Mindy, Foxboro’s admin and the baker at Skye’s coffee shop (see also: small town, many hats), sets up a tripod in front of the log I’m about to chop. She’s supremely disinterested, smacking her gum and scrolling her phone before putting it in the ring light. Templeton circles her ankles and she stoops to give him a little pat.
“It’s cold,” I whine. “And I’m still concussed.”
“You were the one who wanted to do this today,” she fires back. “I have to be back at the desk in forty-five minutes.”
“Because I can’t work. I have to do something to contribute.”
She shrugs. “Aren’t you going back to work tomorrow?”
I huff, because she is correct.
Is there a teeny, tiny, infinitesimal part of me that chose today to film content because Aria might also be filming content in these woods?
Absolutely not.
I ended up finding her mushroom channel last night, scrolling through video after video of her in these very woods. Watching it gives me this weird mix of emotions. I’m upset that things aren’t different between us. What would our lives be likeif we had become something? I’m a little jealous that she shares so much of herself on this page. I wish I didn’t have to find out that information from the internet.
But more than anything, I’m proud of her for finding a way to do what she loves. The comments are full of positivity, this amazing community she’s built. People are curious and she answers their questions so graciously.
I watched her series on the mycelium she and Richard are studying, confirming that she is not a medical doctor. I had to revisit what “mycelium” meant. It’s basically mushroom roots. But . . . it’s like, sentient? It lets trees talk to each other? Ari made this long video about the intelligence of mushrooms and how much more significant fungi are than plants. She also explained the mechanics of it all, how mycelium turn into fruiting bodies, or the parts we commonly know as mushrooms.
She’s so smart.
She and Richard have so much fun in their videos. She tees him up to make jokes and gives appropriate sincerity to the amazing things they’re studying. I remember when I was part of their fun. I didn’t understand it all, but they let me play along.
But now it’s just the two of them in their doctor science club. She probably thinks these woods belong to her and that my content is mind-numbing drivel.
Her comments are all intelligent questions. My comments section is all full of “sorry, I was watering my fish. Can you do that again?” and “where’s the button to order him?” The strangest was, “I’d let him ice my gingerbread.”
I mean, clever. I’m a ginger. But. Ew?
Mindy and I get to work. My shoulder’s still a little sore, but I’ve been out of the sling for a day or two. The content mill must be fed. My videos feed the people who need it in this town. My videos sell calendars. My calendars pay for food for Foxboro.
Do we have a backlog of footage? Well, yeah. But the people demand fresh, fall-time footage.
I chop log after log. Just as I’m starting to get tired, Mindy holds up the mini-chainsaw. This is always the grand finale: carving a heart into the log and blowing it off with a wink. Technically, Sue in my department came up with the idea in her wood-chopping videos, and it was so popular with the women loving women crowd that I was encouraged to add it. I didn’t realize the queer women of the internet were so thirsty for butch women chopping wood, but Sue has taught me many things I had no clue about. We hoped the trend would extend to “the straights” as Sue calls us, and we were quite correct.
I rev the chainsaw and start to cut logs down to the right size for the trick.
“Alright, let’s roll,” I tell Mindy. She presses to record. I’m halfway through the heart shape when I notice a figure off to the side: Aria, staring with her jaw hanging open.
Adrenaline surges in me. Now it’s showtime. I’m sweating and panting by the time I blow the sawdust off the log and wink at the camera.
I cut the gas to the chainsaw and walk right up to Aria, still breathing heavily. I squint like she’s got something on her face, then use my thumb to swipe beside her lips. “Got a little drool there, Ari.”
Her eyes narrow, her skin goes red, and her hands curl into fists. “What the hell is this?”
I wipe my brow with my forearm, which is covered in sawdust. Thus, now I have sawdust on my forehead, but I’m going to pretend it’s hot rather than weird. I smile. “Making you fall into a thirst trap.”
She huffs and, if she’d stomped her foot, it would have taken me right back to her at age eight, throwing her little tantrums.“Your chainsaw was drowning outmyvideos. You know Richard doesn’t talk loudly!”
“My videos are for a good cause,” I say calmly.
“What? The Hot Firefighters Help Line? The Closing the Orgasm Gap for Straight Women Cause?”
“Lesbians love it too,” Mindy interjects.
Ari tips her head. “For him?”
