Strange New Friends

The trail was a simple one, one way in, one way out.  It would be hard to get lost with such a simple objective.  I knew there would be other campers out there, but my main goal was to get us down the trail and back without making contact with anyone.  As the group marched passed our cars, I turned to look back at the fire, you could barely see it glowing as night began to creep up all around us.  Donnie and I fired up our flashlights, and like a bullet shot out a gun Scooter began running down the trail.  He lived for moments like this, truly he was a trail dog.  He ran from side to side, to and fro, up and down the trail only venturing about thirty feet in front of us.  As he ran further now, I could barely see his small white body in my line of sight.  “SCOOTER!” I called with a deep cadence “COME HERE!”  Like a well-trained bird dog, he flew back towards Donnie and I and stood by me feet.  “SIT!” I commanded, and Scooter happily obliged.  He enjoyed the training, he enjoyed receiving orders, and he enjoyed pleasing his master.  Indeed, he was a good dog, and an even better friend.  I waved my hand in the air and yelled “LETS GO!” and off he ran, side to side, to and fro, making his laps around the trail. 

“Man you have that dog trained up pretty well,” Donnie said as we shuffled along the trail.  Truly this was what a “midnight run” was all about.  I repeated this process over and over again as we walked for a good ten minutes down the trail, letting Scooter run his laps and calling him back to my side when he would venture to far.  It was at around this time I heard music playing somewhere in the woods, it was faint as first, but as we walked on the music grew louder and louder.  Then I began to see the lights of another campsite directly to our left, without knowing the situation I had already realized that there was some kind of party going on. 

In just that split second, I looked around for Scooter, but all I caught was his white tail dashing off following the music.  Crap, I thought, So much for not making contact with anyone.  Donnie and I followed quickly behind and eventually the campsite emerged, it was very well put together.  They seemed to be much more professional then we were with our primitive set up.  The first thing that caught my eye was colored lights, they were everywhere, strung from their cars to their tents, even into canopies which overarched the entries to their dwellings.  It provided a sort of mystical ambiance, like you were somehow caught in the middle of a very noisy, inviting, Christmas tree.  As I looked down, I could see that outdoor rugs were set up at the foot of each tent and covered the area of the canopy.  Cajun music was playing out of a small Bluetooth speaker in the corner, while a colorful fire danced at the edge of the water.  Two large lounge chairs were under the canopy separated by a small but sturdy table complete with an ash tray and a small plant.  The guys had moved in to say the least and it appeared that Scooter had already made friends with the two gentlemen at the campsite, licking their hands as they petted him. 

“So sorry for the intrusion”, I called out “we were simply taking my dog for a run through the trails.”  “No, problem” one of the gentlemen called back, “you seem like you have a really nice dog here, super friendly”.  I replied, “Yea, he’s not to bad, I suppose… I’m Gabe by the way.”  The man smiled and reached out his hand, “I’m Joe and this is my buddy Derrick, this is our usual spot here at Indian Creek.”  Joe was a slender man, just over six feet in height, pale in color.  He had dark glasses and a small, not fully furnished go tee around his chin, and from my deduction appeared to be on the nerdier side.  A kind of man that could have a good time with a few beers, a bowl of marijuana, and a good game of Dungeons and Dragons.  Derrick on the other hand was a shorter squattier fellow, wearing a dark baseball cap.  He had darker skin and looked much more of Cajun decent then his friend Joe.  Obviously, this must be his choice in music.

We conversed a bit as Scooter made laps around the campsite, surveying the scene and getting the lay of the land.  It was clear even after a few minutes that there was something off about these fellows, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but they seemed to be acting strange.  Finally, Derrick outright said it “Look, enough small talk, are you guys down?” as he pointed toward another small table in the back by the tent I could see four small white lines carved out.  Ah ha! No wonder these boys were acting so strangely, drugs are involved. 

I laughed a bit and looked at Donnie, “Well, I never turn down true charity when I see it, I can’t speak for Donnie here, but don’t mind if I do!”  As I reached for the curled up dollar bill in his hand, I felt the excitement inside me growing.  Cocaine… ey…  I haven’t done this in a while.  It had been some time since I had done some blow, not since my time in New York, when this was a weekly occurrence.  I remember the feeling of it though.  It happens within minutes, the drunkenness wears off, your senses sharpen, and a sudden wave of energy pulsates though your body.  Muscles tighten and stiffen, you feel like a super hero. 

Like a rabid animal, I slammed the curled up currency to the table and took one, powerful, draw though my right nostril.  I ran the edge of the dollar bill along the surface of the table looking through my eye to make sure the powder was disappearing from the table.  In one swift inhale, the line was gone.  I removed the bill from my nose, and with my left hand covered my left nostril, one… two… three… more strong inhales, just to make sure it all got where I needs to be.  “Damn,” Derrick laughed “this obviously isn’t your first time.”  I guess there was no hiding it, even to the more advanced of drug connoisseurs.  I passed the bill to Donnie, and he just looked at me with shrugging eyes and lumbered to the table.  I knew what he was thinking… “F**k you Gabe! You always get us into this type of s**t!  But screw it, When in Rome!”  Donnie went ahead and accomplished his goal with one deep inhale.  Then Derrick, then finally Joe, poor Scooter looking onward from besides the fire. 

     As predicted, my drunkenness wore off, my senses sharpened, and sudden burst of energy propelled the group’s conversation to new levels.  We were speaking fast and with purpose, we began to learn things about our new friends, like how Derrick was a song writer of some of the best local Cajun music around, and how Joe and his wife come out to this same spot many times in one year to partake in partying with family and friends.  As I learned more about these gentlemen, the more I realized they were not so much different then Donnie and I, both of us camping with their wives and looking for a adventure after they significant others had gone to sleep.  As the music and conversation continue, it seemed to me that Joe was still acting off.  He appeared to be in another world, and soon I would know exactly why.