? Cassie, is it?

 

TRAVIS: Cassandra. The unexpected detour gave us time for family history. All good.

 

STACY: Oh, well... I'm technically not legal to drink. Neither is Trav, if you want to know the truth.

 

CASS: I said 'say' we drink them beers. Nothing illegal about lying.

 

STACY: Unless you're under oath.

 

TRAVIS (to CASS): Sis wants to be a lawyer.

 

CASS: An ambulance chaser? or Atticus Finch?

 

STACY: Who's he?

 

TRAVIS: 'To Kill a Mockingbird'? You must've read it in Ms Henderson's class...

 

STACY: Nope. I recognize the title, but... we were reading shorter texts for English 9. She wasn't too happy about it, because we didn't do Romeo and Juliet either.

 

TRAVIS: Too bad; she loved teaching that. Mercutio and Queen Mab. Friar Lawrence and "they stumble that run too fast"...

 

CASS: Now you're showing off. But I'm still not impressed: what's that in your pocket?

 

TRAVIS (pulling out the paperback): 'Dubliners', as a matter of fact. Joyce wanted to call them 'Epiphanies', actually. Small 'e', probably, to distinguish from the church's use... Three kings looking for a messiah, you know, finding a baby in a barn...

 

CASS: Go on.

 

TRAVIS: So each story has its epiphany, probably several, depending on who has them.

 

STACY: Remind me what the word means?

 

TRAVIS: Mr Harris didn't teach you this in AP Lit?

 

CASS: Don't condescend! (to STACY) It means a sudden, profound realization. Like falling out of love with your crush.

 

STACY: Crushed twice.

 

TRAVIS: Well, it's an interesting example, cuz this is what I marked just when your canoes were coming in. (flipping to find the page) Here it is: "Love between man and man is impossible because there must not be sexual intercourse"—not the narrator's perspective, by the way, but a lonely guy writing in his diary—

 

CASS: Well, it's not woke, but what makes that an epiphany?

 

TRAVIS: Patience, patience, Cassandra. He continues with "friendship between man and woman is impossible because there must be sexual intercourse."

 

STACY: Okay, so I'm leaving now...

 

TRAVIS: Exactly! And a few pages later—I had to read this dude's poison again—"he felt he had been outcast from life's feast." The narrator expresses this twice. We don't hear it from him—Mr Duffy's his name—as he's utterly alone, and even his diary seems to shun him. So in a way, the epiphany is, well... maybe an anti-epiphany.

 

CASS: Do you agree?

 

TRAVIS: With?

 

CASS: Friendship, love, genders in between.

 

TRAVIS: I called it poison! Of course anyone can love, befriend, lust for, exploit another. This Mr Duffy, by the way, was into Nietzsche and Wordsworth and had plenty of time to think things out. I mean, diaries can spill somebody's gut without reflection, but... We're just left with this starved intellectual—"A Painful Case", as it's titled.

 

CASS: Can I borrow it? Need to kill some time before Ruth comes in.

 

TRAVIS: And the other guy, I hope.

 

CASS: Brett? Yeah, him too.

 

STACY: Oh, Trav—almost forgot—I pulled the orange canoe out for Mr and Mrs Matthews.

 

TRAVIS: When? I hope you told them to paddle upstream first.

 

STACY: I dunno, half hour ago? And I didn't see them launch, so.... But he said he'd take his phone, and I reminded him of 8pm...

 

TRAVIS: C'mon, Stace—no tellin' what old people will do.

 

CASS: Ageist much?

 

TRAVIS: Well, do you wanna pick them up at the ten-mile bridge? Be my guest.

 

CASS: Fair enough—I'll drive and you keep reciting those epiphanies, small 'e'.

 

TRAVIS: Well, we're not at that point yet. Let's hope they'll paddle here on their own, like Brett and...

 

CASS: And the other guy, Ruth. 

 

STACY: Is Ruth a guy?

 

CASS: Let's just say Mr Duffy wouldn't approve of their coupling one way or another.

Act III, scene iv. Early dusk on the Current River, a mile by bends south of Camp Curlicue. The orange canoe lends to an autumnal atmosphere, especially in the breeze that has ushered out the sultry air of the sunburst day. JEB barely paddles in the back of the canoe.

 

PEGGY (sitting in the helm seat): I think I'm good to paddle, dear. Why don't you take the break I've been enjoying all this while.

 

JEB: Well, you can of course, but coming back against the current is where we could use the extra strokes. Do you want us to turn around now?

 

PEGGY: No, no—it's light enough and so, so lovely. You wanted to see a sample of both directions.

 

JEB: Yes, and in retrospect we should've started this way and powered passed the camp in order to drift into the homestretch. Instead, we'll have to work for our dinner.

 

PEGGY: No worries—we've done it all our lives.

 

JEB: Life. Shared. I mean, you've had your circles of influence and I've had mine; stories sometimes told in the 24/7. But most the time it's been 'Jeb and Peggy', 'Peg and Jeb'—

 

PEGGY: Don't forget our days of PB & J...

 

JEB: Barney! Rest in peace a half a century more...

 

PEGGY: How come we never replaced him?

 

JEB: You can never replace a dog. We talked about this. Barney was our baby test.

 

PEGGY: Yeah, and we passed that fine. He only ran away a couple times, the same as a kid getting lost in a department store.

 

JEB: Flying colors we passed. No one coulda fathomed cancer in the tail, even after cropping it. Cancer coulda done the same to a little boy or girl.

 

PEGGY: They don't have tails, dear.

 

JEB: No, but you get my point. SIDS in a crib, or falling down the stairs. Getting nabbed by a stranger after school. 

 

PEGGY: We never got that far...

 

JEB: Dabbling with drugs.

 

PEGGY: Not remotely.

 

JEB: Rolling off the road without a seatbelt on—

 

PEGGY: Now you're being unfair. An adult could just as likely...

 

JEB (singing): "Rolling over the billows, rolling over the sea"—

 

PEGGY: Can't you go "merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream"?

 

They're silent for a couple minutes, if PEGGY's hum is faint against the whispers of the water, the clunks of wood on orange fiberglass.

 

JEB: You're right. I need to be more optimistic. If we couldn't have a child, we still had a life.

 

PEGGY: Have a life. I'm not checking out any time soon, with or without the aid of Pepto Bismol. And you've always been in good shape. Maybe it's time we found another Barney—no, I don't mean a replacement, and we'd give him another name. Or her—why not try a bitch.

 

JEB: Can't say that, of course.

 

PEGGY: Just the terminus technicus. I mean, we have plenty of space in the RV, and she'd have an outright riot in a place like this.

 

JEB: You want to bring a riot into camp? Isn't there enough disturbance of the peace?

 

PEGGY: Fuddy duddy! Kids are here to have a good time. And that couple having sex—

 

JEB: Don't get me started!

 

PEGGY: —is just the way biology works. Certain age, of course, and needing due consent...

 

JEB (measuring his words): We... we've been of that age forever. Did we ever ask consent?

 

PEGGY: Are you asking now? Shall we pull over?

 

JEB: Oh, Peggy—I wasn't thinking of that! But at least let's think about getting back. The girl at the boathouse said 8pm at the latest...

 

PEGGY: And it's what time now?

 

JEB: Don't know exactly, but it seems about right the way the sun's been dropping.

 

PEGGY: Well, why don't you just check your phone? I left mine in the camper...

 

JEB: I don't see the strict point, seeing how we'll have to paddle back regardless, but...

 

As JEB reaches into his chest pocket, a whirl in the river catches the front and pivots the canoe abruptly. The lean to compensate misfires, and the couple shriek themselves into the drink. As the depth is merely waist-high, they try to find their feet, but the canoe—bouncing upright—speeds like a torpedo down the center of the river, round the bend and out of sight.

 

PEGGY (leaning forward on a boulder): Give it up, Jeb. You're not going to catch that impish nymph.

 

JEB: Shit! Pardon my language, but.... Shit. The girl in the boathouse is going to have my hide. Are you alright, at least?

 

PEGGY: Just soaked. Lucky we weren't so shallow to hit our heads on rocks.

 

JEB: I'm a rockhead for not taking the helmets—gosh, that girl's gonna...

 

PEGGY: Have your hide? Why worry about that, Jeb? This must happen several times a day for them...

 

JEB (wade-walking to her, then holding her hand to get them safely to the bank): Perhaps it happens to others... but I wanted a clean slate at this camp.

 

PEGGY: Why here more'n anywhere else?

 

JEB (lying on the moss, patting a space for his wife): I just had a better feel for the unfolding of the days. Maybe the ruckus on the first night set the bar rather low. The camp director's family... well, they're awfully nice. Too nice for the riff raff they've gotta deal with.... I shouldn't say that, though. We're the troublemakers now, losing their canoe.... Now, with hiking around these muddy meanders, we probably won't get back 'til well past 8, tail between our legs.... I should use that phrase, recollecting Barney.... Could use that hound right now—he'd sniff us a shortcut through these fields, I bet. Don't want to risk that in the dark, without a dog. Less the coyotes than the getting lost.... How come you're so silent, Peg? Is the dread of the situation kicking in?

 

PEGGY: No, not dread. I just like listening to you talk sometimes, gathering your bearings.

 

JEB: Ball bearings for brains, more like it. At any rate, let's hit the trail.

 

PEGGY: So to speak.

 

JEB: So to speak—the river as our Beatrice.

 

PEGGY: Who's that? The girl at the boathouse?

 

JEB: Never mind. Watch out—some rocks are slippery.

 

Act III, scene v. As RUTH and BRETT sleep on the mossy bank, their yellow canoe breaks free of the barely beached way they had left it. Minutes later—or hours for all they know—a yip of a coyote wakes them up.

 

BRETT (yawning): Evening already—we should get going, huh? Ruth?

 

RUTH: One more minute couldn't hurt.... The moss is heavenly.

 

BRETT: You know, there's a fair share of tardigrades you're sleeping on...

 

RUTH (yawning): Tardigrades?.... What's them?

 

BRETT: Water bears. Tiny, tiny eight-legged creatures that love a moist atmosphere.

 

RUTH: Will they get into my ears?

 

BRETT: Are they moist?

 

RUTH: With the moss, I guess, maybe....

 

BRETT: Wouldn't worry about it. They're harmless. Sorta like your black bear.

 

RUTH: Don't be too sure. When berries and trout run out, you and me would look delicious to a black bear.

 

BRETT: That's why I've been working out. Ready to ward off any ravenous beast. Meanwhile, your minute's up—we gotta get going.

 

RUTH (rolling reluctantly): Party pooper.

 

BRETT (at the river): What the.... Fuck! Didn't you pull up the canoe?

