I take a moment to wipe the sweat off my forehead before plunging the paddle back into the water; I used to love going on trips like this. It’s been a decade since my last kayaking trip and the years have not been kind to me. Now that I’m in my late twenties, the outdoors has become a thrill that I experience through the perspective of others more than my own. I never thought that being a homebody was my fate, frankly, I blame it on being a preteen. My first real act of defiance against my family was when I began to resist going on hiking and backpacking trips. It may not sound rebellious, but to my family, it was like telling them that I was giving up water. Water. I’ve been drinking a lot of water lately. Water, tea, La Croix, anything to keep my lips busy. I’ve heard the first five days of sobriety are the hardest to get through. I wouldn’t know for sure, I’ve had many attempts at five days, though none have really made it past day two.

Well, today is day three, thanks to Donna. Yesterday she called me, distracting me from the mid-evening ritual. She was excited to tell me that she found a friend with a loner kayak. Every conversation we have had in the month I’ve known her she has mentioned wanting to take me on a kayaking trip. Because of her contagious enthusiasm, I found myself agreeing to go on a three-day trip with her.

I was feeling a little excited. The next thing I knew, I was putting away the corkscrew and taking off to the nearest convenience store to try and find the rest of the gear I needed. When I came home, I laid everything out on the floor. I stared at it all for a minute, I had forgotten how to pack for a camping trip. By the time I was off to bed, I had only gotten as far as to pack obvious items, such as my sleeping bag.

Seven o’clock in the morning and I was instinctively hitting the snooze button for ten more minutes of sleep. Get up. I was telling myself. The morning dread came on and I found myself being weighed down by my blankets. Doubt finally set in and if it wasn’t for the call from Donna telling me she was thirty minutes away, I would have eventually ended up canceling. Instead, blankets flew in the air as I ran to the shower, brushing my teeth while doing so to save time. The pile of gear was still laid out on the floor. I started throwing everything I thought I’d need into a duffle bag, leaving the rest for my roommate to step over for the next three days. Donna’s old, green Forester pulled into the driveway, and I was out the door, hoping I didn’t forget anything important. I hopped in the car, and I was greeted by a warm smile, a hot latte, and a bagel from a nearby café.

Donna handed over the latte, “I remember from our morning hike, you weren’t great about remembering breakfast,” I took that first sip of coffee and settled into the seat with a sigh. She gave me the bagel next, “I hope you like poppyseed.” I thanked her and we were off. Now, Donna is rearing her head towards me in her kayak. She points at an island about a hundred yards ahead of us and calls back, “There it is!”. We change our trajectory; I breathe hard as I try and keep up with Donna. Her excitement fueled her forward even faster than she was going before.

We reach a small, steep gravel beach that leads up to the island. It’s thickly forested with spruce and birch trees. We drag our kayaks up the bank and leave them at the crest of the forest, I follow Donna as she leads me into the campsite.

“Here it is,” Donna says, placing her hands on her hips and looking around. The corner of her mouth lifts into a satisfied smile. “What do you think?”

I take a moment to look around. The camp is rough, I would be surprised if it was frequented more than a handful of times a month. There are flattened patches of ground where tents have previously been. I can see the remnants of fire pits where loose rocks encircle charcoal and crushed beer cans that were thrown in when the fire was too cold, leaving them weak with sharp holes. It reminds me of the trips I went on when I was young. I suppose most people would feel a sense of nostalgia, I’m feeling more of a sense of guilt.

“It looks doable.” I nod my head trying to conceal my honest emotions with a half-ass smirk. Donna chuckles, “Well, it's home for the next two nights.”

We go off in different directions in search of our ideal spot to pitch a tent. I find a spot close enough to the bank so that I have eyes on our kayaks and a bit of a view of the water. Donna finds a place more inland, where the ground is more level. She pulls her tent from its bag. It’s dirty and, as she lays it out, I can see spots where she has had to patch it up. I take out mine as well, ripping the sale tag off and hoping she doesn’t notice.

Later that night, we are hanging out, bundled around the fire. I itched at my wrist wishing I had a seltzer water or something to sip on. Not going to lie, I am a little relieved that I didn’t even have the option. Then, of course, Donna pulls a flask out of her jacket pocket.

“To finally going kayaking together!”, she exclaims as she knocks back a swig. She passes the flask to me, and I take it. I stare at it for a moment, biting my lip. Suddenly I wasn’t so itchy.

