## Mt. Hood National Forest - Summer 1995 **This is a work in progress, not sure if I want to keep it and develop it further.** The Friday night shift ended like most others—steady rush until close, a mad scramble to re-shelve tapes, empty the drop box, restock candy, and vacuum. Just after midnight, Lara, Mick, and Jason stood out front of Armchair Video, trading smokes and bullshit about summer plans. Mick had finally graduated. Jason was going on about rock climbing. Lara listened, focus adrift. Jason stubbed out his cigarettes. “You need a ride home, Lara?” Startled, Lara smiled. “Mick’s taking me.” Jason gave a casual salute and tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. “Alright then. See you tomorrow night.” “See ya, Jas,” Mick called back. Lara and Mick turned toward the old pickup, setting their backpacks into the bed near the cab. Mick climbed in on the driver’s side and reached across to unlock the passenger door. Lara opened it and slid in. “Sorry ’bout that. That lock got punched—can only unlock it from inside.” With a casualness less felt than performed, Lara replied, “Whatever, I'm used to it.” “What’s the plan?” Lara said. “I’m not exactly stoked to go home—Trey still hasn’t moved out.” “I didn’t have one. We could hit Fresh Fruit or The Cube. There’s a twenty-four-hour pool hall.” Mick smirked. “Nights like tonight, I usually go truck camping and hang out with my buddies. That probably sounds like serial killer shit though.” Lara let out a real laugh. “I hate clubs. Especially the under-21 ones—everyone’s desperate and gross. I suck at pool, plus only gross old dudes play pool in the middle of the night. Camping, like stargazing in a truck bed? I’d be down for that. And don’t worry—I could take you, you scrawny punk.” --- Mick merged onto the interstate, heading south toward the edge of town. They drove in silence for the first half hour, freeway noise louder than a jet engine. He flicked the blinker lever, the green dash light casting a ghostly glow in the cab as they exited and headed east. They drove past rural communities and into the thickening dark of the Mount Hood National Forest. Out here, the back roads were familiar; quiet, unlit veins winding through pine and fir. Mick cracked his wing window and lit another smoke. He leaned over and turned up his new favorite trance track. It wasn’t hi-fi—not by a long shot. The trancey wash of sound got swallowed by the wind, but the core beat and that haunting vocal sample still cut through, raw and perfect for the open road. They were in true darkness now. The road hummed beneath the tires, endless black unfolding ahead of the dim headlights. Lara sat with her legs tucked up, feet resting on the sun-damaged dash. She nudged open her wing window, flicking ash into a cascade of amber sparks that scattered and vanished into the pitch-black night in the side mirror. The truck listed, the wheels tapping the centerline reflectors. “Mick! Yellow line!” Mick jolted, blinking the cross-eyed double vision away, the snap of her voice yanking him back. “Shit. Okay. Sorry. I think I’m good. But you’re officially in charge of keeping me awake,” he croaked. “Tell me about your summer plans? Jason did most of the talking back at work,” Lara said. “I'm planning on doing some backpacking. One of my buddies wants to go to Europe for three months, but that's too much work—passport, plane tickets, train tickets, all that. I’m a lazy ass, and all that sounds like too much. How about you?” “That sounds cool, I’d love to travel, disappear for a while. My plans? I don’t really have any,” Lara said. “I need to get out of my apartment. If I had to pick something? I’d love to go to Bumbershoot. Or Lollapalooza.” --- Mick pulled onto the soft shoulder of a forest service road. He parked just out of view of the highway and cut the ignition and rolled to a stop. He turned the headlights off and everything went beautifully black. They climbed out of the truck and stretched. Mick flipped the bench seat forward and pulled out a couple of old Army surplus blankets, setting them in the truck bed. He reached under the driver’s seat and grabbed a tarp, and placing it on top of the blankets. “Under your seat—there’s a small toolbox,” Mick said, adjusting the seatback. “There should be a headlamp in there. That’ll make setup easier.” Lara reached under the seat and grabbed the toolbox. Rifling through the tools and pulled out the headlamp and setting it on the seat. “Help me with this tarp,” he said while