 

RUTH (quickly joining): Didn't you? Maybe it's just around the bend—

 

They run downstream as much as the stones and overgrowth allow, BRETT not any faster than RUTH. At the empty look beyond the second bend, they slow to a standstill.

 

BRETT: Crap. Was worth having a phone, after all.

 

RUTH: Well, what if it were 1979 and this happened?

 

BRETT (turning to walk back upstream): Why that year?

 

RUTH: Smashing Pumpkins. Good song. Won't sing it, though.

 

BRETT: Save your energy—it looks like we're in for a ragged hike in descending darkness. Unless you want to camp out at the meadow and start fresh at daybreak.

 

RUTH: That would scare the hell outta Cass and Kegger.

 

BRETT: Maybe do them good. As long as we know we're safe, worries won't kill 'em.

 

RUTH: Kegger'll get drunk anyway. Cass...?

 

BRETT: Cass will charm that Travis dude, maybe get him to drive out again.

 

RUTH: You think we should go back to the ten-mile bridge? We could hitch-hike from there.

 

BRETT:  Mmm, I dunno. It's a couple miles in the same dusk we're walking now. The meadow is probably our best bet.

 

RUTH: If the coyotes cooperate.

 

BRETT: They won't bother us.... (hopping up to where they slept) Here we are. May get a little hungry, but...

 

RUTH: I'm fine. Could use some water, though. Drinkable, you think?

 

BRETT: No—not with field run-off from mid-Missouri. I mean, in a pinch... but you might barf it up an hour later.

 

RUTH: Guess that fits the Smashing Pumpkins all the more. (singing) "We don't really care, as restless as we are—We feel the pull in the land of a thousand guilts and poured cement", la la la I forget the rest.

 

BRETT: Pretty good for not having to lyrics.com the thing.

 

RUTH: That's why I brought it up. Nothing against phones and all, but they disable figuring out things for yourself. One of my sosh seminars referenced the remote cultures in the world that didn't convert oral speech to written language and their capacity to remember things is statistically way higher than ours.

 

BRETT: They may have less to remember...

 

RUTH: —or more. Who's to say? Maybe if one of them took the same route we did today, they'd remember how the meanders go, how to cut across the field to make the journey more like a crow's flight. Memory isn't cramming facts for an exam, but summoning up the spontaneous, the unexpected. Remember three years ago when we camped in Kentucky?

 

BRETT: No.

 

RUTH: No?

 

BRETT: Just kidding—of course I do. Kegger stepped on a cottonmouth.

 

RUTH: Yep, the defining moment. Do you remember what he did the day before?

 

BRETT: Eat, drink, and shit?

 

RUTH: —and step into a cow pie. We told him, then, to watch where he's going—

 

BRETT: You paid more attention to him, evidently. What was I doing the day before?

 

RUTH: I can't remember. Not putting our trip in jeopardy, at least. We had to leave early cuz of that bite.

 

BRETT: Tables might've turned: now we're the ones putting this year trip in jeopardy. 

 

RUTH (standing abruptly): Holy cow! Look at that—

 

She points at an orange canoe floating like a ghost. BRETT dashes into the river to tackle the front wedge, wresting the craft as if it were an alligator. He whoops at their fortune.

 

BRETT: There's one paddle at the bottom—nothing else. Seems like someone followed our lead, luckily upstream.

 

RUTH: Maybe Travis sent it our way, predicting our ineptitude.

 

BRETT: In fact, it does have the Curlicue logo on it. Hell, we're doing them a favor by catching this!

 

RUTH: What do you wanna do? It's pretty dark.

 

BRETT: Moon will be rising soon—same amount as a DreamWorks movie, but that should be enough to see the contours of the river.

 

RUTH: With one paddle though? Maybe morning would be better....

 

BRETT: That's more hours to dehydrate. And Cass to worry—

 

RUTH: You said the worry would do them good! What gives?

 

BRETT: This gift of an ugly orange canoe is what gives. And I bet I can find a decent branch that can serve as another paddle, especially if I can strip off an end for flatness. Or even—brilliant! There's that wooden sign at the edge of the meadow, some 'keep out or else' stupid thing.

 

RUTH: That would be stealing.

 

BRETT: Or karma. We'd be keeping out, alright. I'm going to fetch that—back in a sec.

 

RUTH: I don't know. This seems rather foolhardy. Wouldn't it be better to do this at daybreak? Brett?... Brett?

Act IV, scene i. Pitch dark—the 4am sky has long bid goodbye to the waning moon; KEGGER is snoring in his slump upon a picnic table, nearby an oak where CASS and TRAVIS sit, leaning against it and upon each other. WATSON lies awake, as if chaperoning the situation.

 

CASS (after biting her lip): Could we try again? I mean, maybe now they're at the bridge, if... if they'd understand we'd naturally go there to pick them up... as many times as poss...

 

TRAVIS (brushing her cheekbone of its newest teardrop): Of course we can. Maybe this time we should stay there until my mother calls us back—

 

CASS: Your mom? or the cops—she called them, right?

 

TRAVIS: She said so. Concerned more about the Matthews, though. Nobody saw them leave, or what Mrs Matthews' condition was.

 

CASS: Has this ever happened before on your watch? And twice in one night?

 

TRAVIS: Yes, and no. We've had clients float past the ten-mile bridge and find a friendly house about eight miles further—I think that's when civilization reappears. Or some have come paddling into camp pretty late.

 

CASS: This late?

 

TRAVIS: No. But I remember a couple who camped on the bank and returned in the morning—and not this early in the morning, either, so maybe that's what's going on in this case.

 

CASS: With both situations? I don't think so. And Ruth would give me a hint if she thought a night out was in the mix. I mean, she's got a right to her secrets and all, but... she wouldn't just elope like this. Brett neither.

 

TRAVIS: Wish they had brought their phones.

 

CASS: They wouldn't work anyway if they rolled their canoe.

 

TRAVIS: You know there are barely any rapids; I doubt they rolled their—

 

CASS: —but people have drowned in this river, right? Knocked out on the rocks, kept down by the current. (grabbing his shirt collar) Tell me they have, then tell me they haven't!

 

TRAVIS: Shh, shh—people have drowned on this river, but usually alone. Happened to a friend of my father after a night of drinking—

 

CASS: Brett was drinking.

 

TRAVIS: But I mean drunk, which Brett certainly wasn't. With a mean streak, at that. He and Dad were arguing into the night—over there in the rec room, hustling each other in sloppy games of pool. Mom comes around to tell them to stop, and the guy snaps at her. Dad does less to defend Mom than get into this guy's grill and they start slugging it out.

 

CASS: Were you also in the rec room?

 

TRAVIS: I was upstairs, pretending to sleep. Meanwhile, Mom steps out to call the cops—

 

CASS: Like she's done tonight?

 

TRAVIS: I promise you she has—while were truckin' back to the bridge. She said they'll be here with a swamp boat at daybreak. 

 

CASS: How come you guys don't have a swamp boat, whatever that is?

 

TRAVIS: Above-board motor, the only kind this stretch of the river allows for police and fire departments—strictly for emergencies.

 

CASS: Which we're in, goddammit!

 

KEGGER stirs at the raised inflection, but doesn't fully wake, rolling to a fetal position beside the picnic table. TRAVIS shines the light of his mobile phone onto the situation while WATSON lumbers up to check KEGGER's vitals, then circles back to CASS to indicate, tacitly, that her fat friend is unhurt. CASS bends to kiss him on the top of his wrinkly head.

 

TRAVIS: Shall I keep the light on?

 

CASS: No. Tell me the rest of the story... about your dad.

 

TRAVIS (turns off the flashlight): Well, he was clocked pretty bad by his 'friend', who then ran to the river. We find out later that he was on probation and his next fight would be a mandatory two years in the clink. He didn't last twenty minutes in a canoe and—because he was alone—didn't make the shore when it tipped. Dad might have died, too, as his fall on the concrete cracked the back of his head. But Mom was giving him first aid by the time the cop car rolled in. Stacy and I were down by then,... bewildered. But not surprised. Dad had been distancing himself from us—Mom had already assumed the reigns of the camp for his general neglect—and by the following week, we'd seen the last of him.

 

CASS: Your mom saved him for nothing?

 

The distant buzz of a motorcycle halts TRAVIS' response. He puts his arm around CASS to assure he's not leaving, but then gets up to where he knows LONER will end up. CASS waits a moment and follows, WATSON close at her heels.

 

TRAVIS (waiting for the cycle to come to a stop): Morning, almost. Wonder if you can give us a hand.

 

LONER: Huh? Something up?

 

TRAVIS: Two canoes didn't come in last night.

 

LONER: Sounds like a rendezvous.

 

TRAVIS: Separate situations—one with that older couple and—

 

CASS: —and the other with my best friend, who better not be dead or I'm gonna kill somebody.

 

LONER: That's a lot of pessimism. And if your friend turns out to be alive?

 

CASS: I'll do the opposite of kill somebody.

 

LONER (turning off the engine): What would you like me to do?

 

TRAVIS: Just thought, since you're still up, that maybe you can cycle the river's edge where the footpath's are. The truck's too wide for most of it, and we need it anyway to get to the ten-mile bridge. And if you could—

 

LONER: You think my Harley's going to trudge through the mud?

 

TRAVIS: It's been dry these days, but.... you're free to say no.

 

CASS: No! No one's free to ignore this. If you know the path Trav's talking about...

 

LONER: I do. It peters out and then you've got crop fields to deal with. Tributary gulleys. I could be your third missing party as a result—

 

TRAVIS: Again, you're free to say no.

 

LONER (tilting the headlight to scan their faces): 'Live free or die'.

 

CASS: What? Is that a yes or no?

 

LONER (to TRAVIS): It's what your sister had to hear from those pervs in lot sixty-nine.

 

TRAVIS: What does Stacy have to do with them?

 

LONER: Never mind. I'll do what I can and try to meet you at that bridge, if I remember which one.

 

TRAVIS: It's the only one between here and there. I don't think it would take more than an hour—

 

LONER: Unless I crash into a gulley.

 

CASS: Then don't do that, please. But give us your number, just in case.

 

LONER: My number, as in 'phone'?

 

CASS: I don't want to presume any other...

 

LONER: Sweetheart, I haven't had a phone since GPS sold the store to the devil. I'm reachable basically the way you've done it now—waiting on my headlight.

 

TRAVIS: And engine revs. As long as they don't drown out calls for help.

 

LONER: Bad choice of words, but I get what you're saying.

 

CASS: I appreciate this, um....

 

LONER: 'Loner', if you're seeking my moniker. Saves time not to explain.

