A short story

We were somewhere in the Poconos, possibly the Blakeslee area, we weren’t really sure. We had gotten out of the truck to wonder around the area for a little while, the rain had just passed. “Just a drizzle in the mountains” my grandfather said, looking at the pool sized puddles littering the ground. “I bet the track is almost black, except for turn 2.” I said, walking around the puddles before us. We were waiting for our camper to pass “inspection”. We knew we weren’t carrying any firearms or fireworks, but they still felt like tracking mud and water all over the interior of our camper.

We heard a loud crash in the distance, “Was that an accident or thunder?” I whispered. My grandfather rushed for the tent setup for receiving the camping bands, apparently that drizzle that passed was only a portion of the rain, but my phone was set to airplane mode. “I don’t think it’s supposed to rain again.”, I said, forgetting I would not get another notification. It was times like these I wondered why I even had a smart phone to tell me of inclement weather.

I slowly walked towards the tent to get in line, which was now outside of the tent, for my wristband. The line quickly shrunk as I took another step forward, as if I was a knight being ready to be knighted. Each person that would have been in front of me quickly walked in the opposite direction, I was getting closer to the tent as each person ran past me. “I wish this was how my lines acted at work.” I said, taking another step towards the tent. There was now no one between me and the dryness of the tent, only a few steps away. I took my next to last step to enter the tent and felt a strange cold running down my back.

Time slowed down as I walked mid-stride, my left toes almost under the tents safety. The water quickly rushed past me, as if to give me payback for forcing so many others out-of-the-way. Like the large curtains in my bedroom on a windy summer day, this drizzle passed over me like a spec of dust. I planted my left foot under the tent and went to raise my right, but it was too late. The safety of the tent was futile, what worth did a dry ground have for me now? “I got our wristbands.” said my grandfather. I looked over at him and saw several of him standing in different places. My glasses were littered with beads of water from the passing drizzle we had gotten.

“I think I’ll wait to put mine on.” I said, preparing to leave the tent and walk out into the sunny field. “That’d be fine, but they need to put the bands on for you.” he said. I stopped, turned back around, and headed over to the staff member. “Here.” I shoved my left arm out, soaked to the bone. The staff member wrapped the wristband tightly around my wrist as water wrung out of my skin. I looked at my grandfather, “This must be what hell is like.” His bald head glimmered as he chuckled, “I’m just glad my hair didn’t get wet.”