Darling at the Campsite: A Novel by Andy Abramowitz

Author:Andy Abramowitz [Abramowitz, Andy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2021-06-07T22:00:00+00:00

Margot has gone angrily silent, or silently angry, which I find helpful because I don’t think I could simultaneously concentrate on conversation with her and my imminent rendezvous with Skid. Countless are the times I played out in my head a reunion scene between Margot and me. Never once have I done so with Skid Hall. Why? Could I just not picture it?

Margot is still staring coldly through the windshield when we peel into the Maybee High parking lot like we’re late for homeroom. First through the double doors is Alex, who I last saw about a day ago, and then comes his father, who I last saw about a lifetime ago. With that, I am overcome by a helpless claustrophobia, a visceral, imperative, instinctual need to tuck, duck, and roll out of this moving vehicle.

Margot pulls to a stop at the end of the long walkway that leads from the school entrance to the lot. She exits the van, and because I guess I’d feel even more stupid if I stayed inside the van, as though I were another one of her kids, I get out too.

I’ve guessed wrong. I feel just as stupid outside.

I take in the sight of him striding down the path. From the time I was old enough to have friends, Skid was my closest one. I was the George Harrison to his Paul McCartney, the Coke to his rum, the Ferb to his Phineas. He was the life of the party; I kept an eye on the time, made sure things didn’t get too out of hand. I look at him now and see that kid who slept over at least once a week, who consumed more food from the Darling pantry than anybody actually named Darling, who was around so often that you couldn’t really call him a guest because he was answering our door, answering our phone, even getting yelled at on occasion by my mother for spilling soda or moving furniture around for our WWF matches. I see the kid who calmly and very convincingly threatened an older and much larger kid when he threw an elbow that knocked the wind out of me during a pickup basketball game. I also see the guy who, on the night I was introduced to Jägermeister at Dov Halevi’s party, drove Margot home and didn’t return to retrieve me until noticeably later than that errand should’ve taken. I see the guy who, when paired with Margot for that American history project earlier that year, showed an inordinate level of interest in the spread of Communism and Soviet influence in the post–World War II era. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Why would I? Never in a million lifetimes could Skid Hall move in on the girl I loved. A million lifetimes have passed since, and like an emotionally stunted fool, I am still thinking about it.

He marches right up to me, his steps gathering speed. He says, “Rowan W. Darling,” then

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