“I wouldn’t say too much,” he tells me. “Just enough.”
Warmth floods my body in response to the quasi compliment. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m glad he chose to accompany me into the woods. I’m also glad he felt me up, even if it was under the guise of saving me from an incurable disease.
I’m partially relieved when Cricket and I emerge from the darkness of the woods. I say partially because the greedy side of me wanted nothing more than to stay in that quiet, isolated space with her for a few more hours. Outside of the campsite, I felt like we were in our own protective bubble. The world fell away, along with all its demands and problems. It had nothing to do with the sanctity of the woods and everything to do with Cricket.
“You should move Hugo. You parked him right underneath a tree with weak branches. If there’s a storm, your car is screwed.”
It takes a moment to register that she’s talking about my car. “Why is my car named Hugo?”
“Because it deserves better than douchemobile, and I’m confident you haven’t already named it.”
“Why would I name my car?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” she shoots back.
I scan the parking lot. “What’s the name of your car?”
“Rhonda.”
“Is there a reason for that choice?”
“When I’m running late or the car is giving me trouble, I can sing ‘Help Me, Rhonda.’ You know that song? My grandparents used to play it all the time.”
“Is there a song for Hugo?”
Her eyes turn to sly slits. “If there were, would you sing it?”
Inanimate objects don’t need names. She’s trying to make a fool of me somehow, yet I don’t feel like a fool. I feel… like I’m having fun. Again.
Maybe I’m giving Cricket too much credit and I need to commit to more time away from work. I spend the majority of my waking hours holed up in my office. It’s possible that a walk to the art museum would produce as many endorphins as this conversation.
“I’m not much of a singer.”
“So you say. I guess we’ll find out for sure tonight.”
Laughter booms from my chest. “Like hell you will. I’m an observer only.”
“No such thing at Comic-Camp. Everybody sings. You don’t have to sing alone, but you have to get up onstage and participate.”
I remain noncommittal. I could always ditch the evening, although the prospect of sitting front row for a Cricket performance is too enticing to resist.
“What’s your song?” I ask.
She shrugs. “You’ll have to stay long enough to find out.”
“Are you any good?”
“Nope. Terrible. That’s why it’s both fun and entertaining.”
“You’re not embarrassed to get up there and bomb?”
“Firstly, the crowd consists of my friends. They’re my safe space, and I know we’re all there to have fun and support each other.”
“And secondly?”
“It’s healthy to step outside of my comfort zone, even if it’s only once a year. I know I suck, so I get nervous beforehand, but I do it anyway.”
“That’s what alcohol is for.”
