Bear Shoulders

It was mostly the wind that was scaring us, flapping our tent and rustling the branches.  But then – when it stopped… it was our own breathing that seemed too loud, like it was going to alert whatever was out there that we were in here.

We were both imagining that we were hearing strange footsteps just outside.  Larry would whisper, “Did you hear that?”  I’d reach over and slug him.  “Be quiet!”  But the loud snort was not imagined.  We both heard it and our eyelids closed tighter and we each tightened our grip on our sleeping bags.  Whatever it was couldn’t get us if we could just lay still and breathe quietly.

Again there came a breathy snort from just outside of the tent but this time we felt the tent move, like it was being pushed by something, something large.  “It’s a bear.”  Larry squeaked from inside his sleeping bag.  I didn’t respond.  I was scared.  My whole body was shaking, as if I were cold, but I wasn’t; just the opposite.  By scrunching up inside our sleeping bags and holding the top closed as tightly as possible, we had turned them into little ovens.  We were both being slowly cooked for whatever was about to eat us.  

I awoke to the sound of tires rolling into our camp sight and I heard a man’s voice yell, “They’re over here.”  I couldn’t believe it.  It was morning.  How could I have fallen asleep being as scared as I was?  More voices were now talking and I could hear a car door slam.  Was it a search party?  Had everyone been out looking for us?  I was still rolled up in my sleeping bag, trying to find the opening.  I needed fresh air much more than I needed rescuing, and I needed to go to the bathroom.

Bright sunlight poked my eyes like two fingers.  As I tried to focus, someone was also pulling at the zipper to help get me out.  As he leaned over, the wide brim of his hat momentarily blocked the Sun.  It was a deputy sheriff.  “Are you okay son?”  His voice felt reassuring, but as I looked around all I saw was our shredded tent and no Larry.

Those were the facts I told the sheriff.  That’s all I remembered.  We were scared and trying to be quiet.  It was hot inside the sleeping bag and I woke up when I heard them come into camp in the morning.

Somehow my story didn’t seem to satisfy them.  They kept looking at me like I had more to tell.  I could hear Larry’s mom across the way.  She sounded hysterical.  They kept trying to calm her down but then she’d start screaming again. I was trying so hard to think, but I didn’t remember anything else.  I had no idea where Larry was, I didn’t know what happened to his sleeping bag.  I thought he’d fallen asleep like I did.

Someone handed me half of a sandwich and a metal camping mug of milk.  As I ate the sandwich I watched several sheriffs on horseback ride into camp.  From what I could tell they had been out searching the woods.  None of them looked happy.  Up on the dirt road I could see a camera crew and a NEWS 4 truck.  They seemed like vultures perched along the ridge waiting to swoop down and pick the bones of my missing friend.

Startled by a woman’s voice from behind me I jumped.  “I’m just going to take your blood pressure.  Set your milk down here for a minute.”  Her perfume was strong, almost gagging me but I didn’t want to say anything.  She wrapped the strap around my arm and began squeezing the little ball.  As it squeezed my arm tighter and tighter I suddenly remembered Larry grabbing my arm through the sleeping bag, trying to hold on as he was being dragged away.  How could I have forgotten that?  A tear rolled down my cheek.  “I’m sorry, am I hurting you?”

Once a week, for the next couple months, I had to visit with Mr. Oblinski.  He was a psychiatrist.  The school counselor told my parents it would help me.  Mr. Oblinski had the police report and my statement from back at the campground.  The one big inconsistency with everything was between my statement and the police.  According to them, there was no nurse.  No one had taken my blood pressure that morning.  There was nothing squeezing my arm, at least – nothing anyone could see.

What I didn’t tell Oblinski was that every now and then I can smell the thick odor of the nurse’s perfume.  I didn’t think about it until just now, but it’s always when I try to remember that night.  Images flash in my mind of Larry’s sleeping bag being dragged away, the loud snapping sound of branches – or maybe bones breaking; and that awful smell.