unfolding and tossing the corner toward Lara. “It’s big enough to cover the truck bed and wrap the blankets—that’ll keep the dew off in the morning.” He glanced up at the clear sky. “We’ve got a decent view of the stars. Won’t be the most comfortable—one blanket down doesn’t offer much padding.” He spoke into the darkness. “I’m gonna change shirts, you can use the headlamp to find a spot to change.” Lara pulled a hoodie, a T-shirt, and track pants from her bag. Stepping just off the road, she peeled off her work shirt and slipped into the clean layers. The track pants gave her more trouble—stumbling and hopping as she wrestled them on. She swept the headlamp over the ground, checking for anything she might’ve dropped, then she bundled her work clothes under an arm and headed back to the truck. While she changed, Mick shrugged off his work shirt, pulled on a flannel button-up from his bag, and zipped his favorite track jacket over it. He climbed into the truck bed a layed down. He closed his eyes, listening to the distant sound of the river, the leaves rustling in the breeze and concert of crickets and frogs. --- They lay side by side in the truck bed, staring up at the night sky. Stars pricked through the night sky, scattering light like pinholes in a dark curtain—each one mapping out some direction they’d never follow. Mick broke the silence. “See those stars?” He pointed south and slightly west. “Those three—the two bluish ones and that yellowish one.” Lara followed his finger. “Yeah. I think so. They kinda make a triangle?” “Exactly. That’s actually what they’re called—the Summer Triangle. Not a constellation though, just a pattern.” “So what’s so special about those three, _Mr. Wizard_?” Lara teased, nudging him gently. He smirked. “Nothing too crazy. The bright blue one is Vega, the bluish-white one is Deneb, and that yellowish one over there. That's Altair. My dad used to take me out stargazing when I was little. He was a big star nerd.” Mick’s voice softened, the end of the sentence trailing off like vapor. “You said ‘was.’ What happened?” Lara asked quietly. “It’s complicated. He died—well, murdered. About six years ago. He was part of a bribery investigation in the Michigan State Prison system. Went sideways.” “Fuck. That sucks. Sorry,” Lara said—genuinely, the kind of empathy she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Did they catch who did it?” “Yes, and no. That’s why it’s complicated.” Mick exhaled, slow. “As far as most people know, none of it ever happened. And talking about it just... gets me in trouble.” He paused, glancing at her. “I guess I actually trust you. Or I’m just too tired to care.” “I’m not sure I deserve that kind of trust,” Lara said softly. “You barely know me.” Silence stretched between them for a few heartbeats. “I know you’ve got some shit in your past. I see it in the stick-and-pokes… and in the vertical cuts, too. I don’t pretend to know your story, but I asked around once, about cutters. Heard vertical usually isn’t about getting attention—it’s about pain. Damage and pain.” Mick’s voice was rough, edged with fatigue and a flicker of fear. “You're right, we don’t know each other well. Hell, you might not even want to. But we’ve both clearly been through some fucked-up shit. Maybe talking about it makes it feel a little less shitty.” He paused. Then added with a crooked half-laugh, “I sound like my old therapist. It’s your story to share, though. And if I’m coming off like a dick—it’s probably because I’m loopy from no sleep. You can tell me to fuck off.” Lara laid like a corpse, silent and barely breathing. Mick’s breathing slowed, drifting toward sleep. “You’re right, Mick. I do have a past. I’m just… not ready to share it yet. I like where we are. And when I’ve opened up before, it’s driven people away.” She paused. Her voice was steady, but low. “The stick-and-pokes… that was a dark time. My best friend and I did them together. We were both in a bad place. Hers was worse, she killed herself two days later.” “Fuck.” Mick’s voice cracked. “I… I don’t know what to say.” He shifted slightly, eyes still on the stars. “I’m sorry that happened. I didn’t mean to push. Just… yeah. I’m sorry.” “It’s fine. Let’s just watch the stars” Lara said, her voice catching slightly. They lay in silence, listening to the rush of the river and the serenade of frogs. “You warm enough? The river’ll drop the temp,” Mick asked, softer now. No reply—just the soft rhythm of her breathing. Steady. Measured. She was asleep.