 

TRAVIS: Okay, then, we'll bolt to that bridge now and wait for you. Appreciate—

 

LONER's kick-start of the cycle drowns him out. CASS and TRAVIS walk back toward the picnic bench, WATSON following.

 

CASS (shaking KEGGER awake): Hey, K—we're gonna go check the bridge another time.

 

KEGGER: Huh? Where... Why'm I on the ground? Who—

 

CASS: Just go back to the tent and you can go back to sleep.

 

KEGGER: No, cuz whose gonna stay with me?

 

TRAVIS: Watson will stay. He's a faithful—

 

KEGGER: Who asked you, anyways?

 

CASS: I'm asking you to stay here when they come in—we need several points of reception. And I got my phone and you got yours, so...

 

KEGGER: So you're leaving me for him.

 

CASS: We're leaving you and the dog to keep the home fire burning, so to speak.

 

KEGGER: I might just cook up the mutt for breakfast if you're not back soon.

 

TRAVIS: We'll bear it in mind.

 

KEGGER: You shut the hell up, black bear.

 

CASS (pulling TRAVIS toward the truck): Too many words. Let's high road this thing.

Act IV, scene ii. A half hour later, 'darker before the dawn', JEB and PEGGY grope for saplings to hold onto while shuffling their feet forward, painstakingly slow.

 

JEB: My clothes are drying out okay, Peg. What about yours?

 

PEGGY: Still damp, but not as cold as before.

 

JEB: How're your legs holding up?

 

PEGGY: Oh,... you know.

 

JEB: I know you want to be a trooper—me, too. But let's listen to our bodies, as the fitness gurus preach, and take a rest.

 

PEGGY: Problem is, if we sit down we're likely to fall asleep in a matter of seconds.

 

JEB: Not the end of the world. Doesn't look like rain, and daylight will guide us into camp in a matter of hours.

 

PEGGY: Alright. But let's keep talking anyway; waking up here might give me a disorientation attack.

 

JEB (sitting, guiding PEGGY to do the same): There. Just like our pilot-copilot trips, making sure the other's eyes don't get too heavy.

 

PEGGY: We've had some good ones over the years....

 

JEB: Remember the 'Going to the Sun' highway at Glacier? How we thought the sun would be in our eyes if we didn't time it right?

 

PEGGY: Barely saw the sun, creeping along the mountain slopes.

 

JEB: And then—out of the blue—a moose hops when we thought we were home free.

 

PEGGY: Scarry drive, that. But beautiful. Our truer 'going to the sun' trip was from Des Moines to Chicago, remember? At wee hours in the morning—well, we must've left right about now, if most of the night has passed us...

 

JEB: I have no idea what time it is right now. But you're right—it was dark to start out.

 

PEGGY: We promised your nieces we'd be there by 9am to take them to, where was it?

 

JEB: Great America amusement park, and they are our nieces, dear.

 

PEGGY: Okay—our nieces. And by the time we crossed the Mississippi River the sunrise was directly in our eyes. You begged me to swat you every so often to keep you alert! And I was no better on the tag-team...

 

JEB: Oh, your miles were sufficient; got us halfway across Illinois. And you wisely rolled to the shoulder when you couldn't wait for a gas station, remember? And you put on the parking brake and we both just slumped as instantly as possums.

 

PEGGY: Until the highway patrol knocked on our windows, thinking we were trying to asphyxiate ourselves! Why did we leave the engine running, anyway?

 

JEB: Don't know why. Air conditioner maybe?

 

PEGGY: No, we so rarely like to use that. And the morning was chilly, I remember.

 

JEB: I guess on the thought, then, that we'd be rested and able after thirty winks—a cat nap, as we like to say.

 

PEGGY: You do, cuz you like cats. You'd replace me with one if you had your druthers.

 

JEB: No, no—not so. Wish we could have a little kitten to raise in our old age.

 

PEGGY: Speak for yourself. I'm not as spry as I wanna be, but.... well, 'old' doesn't sound so good in a lady's ear. Men like to wear it as a badge, being 'old school' and meeting up with an old buddy. Talking about the good ol' days and Professor Harold Hill.

 

JEB: "Trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for pool"—why are you thinking of River City in such the pickle we're in?

 

PEGGY: Subliminal, I'm sure. Just thinking about the clash between the old ways and new. And your zeal to make sure good ol' fashioned common courtesies don't disappear.

 

JEB: Professor Harold Hill was a con man, Peggy. I may be a lot of things, but not that!

 

PEGGY: Of course, Jeb, of course.

 

In the distance, north and across the river, the bumblebee hum of an engine causes JEB to stand bolt upright.

 

JEB: Hear that? Motorcycle, it sounds like—maybe we're close to a road!

 

PEGGY: I didn't see any such evidence once we passed by the camp. Could we have walked that far already? There was that Hell's Angel who drove in the other night....

 

JEB (yelling): Hey! Over here! (in normal volume) Still rather far away. And on the other side. Damn! I was thinking of that book, 'Keep the River on Your Right' while we we've been here on this side, opposite the camp—

 

PEGGY: —keeping the river on our left. Just as well, though: wasn't that book about wandering into a tribe of cannibals?

 

JEB: Beggars can't be choosers, as the ol' saying goes.

 

PEGGY: Back on the 'old' again...

 

JEB (trying again): Hey! Can you hear me! I could use a little help...

 

PEGGY: We could, dear.

 

JEB (placing his hands on her shoulders): I'm going to wade over there, Peggy—I don't want you to risk it or be afraid—

 

PEGGY: But Jeb, you could slip—

 

JEB: I'm used to feeling the rocks out with my hands and kind of floating at an angle, kicking against the bottom to move across. I'll be okay—

 

PEGGY: It's so dark, though—I won't be able to see you on the other side—

 

JEB: I'll be just over there-ish. Maybe a bit downstream, but the point is I can wave this cyclist down if he's anywhere near the river. Listen! The motor sounds like it's going quite slow. Maybe even looking for us! I can do this, Peg. But you'll need to stay put—promise not to follow.

 

PEGGY: I swam in high school, you know.

 

JEB: I know. But you haven't been well this trip. I can't afford to lose you to the current. Please promise—I'll be back here in a jiffy if I can't get the cycle's attention.

 

PEGGY: And if you can, will you drive off, or...?

 

JEB: I'll never leave you, Peggy. I'd fetch the quickest help. (kisses her forehead) It's safe here—I gotta take this chance now or we'll lose it...

 

PEGGY: I know. Go and.... I love you, Jeb Matthews.

 

JEB grizzlies his way through the water. The motorcycle continues to move slowly toward them—or toward JEB's intended side of the river.

 

PEGGY: Jeb, you be careful now. Can you hear me? I think I see the headlight through the trees. Searching for us, evidently. Jeb? Now would be a good time to holler. Hey, Jeb! Make yourself known! Hey, motorcycle! Here we are! Don't pass us by—I'm okay, but check downstream a little ways for Jeb.... Can you please turn down your engine? Shine your headlight more into the river! For mercy's sake, acknowledge us! Don't... just drive... away.... (quieter now—both PEGGY and the cycle's engine a hundred yards downstream) Should I take the plunge? I can't see anything now.... Jeb told me to wait this out. I've never had reason to doubt his judgment before, so.... Keep talking, Peg. Or maybe try a prayer for a change.... Now I lay me down to sleep? No, nincompoop! Ave Maria, lah la la lah la... who am I trying to fool?... The cycle's still going—had to see Jeb by now, or.... this is how it ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper. The Year of the Pangolin, or whatever cooked our soup when we weren't vigilant....

Act IV, scene iii. Sunrise through the sycamores at Camp Curlicue. MARLYS waves two officers on a swamp boat goodbye and looks around the beach area for something to do. STACY comes down from the bungalow.

 

STACY: Hey. Tag team?

 

MARLYS: What? Oh,... well, I wasn't manning any station per se.

 

STACY: Or womaning?

 

MARLYS: That neither. The sheriff's deputies just left in their boat and, well, left me wondering all the more.

 

STACY: They didn't find anything?

 

MARLYS: No. And even more troubling, they didn't hear anything of Loner's motorcycle.

 

STACY: Why Loner's motorcycle? What has that to do with—

 

MARLYS: Travis thought it a good idea to have someone travel the bank while he and... that girl—

 

STACY: Cass...

 

MARLYS: —while they'd wait at the ten-mile bridge. That's where the police put in their boat, so they all discussed the situation, including the motorcycle as added surveillance. 

 

STACY: And that's where the police are going now? Back to the bridge? What if the Matthews actually paddled north? Shouldn't they check upstream, too?

 

MARLYS: Yes, I brought that up, but their greater concern is that they floated past the bridge in the middle of the night—the timing would make sense if they fell asleep or... well, I don't even want to think what else. So Travis drove further south to the Highway 62 bridge—

 

STACY: —with Cass, I hope.

 

MARLYS: Well, I don't know. I assume...

 

STACY: Oh my God, this is getting crazier by the minute. Are they pranking us or something?

 

KEGGER (approaching without their awareness): Don't play stupid! Where the hell have you taken Cass? 

 

MARLYS: Excuse me?

 

KEGGER: Your gorilla son has taken—

STACY: You can stop there. We're doing everything we can to find your friends.

 

MARLYS: The police—if you saw that they were just here—can attest to that.

 

KEGGER: Bullshit! This is an orchestrated rape. There's no way Cass would just go off with... with a...

 

MARLYS (taking out her phone): Settle down, please. I'll call him to reassure you that Cass is okay. I hope you're actually more concerned about your other friends.

 

KEGGER: Fuck you, what I'm concerned about!

 

STACY: Mom, you can walk away from this—

 

MARLYS (pushing the contact button): I was going to call him by now anyway, to tell him the police are making their way back—

 

KEGGER: I wanna hear directly from Cass!

 

STACY: Will you please keep your distance—

 

KEGGER: Not until I hear from Cass.

 

MARLYS: It's ringing, be patient....

 

KEGGER: Patient, my ass!

 

MARLYS (into her phone): Hey, Trav—how's it going there?.... You're safely off the highway, then....

 

KEGGER: Give me that—I'm gonna do the talking.

 

STACY (calling toward the bungalow): Watson! C'm'ere!

 

MARLYS: (still into her phone): Yes, we're anxious of course. The police boat left a couple minutes ago not having seen anything.... No, not Loner, either.... They're headed back right now—

 

KEGGER (grabbing her arm): My turn!

 

STACY: Watson! Come now!

 

MARLYS: You can't just—

 

KEGGER (forcing the phone from her grip and yelling into it): Listen up, Kunta—you put Cass on immediately!.... I don't care if she's sleeping. I doubt she is, in fact—

 

STACY: Watson!