“Cheers.” I say raising the flask up to her. Rather than take a sip, I stick the opening of the flask on my lower lip and tilt my head back. I wipe the alcohol from my lip before I can get another whiff of it and pass it back while making a face as though it burned my throat. I’ve done it. I’ve made it through day three, and Donna doesn’t have to know.

•••

The early morning sun makes my tent glow like a lightbulb. Above me a moth flits about the tent, trapped until I find the energy to unzip the tent and let it free. I get ready to leave the tent as I rub the sleep from my eyes. I don’t bother changing into day clothes, I’m too comfortable in my leggings, long socks, and sweatshirt. 

When I poke my head from the tent and look around, I see Donna at the crest of the forest striking a downward-facing dog pose on a yoga mat she brought with her. I rolled my eyes and exited the tent, zipping it up tight so no more bugs could get in. I walk towards Donna as she enters a cross-legged pose, her hands resting on her knees in what I assume was meditation.

“Sit with me.” She says with her eyes closed and her mouth in a restful, content smile.

I sit next to her on her mat, popping my shoes off and pulling my knees up towards my chest. The air was slightly chilly with a light breeze that made me want to go back into the tent where I was warm. The aroma of Labrador tea and the musk from moss and dirt overlapped the salty smell of the ocean. I could hear the water gently lapping against the beach. Donna took a deep breath in and out and then opened her eyes, exiting her meditation. In so many ways, I couldn’t tell if I admired her or envied her. Her mind and body seemed so healthy. She was the exact type of person to always get enough sleep and to spend her days productive from start to finish. I could never understand how some people could do that. Especially when most mornings all I could do was stare at my ceiling, screaming internally at my body to move.

Donna swiveled her body gracefully to face me. I let my knees fall to the side, forcing my body to face her. “The island is bigger than it looks,” she said.

“Is it?”

“I’ve come here a few times and I’ve never been able to explore all of it,” she got up and extended an arm to me which I took. She pulled me to my feet and bent down to roll up her mat. 

“There’s a trail that leads through the forest that I haven’t walked through yet. What do you say if we take a hike after breakfast?”

“Sounds good to me.” I wasn’t sure if a hike sounded good or not. I tried to make myself sound a little enthusiastic anyway.

Breakfast consisted of instant coffee and two packets of oatmeal each. Donna added a concoction of powders to the oatmeal that she assured me was necessary to eat for a balanced breakfast. A weird mix of flavors hit my tongue. Berries, vanilla, and... peanut butter maybe? The powders gave the oatmeal a grit that I probably would have minded if it wasn’t camping food. After breakfast, we cleaned the site and changed into our day clothes. Donna strapped a pack around her waist. I just grabbed my large, insulated water bottle. I wasn’t sure what else I would need for a hike.

We made our way down the thin trail. The ground was stomped flat and made a dense thud every time we took a step. We weaved in between spruce and birch trees and avoided the prickly shrubs of devil’s club. I heard the chirping of birds and the rustling of a squirrel running up and down a tree. We had been hiking a while when daylight began to appear through the trees ahead of us.

“It looks like we’re reaching the other side of the island,” I called ahead to Donna. She looked back at me for a moment with a gleam of excitement in her eye as she picked up her pace. I trudged along behind her wondering why I said anything.

The trail ended on a rocky cliff maybe ten feet above the water and we were standing on the tip of it. I stood close to its edge and looked down to see water splashing against its side. The tide was low. I could see barnacles and seaweeds on the rocks below. I felt a wash of cold down my body and through my legs and I stepped back. I could see land ten or so meters in the distance and a moose grazing on the leaves of a birch tree. My jaw dropped at the beauty of it all.

Donna pulled a couple of packs of trail mix from her bag and offered one to me. I took it, sat down, and gazed at all the world around me. “It’s really something, isn’t it?” Donna said, popping a handful of mix in her mouth as she also took it all in.

“Yeah,” I said with a calm surprise in my voice. “It actually is.” I felt a kind of brightness deep in my gut of excitement and awe. I was reminded of the times that I spent in places like this when I was younger. Before I learned the punishment of life or ever had my first encounter with alcohol at sixteen; an event that would practically define the rest of my future up until this point. I closed my eyes and just- listened.

