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Authors: Irving Belateche
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the rest of the night.
Lee slept in the tent.
When dawn broke, Quincy was asleep. I quietly rolled up my sleeping bag, grabbed my backpack, and hiked the trail back. The entire way, I was reconsidering the deal we’d made the night before—the unholy pact. But only when I got to the parking lot and saw the ranger station did I make my decision.
Leaving the trail behind and stepping onto the parking lot’s blacktop was my reentry into a familiar world. That, plus the clear light of day, was more than enough to transform my chaotic, shrouded vision of a man tumbling to his death into a nightmare best forgotten. It was as if I’d awakened from a troubling sleep.
I went to the bank of pay phones, called my dad, and told him I was feeling sick and wanted to be picked up early. While I was on the phone, the ranger on duty stepped out of the ranger station. I’m sure I’d caught his attention because I was the only living soul around at that early hour.
I wanted to run, but I knew that would be suspicious, so I wrapped up my call in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner. But when I hung up, I was positive the ranger could see the guilt on my face. Or worse: he already knew about the dead body and suspected me.
“Everything okay, son?” he said.
“I feel kind of sick, so I called my dad to pick me up.”
“What’s wrong?” He moved closer to me.
For a second I thought he was referring to my guilt, but I caught myself before I confessed. “It’s a stomachache,” I said. The words came out stilted because my throat was constricted with panic.
“You think you ate something bad?”
I shook my head, then realized I should’ve just said yes. Too late. “I think maybe it’s the flu,” I said.
“Any vomiting or fever?” He was doing his job, figuring out if I needed immediate medical attention.
I shook my head again, wanting him to just leave me alone. I couldn’t go on lying without giving myself away. I wasn’t built for it.
“Did anything happen while you were camping?” he said.
So he did know. My throat constricted even more, and I weighed whether to confess. Then Lee’s threat reared its ugly head—he’d pin the murder on me if I answered the ranger’s question with anything other than one simple word.
“No,” I said, shaking my head to emphasize it.
“You didn’t get bit by a raccoon or anything?”
With that question, I understood where he was going. He wasn’t trying to connect me to the dead body—he was just focused on my illness. “No,” I said.
“Good.”
Please leave me alone , I thought, suddenly overcome with the fear that Lee was racing up the trail and would catch me talking to the ranger. His impatience would kick in, not to mention his anger, and he’d think I was spilling my guts. That would be enough for him to run up to the ranger and carry out his awful threat—blaming the murder on me.
I tried to think of a way to extricate myself from the ranger’s questions. “I’m going to sit down and wait for my dad,” was the best I could come up with.
“You can wait inside,” the ranger said.
No, I can’t . If Lee saw me heading inside, it would be an invitation for him to ruin my life. “I’m okay out here,” I said, and pointed to the picnic table nearest the parking lot. “I’ll wait over there where my dad can see me.”
“All right, son. I’ll keep an eye out for you in case you feel any worse,” he said. Then he headed back into the cabin.
I started toward the picnic table at a fast clip, but quickly slowed down—I didn’t want the ranger to think I was well enough to hurry anywhere. At the picnic table, my fears continued unabated. First, that the ranger would get a report about a dead body that had just been fished out of the Potomac and would rush out of the cabin to question me. And second, that Lee would appear and interpret my early departure as evidence that I’d ratted him out.
Neither happened.
My dad picked me up, and I told him
Lee slept in the tent.
When dawn broke, Quincy was asleep. I quietly rolled up my sleeping bag, grabbed my backpack, and hiked the trail back. The entire way, I was reconsidering the deal we’d made the night before—the unholy pact. But only when I got to the parking lot and saw the ranger station did I make my decision.
Leaving the trail behind and stepping onto the parking lot’s blacktop was my reentry into a familiar world. That, plus the clear light of day, was more than enough to transform my chaotic, shrouded vision of a man tumbling to his death into a nightmare best forgotten. It was as if I’d awakened from a troubling sleep.
I went to the bank of pay phones, called my dad, and told him I was feeling sick and wanted to be picked up early. While I was on the phone, the ranger on duty stepped out of the ranger station. I’m sure I’d caught his attention because I was the only living soul around at that early hour.
I wanted to run, but I knew that would be suspicious, so I wrapped up my call in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner. But when I hung up, I was positive the ranger could see the guilt on my face. Or worse: he already knew about the dead body and suspected me.
“Everything okay, son?” he said.
“I feel kind of sick, so I called my dad to pick me up.”
“What’s wrong?” He moved closer to me.
For a second I thought he was referring to my guilt, but I caught myself before I confessed. “It’s a stomachache,” I said. The words came out stilted because my throat was constricted with panic.
“You think you ate something bad?”
I shook my head, then realized I should’ve just said yes. Too late. “I think maybe it’s the flu,” I said.
“Any vomiting or fever?” He was doing his job, figuring out if I needed immediate medical attention.
I shook my head again, wanting him to just leave me alone. I couldn’t go on lying without giving myself away. I wasn’t built for it.
“Did anything happen while you were camping?” he said.
So he did know. My throat constricted even more, and I weighed whether to confess. Then Lee’s threat reared its ugly head—he’d pin the murder on me if I answered the ranger’s question with anything other than one simple word.
“No,” I said, shaking my head to emphasize it.
“You didn’t get bit by a raccoon or anything?”
With that question, I understood where he was going. He wasn’t trying to connect me to the dead body—he was just focused on my illness. “No,” I said.
“Good.”
Please leave me alone , I thought, suddenly overcome with the fear that Lee was racing up the trail and would catch me talking to the ranger. His impatience would kick in, not to mention his anger, and he’d think I was spilling my guts. That would be enough for him to run up to the ranger and carry out his awful threat—blaming the murder on me.
I tried to think of a way to extricate myself from the ranger’s questions. “I’m going to sit down and wait for my dad,” was the best I could come up with.
“You can wait inside,” the ranger said.
No, I can’t . If Lee saw me heading inside, it would be an invitation for him to ruin my life. “I’m okay out here,” I said, and pointed to the picnic table nearest the parking lot. “I’ll wait over there where my dad can see me.”
“All right, son. I’ll keep an eye out for you in case you feel any worse,” he said. Then he headed back into the cabin.
I started toward the picnic table at a fast clip, but quickly slowed down—I didn’t want the ranger to think I was well enough to hurry anywhere. At the picnic table, my fears continued unabated. First, that the ranger would get a report about a dead body that had just been fished out of the Potomac and would rush out of the cabin to question me. And second, that Lee would appear and interpret my early departure as evidence that I’d ratted him out.
Neither happened.
My dad picked me up, and I told him
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