 

KEGGER: Well, if you're not going to cooperate, I won't either.... No, no, no—I won't touch your dear mother. Wouldn't dream of it, like you are of Cass.... Oh, bullshit is it? Fine, then: I can be a bull in your little china shop! Starting with—

 

He slams the phone onto the ground and stomps it to death. STACY screams and MARLYS pulls her away. While the bloodhound doesn't emerge, shirtless CORY bursts out of the Winnebago and runs the sixty yards or so to the ruckus. SHASTA, also shirtless, quickly follows.

 

STACY: Over here—help!

 

CORY: What the hell's going on?

 

KEGGER (grinding cyber shards into the ground): Mind your fuckin' business!

 

MARLYS: Okay—let's just step away from one another—give us space to breathe.

 

CORY (to KEGGER): Looks like you need a time-out, bruh. No—don't even think of tangling with me!

 

KEGGER: Who named you the camp cop?

 

STACY: I'm going back to call the real cops—

 

MARLYS: Stace, just let's.... Let's take a minute to...

 

SHASTA (joining): Yes, to breathe. I can yoga this down to harmony—

 

STACY: Harmony? What drugs are you on—

 

MARLYS: Stacy, shhh.

 

CORY: No drugs, darling, but endorphins. You won't need college to learn about those.

 

KEGGER: You guys stop talkin' shit! Get your asses movin' to get Cass back!

 

MARLYS: Harder to do that, now that you broke my phone.

 

SHASTA: You won't need a phone or anything artificial to channel vipassana. Just start with a straighter back, a chin raised with your chest, an inhalation of the spirit of the space and—

 

KEGGER: Get some clothes on, you slut!

 

CORY: You'll clean up your mouth or I'll throw you in the river.

 

MARLYS: No! No more people in the river, por favor!

 

SHASTA: Por favor! I like that flavor in you, Curlicue—

STACY: Mom, c'mon—let's get back to the office. I think Watson must be there and—

 

KEGGER: You sic that dog on me, I'll kick his face off!

 

CORY: That's it, buddy! (pushing KEGGER toward the river) You an' me are gonna come to an alligator understanding.

 

STACY: Mom, let's scram!

 

SHASTA: This might be fun to watch—

 

MARLYS (sighing): I'm washing my hands of any of this.

 

KEGGER: You get your hands off me, you Tarzan! Go the fuck back to your Jane!

 

CORY: I won't throw the first punch, if you want to test me. But I will make you clean up your mouth.

 

SHASTA: But Cor, that was rather pretty—you Tarzan, me Jane!

 

CORY: No doubt. And harmony can exist with the law of the jungle....

 

Act IV, scene iv. A few hours later, TRAVIS clutches the steering wheel at ten-and-two, while CASS stares mostly out the passenger window. The pickup is going about 35 mph—partly due to the bungeed canoe angling from the bed to above the cab, partly due to the scan of the distant trees along the river.

 

CASS (dour): How close are we now? Or how far?

 

TRAVIS: Five miles or so.... What's your thought?

 

CASS: My thought?

 

TRAVIS: Feeling, too.

 

CASS: My thought and feeling is that my friends have drowned and we're transporting their killer to a tsk-tsk-tsk trial.

 

TRAVIS (after a minute): We don't know they're dead. The canoe could've slipped their grip on a turnover and—between the two of them—they'd both get to the safety of the bank.

 

CASS: Then why didn't the cops see them, huh? Up to the camp and back, and all the way between the bridges when we showed them this... (thumbing backwards) fucking yellow submarine.

 

TRAVIS: Because they could've walked toward a road—

 

CASS: Then the motorcyclist would've seen them. But that didn't happen.

 

TRAVIS: My mother only said that Loner hadn't come in yet. A slow search isn't a bad thing—

 

CASS: Stop contriving the optimism! You're not talking to a child.

 

TRAVIS: Of course I'm not, Cassandra, but I'm also not contriving a pessimism either.

 

CASS: Cassandra now. Cuz I paint it black, huh? No offense.

 

TRAVIS (eyeing her lowered head and the road again, then her again): None taken.

 

CASS: I'm sorry—

 

TRAVIS: You have nothing to be sorry for. You meant the 'no offense' and I meant my response. You care thoroughly about people.

 

CASS: What, evidenced by a couple of scenes at Camp Curlicue?

 

TRAVIS: No evidence needed. It's like a nursing home worker—the job itself is infinite, and an onlooker wouldn't have to wait to see how he or she'd handle a visiting grandchild who alters a resident's blood pressure, for better or worse.

 

CASS: Wouldn't have to wait, but would know. How so? 

 

TRAVIS: When I was in kindergarten, mom worked as an activity director in one of these facilities—

 

CASS: Besides working at the camp?

 

TRAVIS: No, Dad hadn't bought it yet. Or gambled for it, more to the point. Anyway, Mom would take me and Stace to work because there wasn't any daycare, and we'd just sorta hang out with the old folks. Jigsaw puzzles, games of checkers—relaxing stuff. And sometimes there'd be sing-alongs and presentations. Mom asked me to give a talk about Thanksgiving—I must've brought a construction paper cornucopia from school—and 'teach' these white folks about Plymouth Rock and pilgrims and Indians and peace pipes.... (sighs) And I'm realizing just now that I shouldn't be telling this story right now.

 

CASS: What, to me? or to the nursing home folks?

 

TRAVIS: Well,... to you. I forgot how inappropriate it is,... due to—

 

CASS: Due to what? Plymouth Rock? 'We didn't land on it, it landed on us'?

 

TRAVIS (smiling): That would have been good! A kindergartener quoting Malcolm X...

 

CASS: Then what? Finish the goddam story!

 

TRAVIS (not smiling): Just so you know—I began this by the good feelings that workers in a nursing home can give, because... I don't know if you ever would actually be one—

 

CASS: Hadn't thought about it, but go on...

 

TRAVIS: And yet, it's the end of the road for them, and I forgot to think of that when I began—

 

CASS: Cuz Ruth and Brett have reached the end of their road, you mean? 

 

TRAVIS: I'll keep my optimism. The ol' man, though, is another situation.

 

CASS: He's got his wife to watch him, and vice versa.

 

TRAVIS: Well.... Anyway, I don't remember any gloomy days at the nursing home, and this Thanksgiving thing I was giving was no exception: the residents were happy to remember their own feasts and family—

 

CASS: —and fascist uncles....

 

TRAVIS: Them, too, I'm sure. So, I was explaining my vast expertise of orange vegetable harvests and turkeys and just going on and on about God knows what when medics rushed down one corridor to respond to an unexpected fall—and no one in the activity room reacted—

 

CASS: Maybe they didn't hear any commotion.

 

TRAVIS: Maybe. And so I kept on jawin' and Mom was happy to have an extended break and Stacy was probably asleep by now and, wouldn't you know: another medical situation down another corridor, though not as rushed. In fact, a gurney with a covered body rolled by behind everybody, and I didn't put it together that—

 

CASS: That someone died during your Thanksgiving presentation.

 

TRAVIS: Two people, in fact. One apparently expected, the other out of the blue. Mom told me this the next day. And I think she read it in my face that I felt guilty....

 

CASS: For talking while people were dying?

 

TRAVIS: For... not being of better help.

 

CASS (poking his thigh): So your mom told you, 'Travis, you're gonna carry this burden all your life 'til you learn: no one cares about Clark Kent's journalism when they can count on Superman'.

 

TRAVIS: Yep. Mom said exactly that! Have you and her been hangin' out?

 

CASS: Future in-laws, like?

 

The driveway to the camp comes into view and TRAVIS takes the turn carefully to ensure the canoe doesn't slip. CASS rubs the heels of her hands into her eyes, though not for the eastern slant of sun, high enough by now not to need a visor. The pickup stops in the parking area near the reception office.

 

TRAVIS: Or do you want me to drive you to...

 

CASS: My tent? And Kegger's jealousy? No thank you.

 

They walk to the office holding hands. Inside, STACY is crying; she slides her phone into the center of the desk as if a folded hand in poker.

 

STACY: So at least you two aren't lost...

 

TRAVIS: No, but—how to say it? We found the yellow canoe.... Floating as we waited on the Highway 62 bridge. The police know.

 

STACY: Shit.

 

TRAVIS: I think I'll put it in the river and join the search—

 

CASS: No! You're sleep deprived and liable to.... No!

 

STACY: Please don't leave. Mom went into town to get a new phone, and Watson's wandered off or something. It's like.... we're cursed.

 

TRAVIS: What do you mean, Watson's wandered off?

 

STACY: He's joined the lost...

 

CASS: Boy, if Kegger has anything to do with this....

 

TRAVIS: Watson's smarter than him.

 

CASS: Ruth is smarter than anybody. And look where that ends up!

 

STACY: C'mon, don't make me more depressed. I've been sitting here scrolling missing person reports and abductions and wormholes and... the fucking internet is worse than useless! I even tried to call Dad, whose phone constantly goes "the person you're trying to reach is unavailable" without an option to leave a message, not that he'd ever listen to those.... And here we were supposed to be done with the isolation, the wondering how everyone is and where the world is going. I wanted so badly to be on a campus this fall, not a.... zombie apocalypse...

 

TRAVIS (stretching his arms and leaning in): We'll stick together, then, yeah? Group hug? Positive energy?

 

CASS: Even from the prophetess of doom?

 

STACY: Especially from you! I've never seen my brother so... I shouldn't say.

 

CASS: You already have. And I can feel him blush.

Act IV, scene v. Meanwhile, six miles south, RUTH paddles from the bow of the orange canoe and BRETT dips the 'no trespassing' sign at the stern where he reclines, his head wrapped in his tank top.

 

RUTH: How's it now, Brett?

 

BRETT: 'It', meaning my Pennywise scar?

 

RUTH: Oh, don't worry. It'll be a beauty mark in no time. A badge of valor to narrate to your grandkids.

 

BRETT: If anybody marries me in the first place....

 

RUTH: Is that a shy proposal?

 

BRETT: Hey, look at me! No—actually don't turn around. I can't handle another spill.

 

RUTH: I'd probably marry you.

 

BRETT: Probably? Then you'd probably lose interest. Besides, it doesn't feel so necessary in this day and age.

 

RUTH: 'It', meaning....

 

BRETT: Formal marriage. Cul-de-sac house. Meet the Fockers....

 

RUTH: Wait—why would you meet your in-laws after the wedding? And, for the record, I'm nothing like a Focker.

 

BRETT: I was trying... to add some levity to the situation.

 

RUTH: Hey, we're practically out of the woods now. Gotta admit, though, it looked pretty grim last night.

 

BRETT: My face? Or where I left some of it on the low hanging branch?