•••

We made our way back to camp in the evening to find a group of men setting up camp about five yards away from where our tents were. There were three of them, each looking about 30 years of age. They were loud and passed crude jokes back and forth, mainly about pitching tents. We had to walk past them to get to our camp. I felt a level of disappointment that they were here. I wasn’t much for feeling vulnerable amongst strangers, or anyone else for that matter.

As we walked closer one of the men gave us a smile and a wave. I just looked back ahead to camp. Donna stopped in her tracks and waved back. “Drew?” She exclaimed

“Donna?” One of the guys wearing a grey t-shirt, jeans, and a ball cap called back.

The next thing I knew Donna was walking towards the men. I looked longingly at our camp and itched the back of my hand before huffing and following Donna. I watched as she gave this Drew guy a hug.

“It’s good to see you,” she said squeezing his shoulders, her mouth cracked in a huge smile.

“Oh, and this is my friend Maya.” I smiled without showing teeth and gave all the men a short handshake.

“I’m Drew, these are my buddies Pete and Duncan.” He said gesturing to the guys with him. They nodded to us and said Hey.

“Drew is my cousin.” Donna said to me.

“Ah,” I said, a little uninterested.

“So, you guys are camping here tonight?”

“Yup. We do a guy’s trip once or twice a year to give our families a break from our crap,” everyone laughed. “How about you two?”

“We’re here for one more night.”

“Well feel free to join us later. We’ll be cracking cold ones and cooking brats on the fire.”

“That sounds good, we might do that.” Donna said with a chirp.

We said our goodbyes and made our way back to camp. I boiled water for tea as Donna pulled out a deck of cards and began to shuffle them.

“Wow, it’s so fun when paths collide like that.” Donna said, still jazzed from the interaction.

“Yeah, you guys seem close.”

“He only moved up here a year ago and we haven’t had many family gatherings together yet,” she formed an arch with the cards and gave them a bridge shuffle. “We’ve started getting to know each other, though.”

“Oh.” I said, my tone a little flat. Donna sensed this and tried to recover from it.

“He’s family and we’ve never had any reason not to act close with each other.”

“I’m not trying to sound judgmental,” I said, pouring the hot water over the tea bags. “I’ve always been a bit reserved, I guess.” I handed Donna her cup of tea and she sniffed the calming aroma. “Maybe with a sprinkling of social anxiety, too.”

Donna smiled and reached out to put her hand on my arm. She squeezed it lightly. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” She said, looking me kindly in the eyes before pulling back.

About a month ago Donna and I met at a bookstore. After I found the non-fiction book I had come there for, I meandered the stacks as I always did. I pulled a random book from a random shelf that happened to be on mushroom foraging and Donna just so happened to be there to strike up a conversation about it. Donna gushed about how much she loved foraging and, I must admit, she even made it sound fun to me. Before I knew it, I was giving her my contact information and she was planning what would end up being our first hike together.

From the moment we met till now, Donna had been nothing but a ball of sunshine and so open about herself. I had worried that we would make it to this point in our trip and she would realize how cynical I was and would start to distance herself from me. That wasn’t the vibe I was getting. When she put her hand on my arm and said what she had said, I felt how much she really meant it. She truly was a caring, happy, and encouraging person. I loved that about her. It was what probably made me want to spend time with her in the first place, despite the fact it felt like we were opposites in most ways. We played a few games of rummy as the sun just began to go down. We took the guys up on their invite and joined them around their fire. Donna and I sat on a log together and we were each handed a chilled beer. Conversation broke out among everyone and, with Donna there to help,

I began to have a good time. We all roasted bratwursts on long metal sticks as the buns toasted beside the flame. The men downed their beers and Donna just sipped hers in between the telling of great stories. I carefully dumped mine behind the log-in intervals to make it seem like I was working through it. I knew no one would notice if I hadn’t been taking any sips, they were more interested in the conversation.

Eventually, Duncan propped his stick in the ground with his bratwurst hovering over the flame. He took out a glass piece from his pocket and loaded it with weed. He took a hit and passed it around. When it came to me, I took a small puff. I never really enjoyed weed but I found that a small amount would mellow me out.

The guys were having a good time, maybe too good of a time. They started to get loud, their jokes became more aggressive, their choice of conversation more juvenile. As the night progressed they only seemed to act worse. Their voices began to slur and their auras took on a new energy. Pete and Duncan stood and wrestled off to the side. Drew leaned in too close to tell Donna and I about a story that he couldn’t tell correctly and kept on restarting. They were completely careless to their surroundings, and to us. I was feeling sick. Is that what I was like when I was drunk? They disgusted me. I turned to Donna who just seemed uninterested in it all and was probably just thinking about turning in.