 

RUTH: There wasn't much light left when it happened. You downplayed the pain when I slapped you back to consciousness. Then you did the slapping when I tried to apply a tourniquet—

 

BRETT: To my neck! What else was I supposed to do?

 

RUTH: Well, I didn't know how else to stop the bleeding. Truth be told, I was most concerned about your eye, but.... thank God for the way it's protected, like inside a little cave. Makes one think about the evolution of the brow.

 

BRETT: And my pronounced cheekbones? I was always teased for those.

 

RUTH: I know. I was one of those bullies. Secretly envious, of course.

 

She paddles more deliberately through a greater force of current, then toward the shallows of a pebbled shoal.

 

RUTH: Could use a break, huh? I mean... if you want.

 

BRETT: I'm good to keep going, though you're doing the actual work. I'm just... loungin', really.

 

RUTH: Let's see how you're healing. I suppose you can see for yourself Narcissus-style.

 

BRETT (bending slightly to look at his reflection): Or monster of Frankenstein, more to the point.... Ugh! How could I be so stupid?

 

RUTH: You were pretty juked to get to that field, steal the sign, get us home before midnight—

 

BRETT: When the fairy tale carriage would revert to a pumpkin....

 

RUTH (stepping out to pull the canoe onto the rocks): Orange, at least. They'd ask about our yellow.... Oh, God, I wonder what they're thinking right now.

 

BRETT: Kegger's thinking about another beer. Cass is thinking about you.

 

RUTH: And you, I'm sure.

 

BRETT (getting out): And the canoe dude. With no scar on his face.

 

RUTH: Beauty mark, remember? Shall we tug this up the bank like before?

 

BRETT: It'll be good like this. Not like we're staying another night.

 

RUTH: No, but.... (pulling the empty craft further) better safe than sorry. I kinda liked turning this thing upside down as a tent, hoping even for some rain to test its cover.

 

BRETT: Yeah, but we probably should have kept it closer to the river so that motorboat would've seen us.

 

RUTH: What motorboat? This river doesn't allow—

 

BRETT: Unless I was hallucinating. You were asleep and I didn't want to move you off, you know... from under our 'tent'. May have been a search boat from the camp.... It would make sense, anyhow.

 

RUTH: Nah! People must do what we did all the time. Camp Curlicue can't babysit private situations—

 

BRETT: They'd naturally want their own boats back, though. And Cass an' Kegger would know we didn't run off to, you know....

 

RUTH: Shag? Why not?

 

BRETT: Cuz we haven't before.

 

RUTH: Thanks for reminding me.

 

BRETT: Doesn't mean I,... wouldn't....

 

RUTH: How did you put it? "Unless I was hallucinating."

 

BRETT: See? There's the difference. I might have hallucinated the motorboat, but I wouldn't dream of it.... like in a.... romantic way.

 

RUTH: Oh. And you would.... me....

 

BRETT: What am I supposed to say? Especially as the Scarface I've become.

 

Neither say anything for a while, but smile as they walk to a plushy part of the bank. RUTH undoes the tank top bandana and bounces to the river to soak and wring it out; BRETT tilts his head back when she returns, appreciative of the dabs to his wound, which, after all, is not as deep as feared.

 

RUTH: See? Those innocent days of playing doctor pay off, eventually.

 

BRETT: With whom? I wasn't part of your sandbox coterie.

 

RUTH (kissing his cheek, just beside the glistening wound): I don't kiss and tell....

 

BRETT: Just how bad is it, Doc? Will I make it home for Christmas?

 

RUTH: We gotta make it to Camp Curlicue first. And.... (slipping off her shirt) that can wait a few more wonders where we're at.

 

BRETT: You sure you want to add this to your Hippocratic oath?

 

RUTH: Um, yeah. I've been sure of that since our first camping trip. Just couldn't shake you from the likes of Kegger.

 

BRETT: And Cass?

 

RUTH: You like Cass?

 

BRETT: Of course—Cass is our friend. So is Kegger. But notice, they're, um....

 

RUTH: Not stroking your chest?

 

BRETT: And not in my head with black bear melodies and "we can be happy".... Was I reasonably in tune there?

 

RUTH (laughing): Art needs no reason! And I'm happy you remembered.

 

They fool around and get out of their clothes. Occasionally, both look around self-consciously, as if the wildlife were taking notice, blushing in their concupiscence. The injury adds a sense of gentleness in the rough and tumble, a lack of urgency in their enthusiasm to let their disappearance have this time, this tantric knuckle of the river. Then, from noises more natural, a motorcycle engine emerges from beyond the brush that hides them.

 

BRETT (from below, elbowing up): What's that?

 

RUTH: Hallucination, hopefully....

 

BRETT: Should we move? Maybe....

 

RUTH: Hitch hike? Invite him here?

 

BRETT: Shh! No—no, no! In fact, let's hide—I don't want an audience.

 

RUTH (whispering): God is already that, you know.

 

BRETT (kissing her ear): Gotta bring God into it, huh?

 

RUTH (kissing him back): Better than a rebel without a cause.... There,.. he's gone.

 

BRETT: Or she—we can't assume.  

Act V, scene i. From the highway north of the camp, LONER's motorcycle turns into the driveway of Camp Curlicue. JEB clings on, resting his unhelmeted head against the back of LONER's leather jacket. They take this final stretch as slowly as the whole morning has been for them, ending at the Matthews' RV.

 

JEB (stiffly getting off the seat): I don't know,... you might be right. Peggy might have come here on her own. Why not, after all?

 

LONER (staying on the bike, but turning off the engine): Yep, go in there, Ol' Man, and give me the thumbs up.

 

JEB (unsure, then nodding): Um,.. usually we lock the door. Place the key in a secret place, so... if you don't mind, um....

 

LONER: Turning my spyglasses away? (doing so)  Of course.

 

JEB (after a few seconds): Well, actually, if she were here, she would've brought the key inside again.... So, I guess...

 

LONER: I'll leave you to your privacy. But you know where I am if you need anything. (kickstarting) The office here, too, is good people. They'd wanna know you're back, at least. And maybe they've seen your...

 

JEB: Peggy.

 

LONER: Yeah, I didn't forget her name. Was gonna say, 'your soulmate'.

 

JEB: My better half—that's what all spouses say, even when they don't believe it.

 

LONER: Haven't seen her, but... your half is mighty fine...

 

JEB: Jeb.

 

LONER (half-smiling): Jeb. See? That's what I was angling for. Think I wanted to call you "ol' man' just for snicks?

 

JEB: No,... no. That's why I didn't want to call you 'Loner'.

 

LONER: But that's who I am. Christened, so to speak.

 

JEB (thinking that over): Okay, then. Thank you, Loner.

 

LONER (pulling away): Go in, then, and hope to find your soulmate.

 

JEB opens the door—without the need of a secret key—and looks around at the dun shades inside this mobile domicile. He steadies himself as his tired legs shuffle to the miniature bathroom; he remains standing as he urinates, yet needs the wall to hold him up.

 

JEB (zipping up, then flushing): Sorry, Peg, if I didn't sit this time. I can pretend I did... and that you're here, that you'd nudge reminders... to do the right thing. As you so naturally do. (opening the cabinet for instant coffee and a mug) Can I make you a cup, too, just to keep pretending? I promise we'll be out again—this Loner's a pretty nice... neighbor—or the Curlicue staff.... We'll find you, Peggy Sue, because (sniffing up a sob) I love you.... You know I do.

 

He blows his nose and turns on the kettle to make a single mug of coffee. He stirs a little milk and carefully goes back out with a couple kleenix tissues as a safeguard for the brunt of his exposure. He notices the chartreuse streak of birdshit on the window of the passenger side and tries to wipe it clean, needing a splash of coffee to loosen the dried pieces. He is about to go back in for more tissues when he sees MARLYS coming his way. Not knowing what to do with the spent tissues, he pockets them with a pained look on his face.

 

MARLYS (twenty yards from his lot): Hey, Mr Matthews—

 

JEB (almost inaudible): 'Jeb'...

 

MARLYS (nearer now): Jeb. It's so so good to see you. I won't give you a hug because of,... you know, social distancing....

 

JEB: Yeah, I know. It's alright. Still missing Peggy, anyway. No celebrations until then.

 

MARLYS: Of course—and we will keep looking. Travis is going to go out again, and we've had the police department on the river and... Oh, I'm so sorry about all this, Mr Mm— Jeb.... Here, (digging in her own pocket) I've got a little pack of tissues—

 

JEB: No, that's okay. I... I got my.... Hey, Mrs, um, Bonifil—

 

MARLYS: 'Marlys', if you like—

 

JEB: It's nice of you all to help me out... help us, Peggy and me. We've been at, oh, I don't know, a thousand camps throughout the years—

 

MARYLS: Is that right? You can't have been retired so long, spry as you are....

 

JEB: Long before retirement, too. And—if I can say so—yours is the kindest I've.... we...

 

MARLYS (giving him her packet): We're all a product of grace, Jeb, which is what we gotta depend on, today more'n ever....  There, now,... I'm going over to Loner for a little debrief, if you wanna.... No?

 

JEB: Well, I was.... shaking my head in... disbelief, I guess. I yelled the first day that motorcycle came roaring into camp, and then.... I don't deserve the respect that—

 

MARLYS: Nonsense! We're all a little noisier than we need to be. Nosier, too!

 

JEB: Yeah, that'd be me.

 

MARLYS (laughing): And me. And those yoga folks in lot sixty-nine. And we to them. The charter of Camp Curlicue would never succeed in keeping straight lines between the public and the private of people who hear each other snore, smell the successes and failures at a rudimentary grill—and the results of such in public washrooms! It's hard to have a 'dress code' here on a sultry summer day. Or a standard by which rec room jokes are in and out of line. Sometimes my kids and I are the only non-Caucasians for miles around, and whether questions are expressed or not, the wonder goes like this: 'why would you want to be way out here, alone with strangers?—even more, supervising their sense of holiday.' Calling shots, maybe, and some looks say, 'hey, lady, stay in your lane!'

 

JEB: You shouldn't have to feel that—

 

MARLYS: And I largely don't. Made a lot of friends here over the years. Added to the toughness of last year not to have them around. Well, that was everybody's problem.

 

JEB: Not so much mine... and Peggy's. We've been so itinerant, see, unmoored. We didn't have campgrounds to stay at, but.... found ways to park our rig and, well, let's just say we did alright running away from the pandemic. In many ways, we'd been training for it all these years without awareness. I mean, we have a good stock of books on our shelves in there, and..., fishing rods and—

 

MARLYS: Each other's company. That's huge.

 

JEB (clearing his throat): That's right.

 

MARLYS (touching his shoulder): We'll get her back—I'm sorry I mentioned—

 

JEB: No, you're right. Marlys.

 

MARLYS: Yes?

 

JEB: I meant, "you're right, Marlys"—just to, you know, complete the thought.

 

MARLYS (nodding): I'm going to talk with Loner.

 

JEB: Okay. I'll stay here. (hesitating before giving her a quick hug) Sorry if.... I promise I don't have Covid—

 

MARLYS (kissing his cheek): And I promise I won't tell Peggy. (leaving) But I will tell her how lucky she is....

 

Act V, scene ii. At the boathouse, a little later. STACY and CASS study a map on the wall that ranges double the distance south of the ten-mile bridge from the star marking the camp, as well as points of possibility to the east and west.

 

CASS: There's no way they could be up here, then? Like, miss this camp in the dark of night.

 

STACY: I mean, anything is possible, but... we always have a few lights on and,... Watson's usually on the lookout for late night movements on the outskirts of camp. I don't imagine how anyone paddling upstream could miss us.... Unless they wanted to.

 

CASS: Are you suggesting Ruth and Brett would sneak off? For a night and this far into the next day?

 

STACY (shrugging): No idea—they're your friends. Sometimes canoers do stray from the banks. Nature calls, for instance, and then they see some wild strawberries or...

 

CASS: Or wanna get laid. I think that's part of the plot of that film.

 

STACY: Which film?

 

CASS: 'Wild Strawberries'. That's what you were talking about, yeah?

 

STACY: No, I meant the actual.... But, I guess I'll look on Netflix for it. Got nothing better to do in my off-hours, not that I've had those too often.

 

CASS: What do you mean? This job is getting you down?

 

STACY (puffing out her cheeks): I've been complaining too much lately. And we're here to get you searching for—

 

CASS: Hey, I'm waiting for Travis, anyway. May as well spill your beans.

 

STACY: Well, I see you four all graduated from college, and Trav going into his junior year at State and loving it—even when his courses had to go online—and... poor me, I'm not going to get that experience. Not for the foreseeable future, at least. Then, if I'm ever able to afford it, I'll probably be too disillusioned to becoming a 'freshman' in my late twenties.

 

CASS: You'd be a hot draw for freshmen at any age, believe me. And why worry about illusions in the first place? If you want a university experience, barge in: audit classes, even off the record; crash the Greek parties if you're into that; use your free time not to cram for spiritless exams.

 

STACY: Sure, you're saying that now, having earned a diploma.

 

CASS: Piece of paper I should recycle. Most jobs that would ask for it I wouldn't want, anyhow.

 

STACY: Why, what are you looking for?

 

CASS: I don't know. Something about psych, not just cuz it was my major. Not couch therapy, that's for sure. "Come on in, close the door"—frightens me, and not that I'm paranoid about that kind of thing. It's too much power, the one-on-one, but I wouldn't want to be on a committee of therapists, either.

 

STACY: Sounds like you enjoyed the theory of psychology more than the potential practice. I'd probably be the same with law. But that's where your diploma will enable you to go further to grad school, research, whatever.

 

CASS: Eek. Just finished—wasn't that great! But I know that sounds cavalier when I could at least get in and experience it. You will, somehow. Scholarships do exist—less smart kids than you have won 'em.

 

STACY (looking away): No offense, I've heard that a thousand times. If I were smart I would have, I don't know, stood out or done a TEDx or... slept with someone, or—

 

CASS (grabbing her arm): Don't ever say that. You are... gonna be my sister-in-law maybe—

 

STACY: Huh? What did you and Trav do in the pickup?

 

CASS: Nothing yet—I'm just hypothesizing. Fantasizing, maybe. May I?

 

STACY: With my brother? What could I say to that?

 

CASS: You could say, 'lay off'. Or 'be consistent about sleeping with someone'. But, see—your brother isn't just 'someone'.

 

STACY: He's my brother—I shouldn't be talking about him sleeping with... you or anybody. He's... yeah, he's my brother. 

 

CASS: And I see he's coming this way, so.... Mums the word, yeah?

 

STACY: Mums?

 

TRAVIS (entering): You guys been strategizing?

 

CASS: Talking future plans. How are we gonna get your sister into college?

 

STACY: And you two, apparently, on some honeymoon?

 

TRAVIS: Whoa. Nothing's happening until we find three more missing people.

 

CASS: Three?

 

TRAVIS: Yes—Ruth, Brett, and Mr Matthews' wife.

 

STACY: Mom's talked to Mr Matthews?

 

TRAVIS: Yeah, a bit. He's resting up, obviously distraught. Loner found him alone in the dark and they spent hours together going up and down the banks on both sides.... Mr Matthews said he was sure she would wait for help.

 

STACY: If she exists.

 

TRAVIS: What?

 

STACY: If she exists—I don't mean any disrespect.

 

TRAVIS: Sounds like you do. Brett and Ruth have each other to rely upon, plus youth. Mrs Matthews is vulnerable, for God's sake.

 

STACY: You're right, I'm sorry. I should... just—

 

KEGGER bursts in, albeit with an unsteady gait. He grabs a paddle from the wall.

 

CASS: Kevin, what are you doing?

 

KEGGER: I dunno who 'Kevin' is, Cassie, but I'm gonna take things in'a my own hands, seein' as you guys came up empty. (looking around) Where's the boat from yesserday?

 

TRAVIS: We're going to go out now that—

 

KEGGER: Fuck you. Done had your chance and...

 

CASS (softly, to TRAVIS): Just let him be. Life jacket, though, would be good.

 

TRAVIS: Listen, Kegger, we can do a flotilla as such—

 

KEGGER (approaching aggressively): It's 'Kevin' to you, boatboy. Misser Kevin, in fact. Cussomer is always right—

 

TRAVIS (holding his ground): You'll respect this place and there won't be problems.

 

KEGGER: Already a fuckin' problem—

 

He lunges with haymaker arms and stumbles as TRAVIS steps aside, like a matador. CASS screams and jumps on KEGGER's back, compelling TRAVIS to join the scrum for her own protection. STACY runs out, also screaming, and JEB quickly comes to the call.

 

JEB: Hey! Now! You—Marlys' son—please step away from—

 

CASS: Travis, he's right! Let's get off him!

 

KEGGER (lifting himself like a bison): You got no chance! (charging a retreating TRAVIS and this time hooking his waist to take him down) You got NO ch—

 

JEB: Enough! Boys, settle down!

 

CASS: Listen to him, Kev! (grabbing his stringy hair) And don't dare lash out at me!

 

TRAVIS (squirming from below and applying a half-nelson on KEGGER): He won't, Cass. Let go of his hair and... (to KEGGER) I'll also let go, Mr Kevin, if you can settle down.

 

KEGGER (strained): F-f—

 

TRAVIS releases his grip and leaps to the side as KEGGER slowly rises and shakes his bulk, massaging his neck. 

 

JEB: You know, we're all frustrated today. I... I may have lost... my wife. Of fifty years. That's not to say what you're feeling is—

 

KEGGER: Who's zis?

 

CASS (more calmly): He's our conscience right now. Let's all look for what's lost.

 

KEGGER: Only if I'm in your canoe.

 

CASS (looking at TRAVIS): Only if you wear a life jacket.

 

TRAVIS: And... I'm there, too.

 

KEGGER: 'Nother canoe, though.

 

CASS: Yep. That's a fair deal.

 

STACY (running back in): What, exactly? What's a fair deal?

 

TRAVIS: It's good, Sis. (winking) Three of us will find the three out there remaining.

 

STACY (looking dubiously at JEB): But!...

 

JEB: Don't worry, Miss Bonifil. I'm staying here. I trust they'll discover my Peg.

 

CASS (eyeballing the boys to ensure they stay apart): That's the word of the day, then: 'trust'. Let's grab a few bottles of water... and go.

Act V, scene iii. On the river a winnowing mile south, RUTH helms the back as BRETT paddles with renewed strength in the bow of the orange canoe.

 

BRETT: Oh, about a mile, I'd say.... What are you looking forward to most about returning?

 

RUTH: Hate to say 'a beer', but something with calories.

 

BRETT: I'm sure Kegger has finished off whatever they got at Trader Joe's. But the restaurant should be open by now.

 

RUTH: What are you looking forward to?

 

BRETT: Me? Holding hands with you... if that's okay.

 

RUTH: That's more than okay. Should we practice? Stretch without tipping over?

 

BRETT: We can pull over again, if that's what you mean.

 

RUTH: That could be dangerous! Plus, I bet they're worried sick. Probably put out an Amber Alert on us by now.

 

BRETT: Oh, we're big boys and girls. Can handle a little independence.

 

RUTH: But when bereft of mobile phones? That's a Gen Z first.

 

BRETT: I never confine you to an era. You're kinda... Renaissance. Zeppelinesque.

 

RUTH: "Come from the land of the ice and snow"—that sort of thing?

 

BRETT: Yeah. I guess 'The Rain Song' comes more to mind. Can you sing that?

 

RUTH: Don't remember the words. And that really would need a guitar. And not this air-guitar paddle.

 

BRETT: I like your air-guitar paddle. Got anything back there for me?

 

RUTH: Hmm. But someone needs to steer this thing.

 

BRETT: I will, rest assured. 

 

RUTH: Okay. I'm still working words into this one, but I think you've heard the riff before. It's a G7 major to open F major to E minor to open D major progression. To start, at least.

 

BRETT: You know I'm musically illiterate. But it sounds like a Jimmy Page cascade.

 

RUTH: Huh, maybe. Hadn't thought of it that way.

 

BRETT: What's it called?

 

RUTH: Working title: 'The Philosopher's Stone'. So.... Imagine G7 for some strums, then F.... then words come in on the minor E....

                                                                        Give me a space and a time,

                                                                        give me a space and a time

                                                                        where I can truly find

                                                                        the state of my mind....

Then another voice overlapping with 'mind':

                                                                                    One more break in the day

                                                                                    just to gauge the way 

                                                                                    we must go before the sun falls

                                                                                    and begs for some walls and

Then back to the original voice:                               

                                                                        Give me a chance to forget

                                                                        the sad things I've seen and

                                                                        the things I have yet to see....

And the overlap on 'see':

                                                                                    Give me a chance to be free

                                                                                    and a chance to be a true friend

                                                                                    to those whom I've hurt—

Again the first:

Oh, you sit and smile and tell me softly 

that I just don't have my radar up.

I can't agree; this is what I see:

And together

This could be just the last time that we 

run together under weather with the monkey off our back....

 

This could be just the only time 'til we're 

gone, gone, gone, gone....

 

This could be the philosopher's stone or

this could be just the last road home....

That's it.