I noticed the now warm beer in my hand and the thought of even holding it was becoming repulsive. The whole scene was becoming unbearable, and my head started to spin. A lump formed in my throat, and I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t be around these guys any longer. I took off towards the shore and collapsed just a foot away from the water. I sat on my hands and knees, one palm holding me up from the ground and the other still latched to the beer. I took deep breaths in and out until the feeling of nausea lightened up enough for me to roll back into a cross-legged position. I stared off into the dark night, noticing how the moonlight hit the ocean and twinkled as the water rippled. Over the yelping of the men in the distance, I suddenly heard footsteps coming toward me and looked back to see Donna coming up by my side. I wiped tears from my eyes hoping she wouldn’t see.

“You left pretty quickly,” she said, taking a seat. “Is it the social anxiety you were telling me about?”

“No... this is something else.” I was still recovering from the panic attack and Donna’s presence wasn’t helping. She was witnessing me at a low point that I had been trying to avoid ever since we met. I held the beer in both hands. It was only half empty. I picked at the label with my thumb and bit my lip. Even after seeing the men act so foolish, I still itched to taste the beer, to separate myself from this whole night.

“Oh, do you want to tell me about it?” I could tell she wanted to help but wasn’t sure how.

My attention returned to the moonlit water. I listened to the wind and to the sounds of nature as best I could. I contemplated coming up with a lie. I could tell her that one of the guys reminded me too much of a dead friend or that the smoke was suffocating me, and I needed fresh air. But I was getting tired. Not just of keeping my secret from Donna but from hiding it or acting like everything was fine to everyone in my life. I was sick of my cries for help falling on deaf ears.

“Donna, I’m an alcoholic.” I heard the words out loud for the first time. I felt childish and weak.

I braced myself for the disgust and for the ridicule. Donna just grabbed my arm and rested her head on my shoulder. We sat there together in silence for a while and observed the night around us. Suddenly I felt something melt inside me. I felt like I could breathe easier. I dumped the rest of the beer and watched as the liquid trickled away.

•••

When I woke up the next morning I had forgotten about last night. It wasn’t till I heard Donna’s muffled voice talking to one of the men that it all came back to me. After I had admitted to Donna that I had a problem, we spent a few minutes in silence. Finally, I opened up to her fully about the triggers that I experienced during our trip. I told her about how it was my fourth day. She told me that she was proud of how I made it to four days sober, and I believed her. Now, in the morning, I find myself changing into day clothes and packing the contents of my tent in case I screwed up and we had to leave in a hurry. When I leave the tent, everyone is awake and huddled by the fire. Drew looks up at me and gives me a grumbled “mornin”. Duncan and Pete were pretty much zoned out. Donna was preparing breakfast for everyone using the food she brought and the food which the guys brought.

“Thanks for doing the cooking,” Drew said to Donna and then sipped from his mug of instant coffee.

“Of course, it would have been brutal to watch you three try and do this yourselves.” Donna served up a scramble of egg, bell pepper, and mushrooms. She topped it with cheese and spooned the servings into the bowls that they guys brought. I sat in the circle and Donna handed me a bowl.

“We’re lucky to have you.” Pete said, barely able to lift his head from his hangover.

It was nice to be on the other side of the scene that I saw in front of me. I savored every bite of the scramble and watched the smoke from the fire billow into the air. The gentle sounds of the forest and the crackle of the fire livened the acoustics of the morning. Kayaking home, I trudged across the water just as I had done on the way in. Only now every heavy breath I took, every paddle dip, just made me feel more in the moment, more at peace. I began to see why Donna loved this so much.

On the long drive home, we played songs that both of us knew. We sang along, and even harmonized together. I stuck my hand out of the window and played around as it cut through the air. We played old car ride games and invented new ones of our own. We told stories to one another about our pasts and told each other about our dreams for the future. I knew that I was going home to my old life, a life with instigators and long, tiring days. I

JAMISON SCHROYER is a senior pursuing a degree in Ceramics with a minor in Psychology. Jamison expresses her creativity through pottery, her fantasy through writing, and her reverie through watercolor.