 

BRETT: Beautiful. And fitting, if the river is our present road. But I wouldn't want this to be the "only time 'til we're gone, gone, gone"....

 

RUTH: Don't worry. I wrote it before last night. In the doldrums of lockdown.

 

BRETT (musing): Do you ever want to go back to those doldrums?

 

RUTH (equal pause): Kept a lot of us from dying.... But also kept a lot of us alone.

 

They paddle a while in serene silence. An egret ahead of them lifts from its vantage point of the hidden upstream; with some confusion, the big white bird flaps directly toward BRETT and RUTH, then veers to a gap in the trees on the western bank. A half-minute later, the apparent cause comes into their hearing.

 

BRETT: Hey! Listen...

 

RUTH: What? All I hear is my stomach growling.

 

BRETT: Wait—there it is again. (cupping his hands to bellow) Kegger?!

 

RUTH: You're hearing him?

 

KEGGER (from distance, still unseen): Dooode!

 

BRETT: Over here! Keep coming.

 

RUTH (quieter): Jesus, I hope Cass is chaperoning him.

 

BRETT: I hope she's the designated driver. (bellowing again) Is Cass with you?

 

CASS (unseen, in an affected voice): Dooode!

 

RUTH (copying): Doodette! Give us a sec so we can put some clothes on!

 

KEGGER (still unseen): Huh?

 

BRETT: She's kidding of course! We're decent!

 

CASS: Damn better be! Got tender eyes here in Travis—he's never seen anybody naked!

 

TRAVIS (also unseen): Have so!

 

CASS (emerging in view, looking back to another canoe): Oh you have, have you? What's her name so I can.... I guess I shouldn't say! (turning to see the orange canoe): Hey! You guys have chameleoned yourselves!

 

RUTH: Cassandra! My muse!

 

KEGGER (paddling clumsily behind CASS): Brett, bro—wha happened to your face?

 

BRETT: Went native a little bit.

 

CASS: Looks like you went Pennywise! Is your eye okay?

 

RUTH: As long as it doesn't wander. Starting now, buddy.

 

BRETT: No worries, my eye is unscathed, as they say. Just don't know if I'll need some stitches here and maybe here. 

 

TRAVIS (from a separate canoe): I can phone an ambulance if you need.

 

BRETT: I'll be fine—have been more than fine since it happened.

 

CASS: What's that supposed to mean? Ruth? Care to elaborate?

 

RUTH: I need a campfire and other cuddly stuff to do so.

 

KEGGER: 'S comin' up. Let's get the hell back.

 

TRAVIS: You guys do that—

 

KEGGER: Don' need your permission, Tonto—

 

BRETT: Whoa, dude, that's—

 

KEGGER: What? He aint a Lone Ranger.

 

BRETT: —out of line....

 

TRAVIS: Don't worry, it's water off a duck's back—

 

KEGGER: No, tha's a Mexican, you racist.

 

BRETT: Kegger, put a cork in it, huh?

 

CASS: Seriously.

 

TRAVIS: What I was trying to say: you're wise to go back to camp. I'm going to look further for the old man's wife.

 

RUTH: What?

 

CASS: That guy who enforces curfew? He and his (gesturing the disbelief) 'wife' went missing also last night—

 

TRAVIS: In fact, the canoe you're in must be theirs—or his. Where did you get this orange one?

 

RUTH: Well, we didn't kill an old couple for it, if that's what you're asking.

 

TRAVIS (smiling, despite himself): No, no—the old man made it back to camp, found by a motorcycle friend of ours. He explained that he and his wife—

 

CASS (gesturing again): 'wife'...

 

TRAVIS: I know, it's suspicious, but.... They had a spill and saw their canoe—this one, evidently—float away beyond retrieval.

 

BRETT: Yeah, and... maybe we can earn a finders' fee!

 

TRAVIS: Already spent, because you lost your yellow canoe!

 

RUTH: Ooops. Sorry about that.

 

CASS: We found it, Ruthfulness. So we get the finders' fee.

 

KEGGER: Who's we?

 

CASS: Trav and me, Kegger. Get used to it.

 

BRETT: Did you really find it? So you've been on the river overnight?

 

TRAVIS: The police have. Cass and I have been at the bridge—another bridge further south, too. And Loner's been patrolling the banks.

 

BRETT: Who's 'Loner'?

 

TRAVIS: The motorcyclist who found the old man.

 

CASS: We'll tell you about it at camp. Let's get going in that direction.

 

TRAVIS: I'll be there in another hour. Got my phone if you need—

 

KEGGER: We won't.

 

CASS: You sure, Travis? I mean... the search has already been pretty thorough. (to RUTH and BRETT) Have you guys seen a ghostly elderly woman?

 

RUTH: No, but we weren't looking for one, either.

 

TRAVIS: I'm of the same mind as Stacy on this. I think the old man has... well, I don't wanna say.

 

BRETT: Huh? Sounds dark.

 

KEGGER: See? Ever'body's racist.

 

CASS (agilely swings her legs out to wade the shallow water to TRAVIS' canoe, and kisses him): Due diligence, and then come back to our campfire, okay?

 

TRAVIS (kisses her back): You got it.

 

KEGGER: Damn.

 

RUTH (in a contrasting inflection): Damn!

 

Act V, scene iv. Back at the camp, SHASTA and CORY are playing pool in the rec room. STACY bursts in with her phone held like a trophy.

 

SHASTA: Hey, sugar. What's the good news?

 

STACY: Is my mom around? It is good news!

 

SHASTA: I'm not your momma's keeper. But I can keep a secret if you want to tell...

 

STACY: Well, you don't really know them I don't think—

 

CORY: Mount Shasta knows everyone!

 

SHASTA: Not in a biblical sense, mind you.

 

STACY: You guys are weird, if... that's not out of line for me to say.

 

SHASTA: Oh, I love your woke sensitivities! 'Out of line'? When, Hard Cory, have we ever wanted anything 'in line'?

 

CORY: Well, sometimes I like coloring inside the lines. You know, those adult coloring books you see in stores?

 

STACY: What are you talking about? And why to me?

 

SHASTA: Because you came running to us and asked a question. That's your initiative, sweetheart.

 

CORY: Don't be scared of us, really. We just like having fun.

 

SHASTA: Scary fun, sometimes.

 

STACY (sighing): Whatevs. So you haven't seen my mother?

 

MARLYS (entering, somewhat out of breath): I'm right here.... Saw you running here and called out from the recycling bins... if I'm getting hoarse from sleeplessness.

 

SHASTA: I've ridden that horse once or twice.

 

STACY: Mom, Travis called and said he found the friends of... Cass and the fat guy.

 

MARLYS: Where are they?

 

STACY: On the river still, but paddling together here. Well, not Travis. He's decided to keep looking for Mr Matthews' wife.

 

MARLYS: As he should. Why the rolling of the eyes?

 

STACY: Because.... Well, (looking out the window) is Mr Matthews around?

 

MARLYS: Stac, what's up?

 

STACY: I don't want to conjecture here—

 

CORY (barely whispering as he chalks his cue): Conjecture!

 

STACY: —but do you think Mr Matthews really has a wife? I mean, it's awful to say, but...

 

MARLYS: Then why are you saying it?

 

STACY: Because.... I can imagine how lonely he must feel in places like this, with everybody having a seemingly good time and wanting to, I don't know, validate a long life with being... loved.

 

SHASTA: You know, we goof around a lot but—

 

STACY: Are you going to say another B-U-T-T joke?

 

MARLYS: What? What are you talking about?

 

SHASTA: No, I can be serious, too. I've been thinking about the ol' man myself.

 

CORY: I thought I was your ol' man...

 

SHASTA (ignoring him): And I think you're on to something here. He meddles just enough in other people's business to count that as a brush with humanity, and then retreats to his own foxhole.

 

MARLYS: Well, that's everybody, really.

 

SHASTA: Yeah, but to say he shares it with another fox but then she never makes it out....

 

CORY: Are you saying he's holding her hostage in that little rig?

 

SHASTA: No. I'm agreeing with the girl that this guy's wife doesn't exist.

 

MARLYS: Come on, this is outrageous. We can't... conjecture like this. Jeb—that's his name, by the way, to put some of that humanity on him—Jeb is clearly torn apart about last night. Imagine the opposite of what you're saying: that he hasbeen loved for fifty years by a real person—her name is Peg, as in a human being, not a board with holes—and in the madcap passing of disoriented hours she disappears from his life, possibly forever! What good, then, is your doubt about the way he's presented himself in a mere couple of days.

 

STACY: Mom, I wasn't trying to make him out to be a liar, or a bad guy—

 

SHASTA: Me neither! I kinda like the feistiness in his fantasy....

 

MARLYS: Who are you, anyway? This isn't your business any more than your loud sex is anybody else's business.

 

CORY: Loud sex?

 

MARLYS (to STACY): Let's take this up in the office.

 

SHASTA: No—wait, wait. I think I have a solution.

 

MARLYS: To what? That's my point—he isn't a problem. Finding his wife is the only problem we have left, assuming the college kids are well on their way back.

 

SHASTA: Exactly! Finding his wife is what we can do, here and now! Where is this Jeb as we speak?

 

STACY: In his RV—

 

MARLYS: Shh! His privacy is his, and other campers cannot—

 

SHASTA: So we lure him out and—

 

CORY: How do we lure him out?

 

SHASTA: Honey, if anyone knows how to lure a man out, I think—

 

MARLYS: I think this conversation has come to an end!

 

STACY: And what would you do once he's out?

 

SHASTA: Someone else—you, for instance—would go in to see if she's there. Simple.

 

MARLYS: And I'd call the cops on my daughter for trespassing. And on you for solicitation.

 

CORY: Wouldn't be the first time....

 

SHASTA: All I know is that your curiosity is piqued.

 

MARLYS: You guys are too Twin Peaksy for my comfort.

 

SHASTA: Ooh, I like that! Cor, dear, have we ever reenacted one of those scenes?

 

CORY: Not yet, but—

 

MARLYS: Okay, Stac, let's escape this cursed room....

 

STACY (on her way out, sotto voce): It's worth a knock on his door, at least...

Act V, scene v. Evening, the same day. RUTH plays light riffs on her guitar as BRETT stokes the campfire outside their tent. CASS and TRAVIS share a blanket and a log on the other side. KEGGER is snoring, slump-seated at the picnic table, while LONER lays awake across the opposite bench.

 

BRETT (cracking a branch and placing it atop the fire): And,... so goes the conservation of mass.

 

CASS: What do you mean?

 

BRETT: The wood becomes ash and smoke, but the atoms never increase or decrease. Just rearrange.

 

RUTH: We almost decreased as a group. Still can't believe that orange canoe floated our way, like a rabbit pulled out of a hat.

 

CASS: Oh, you two would have made it back here with or without that canoe. And, evidently, you would've taken your own darned time to do so.

 

TRAVIS: Now, now—don't call the kettle black. We wouldn't have done so differently.

 

CASS (nudging him): Not calling the kettle black. We were the responsible ones, remember? The adults in the room, so to speak. 

 

BRETT: For a change.

 

CASS: Hey, I've looked after our group all these years. You just never knew—that's how good I am at maturity things.

 

TRAVIS: So you're saying: in years past, when anyone went astray, you were the one to shepherd them home.

 

CASS: Yes. Shepherdess them home, to be more precise.

 

RUTH: You haven't got everyone in the fold, sister.

 

CASS: You mean the old man's wife? Indeed, she's been on my mind. Travis here doesn't believe she exists, but how can anyone pin down another's existence? Or one's own?

 

BRETT: Mass is conserved. If she exists, she's out there. If she doesn't, she's not.

 

TRAVIS: But what about the mass of 'imagination'? What if she exists as an idea—and don't get me wrong—I appreciate such an idea...

 

RUTH: An ideal. Maybe the old man needed a muse.

 

CASS: A muse? Like to amuse himself?

 

RUTH: No, I mean—

 

CASS: Just kidding. Though I don't want to joke. He hasn't come out of his camper all day and... I wonder if someone should check on him.

 

LONER: I did an hour ago. His name is 'Jeb', by the way.

 

CASS (after a pause): Did you, um,... see any evidence of his wife? Like, I dunno, clothing?

 

LONER: I didn't go inside. His space is sacred, as anyone's is.

 

TRAVIS: If I may ask, did he talk about her... specifically? From the back of your bike?

 

LONER: Not much. But he cried silently, not that I felt the tears through my jacket.

 

RUTH (after another pause): I think we should invite him here. At the very least he can eat with us and just... feel cared for.

 

LONER (getting up): I can ask him. It's kind of you.

 

LONER heads that way. The fire appreciates the attention all give it, whether BRETT's spoon-feeding of cracked branches, or RUTH's serenade, or CASS and TRAVIS' puppy dog looks. Perhaps even KEGGER's dreams, whatever they'd entail. The group stays in the fire's reflection as STACY wanders in.

 

STACY: Has anybody seen Watson? Have you been feeding him hotdogs again?

 

TRAVIS: Take a seat, Sis. You look pretty wiped out.

 

STACY (sitting where LONER had vacated): I am. And stressed out, too. Watson hasn't touched his dogfood from this morning's bowl.

 

TRAVIS: He's a big boy. Sometimes likes to hunt for field mice—you know that.

 

CASS: Protects you guys from bears?

 

TRAVIS: Yeah, that too.

 

BRETT: Hey, bears aren't the enemy, you know. Especially if they're running through a meadow.

 

RUTH: Okay, if you insist... (fingering that riff) But I won't sing it until we're all in a better headspace.

 

CASS: Like when?

 

RUTH: Like when Jeb's wife gets sorted out. And... what is it, 'mass is conserved'...

 

TRAVIS: Any updates on that, Stac? Has Mom talked with the police lately?

 

STACY: They haven't found anything. I mean... what really is there to find?

 

CASS: Yeah, but...

 

STACY: Do you mean B-U-T-T?

 

CASS (perplexed): What? No! Why would—

 

STACY: Just that the lady and man over there from New Hampshire keep bringing it up.

 

CASS: Butts? Really...

 

STACY: Besides their junior high jokes, they'd like to figure out Mr Matthews. What makes him tick.

 

BRETT: Sounds rather intrusive. I mean, what's in it for them?

 

RUTH: Maybe the same as for us. Interest in the other, and a feeling out the zones of privacy.

 

CASS: They can do for a little more privacy themselves, if you ask me. But... live and let live. 

 

STACY: They say their state motto is 'live free or die'.

 

CASS: Hmm. I guess I've heard that before. New Hampshire, you said they're from?

 

STACY: That's what they said. I wonder what they think of our hick state.

 

TRAVIS: Hey, we gave 'em Bill Clinton. Almost Hillary.

 

RUTH: Yikes! Don't bring it up. I'd rather die.

 

CASS: No one here is gonna die. Especially if we've survived last night. Well, (seeing LONER approach with JEB close behind) I guess we should keep open minds... and hearts. (standing up) Welcome, Mr Jeb! Our fire is friendly and warm.

 

JEB: You know my name?

 

LONER: Yeah, I told 'em. As I said, they've been thinking of you.

 

BRETT: We found your orange canoe, because it looks like we were in the same dilemma on this deceptively wild river.

 

JEB: Yes, well... mind if I sit?

 

CASS: Of course—I mean, please do. Over here is another blanket.

 

TRAVIS (grabbing two cans from the cooler): And a choice of Minute Maid or Coors.

 

JEB: Thanks, uh, I'll take, um,... I'll take the Minute Maid... 

 

TRAVIS: You got it.

 

JEB (scrutinizing the can): Why is it spelled that way, or misspelled?

 

RUTH: Hmm. M-A-I-D. Haven't seen that before.

 

JEB: I grew up with these in frozen concentrate. My mother would take one out of the freezer each morning, let it sit in the sink to defrost, then stir it in a pitcher of water. Took more than a minute, but... Same thing for the coffee pot, percolating with a little glass bulb on top—haven't seen those in years.

 

LONER: 'Best part of waking up'—

 

JEB: 'Folgers in your cup.'

 

RUTH: Before Starbucks barged in...

 

Separate conversations weave like interlacing wood and tongues of flame, ushering the gentle curls of smoke into the dusky sky. TRAVIS hands out sharpened sticks and hotdogs as each desire, some opting for a pre-peeled yam. LONER's cowboy hat and sunglasses disguise any facial expression, but JEB's spirits seem to rise in their dialogue. RUTH slides her guitar into BRETT's hands as if a baby he will need to learn to hold, and fingers press fingers into frets and chord progressions. MARLYS, as sudden as a ghost, comes in to sit near STACY, and CASS hands her their blanket and a Coors.

 

CASS: Unless you want a Minute Maid...

 

MARLYS: No—this will hit the spot. I'm not driving anywhere tonight, 'least as far as I know. (looking over to BRETT)How're your stitches holding up, Brett? A doctor stays on at that clinic 'til 9pm if you need any follow-up. 

 

BRETT: Thanks, they did a good job. Appreciate that.

 

RUTH: Better than good. Aesthetic.

 

LONER (to MARLYS): I'm on call, you know, if driving needs be done.

MARLYS: Thank you. It's good to have all hands on deck. The camp's gone through some stormy seas, and nothing's sunk us yet.

 

JEB (reflecting): I know you're being hopeful to help me be that, too.... Peg is a decent swimmer—from back in our high school days, even if we haven't been doing much of that in recent years. She'd read this river alright, not make bad decisions...

 

MARLYS (giving time): Of course.

 

JEB: And, you know, she'll always be a part of me, even if she did float off.... Wouldn't be unusual in the biblical proportions of some storms, the likes of which we're facing more and more....

 

LONER: The weather here's been calm this week. That itself adds hope.

 

JEB: Yeah, I suppose. I'm looking at these kids (nodding imperceptibly at the others across the campfire) and they are sharing and reminiscing and having a good time, as they should, busting free from life's anxieties. They also hear the sky is falling and boomers are to blame.... Well, in many ways, they are. We are. I know by your complexions you two aren't boomers, by the way, so (fraction of a chuckle) you're off the hook.

 

MARLYS (adding to that fraction): That's a relief. I got enough guilt on my plate.

 

JEB: Really? You've done well to raise your kids and run this place. Make others feel at home. Empathy for orphans and widowers, I think the gospel says somewhere.

 

MARLYS: I'm no angel, Jeb. But I appreciate that we're all in training for that fate. Or fortune, as the better term.

 

LONER: Some don't pass the boot camp, though.

 

JEB: Maybe so. But I don't think there's a statute of limitations on that, either. Old guy like me needs to keep on training. Maybe why I got into yesterday's canoe in the first place.

 

MARLYS: Why "I" got into the canoe, or "we"? Peggy included?

 

JEB: Well,... I can only speak for myself in this regard. And Peggy, well...

 

The fire's glow has darkened space behind them, and no one has an earlier cue than another that WATSON has come into the warmth of their ring.

 

STACY (jumping up): Watson! You're back, buddy! (diving a hug) Where have you been?

 

KEGGER (rousing, finally): Hey, mutt. You smelled the dinner bell.

 

BRETT: We do have more hotdogs, everybody, by the way.

 

STACY: Spoiled dog! Hasn't touched his dogfood and now he gets to feast on human food!

 

TRAVIS: Euphemism, that.

 

MARLYS (turning toward the darkness): Watson, I think, has earned this feast.

 

JEB (following her turn): What?

 

PEGGY (stepping toward him): He's a good dog, Jeb. Good as Barney was.

 

JEB (leaping into her arms): Oh, sweet heavens, Peggy! You made it back! All in one piece?

 

PEGGY: One piece. Or two, if you count yourself.

 

STACY (stunned): Or three, with Watson.

 

CASS: Oh my God, I'm gonna cry.... (elbowing TRAVIS) And not just cuz I want your arms around me.

 

LONER: I hear some marching orders there, Travis.

 

TRAVIS: Aye, aye, Cap'n.

 

JEB: Oh, Peggy, we searched for you—up and down each side of the river—

 

PEGGY: I know you did, dear. I heard the motorcycle. Called out twice, but...

 

LONER: It's yet another curse of fossil fuel. Guilty, as charged.

 

JEB: No, no—you... gave me hope that.... At least we were tryin'

 

MARLYS (wrapping the blanket around PEGGY): You're welcome to take a nice hot bath in the house, Mrs Matthews.

 

PEGGY: 'Peg', if you please.

 

MARLYS: And I should have introduced myself: I'm Marlys, trying to keep this camp afloat.

 

PEGGY: Oh, you're doing a terrific job at that. Jeb has told me about you and your family already. I wish I'd made an appearance earlier, but... I guess it's never too late if the time finally comes.

 

BRETT (whispering to RUTH): Too soon to play us a song?

 

RUTH (whispering back): Look how happy they are! I'll strum something soft, to join in with the crickets. C# minor to start, but (a quick kiss) D major and A, eventually....

 

She sings in synch with other jubilation, including echoes of ecstasy from the nearby Winnebago, "Praise the day — we can be happy, Raise a babe to never break the faith that we can be happy & stay that way"....

 

~ CURTAIN ~

Daniel Martin Vold Lamken (August, 2021)