Great Oak Gazette

Genesis Abrams

This is officially the worst camping trip of all time. Somehow, Lacy pitched her tent without tears, Travis didn’t lose any fingernails chopping firewood, and I didn’t place my sleeping bag in feces again. We’re exceptionally lucky compared to most camping trips. I can see the skyline for once from the mountain, pristine and unmarred—until the first wisp of that plaguing, stifling smoke. Pollution’s attacking our last safe space.

Lacy and Travis don’t notice. They’re too busy congratulating each other for making this camping trip a success. We’ve been so busy since sophomore year, splicing our trio apart. Travis juggles his soccer ball absentmindedly while Lacy pulls out her violin. At least I left my engineering books at home, I scoff, watching the smoke from the corner of my eye.

It never seems to leave—pollution, real life, or school. Our camping trips revolve around tears. Travis cries about the beauty of the same old lake, Lacy cries at the charm of the same old tree, and I cry because I have the same old friends. Nobody feels like crying now—maybe from exhaustion at best. Even Lacy, master thespian, stares out into the distance with a placid look. She doesn’t look at the smoke. Instead, she turns to look at me.

“Kevin, why are we here? We haven’t spoken in months. Our GC’s extinct. Prehistoric, dilapidated, decrepit, destroyed, decimated, de—” Lacy rambles, strumming some pathetic song. Travis chucks his soccer ball at me before I can answer, biting, “We really don’t have time to burn. Some of us are actually busy these days. I might go D1 soon. Can’t traipse around in the woods too.”

My eyes sting. Blaming it on the smoke is probably the best option. Lacy’s sprinted down halls for my inhalers. I can’t begin to count the times Travis practiced his hand-eye coordination with my EpiPen. Allergies haven’t been my crutch for a while, but maybe they have to be. Each line of smog defies everything I’ve been doing for months—years even—all behind the scenes, in this forest, since 6th grade.

It’s chance that I met Lacy during third-period math and Travis during P.E. I would’ve come to the forest anyway. I had my schematics built beforehand, down to the last bolt. I gulp, remembering the nights spent alone—every brush of a pine against my leg, a stick scratching my shoe, and those lights in the distance. I need my tongue to work. I need to tell them what I built—all with their help, of course.

Travis carries twice his body weight without thinking about it. I’ve conned him into carrying metal for DIY fireworks and boxes. Except it didn’t feel like a trick. He welcomed whatever challenge I threw at him because he loved conversations. I know his eyes are full of pity when they used to have humor. I have to say something—anything. Maybe a joke of some sort.

“Well, it’s too late to drive home. Lacy, I guess it’s you, me, and the Mute,” Travis decrees, stomping off to his tent after throwing up his hands.

That’s the best he can do? A puny nickname? I expected more gusto from him, but maybe he thinks I can’t handle it anymore. Lacy doesn’t joke around; she consoles. Thirty minutes with her and I’ve opened my mouth at last—to eat. Maybe no words for now, but I’m getting there. I haven’t gone mute like this for months. I want to prove to them that it’s okay now, but I’ve taken a hundred steps back. This is probably the last time I’ll see Travis—Lacy too. Any person could clap after her impressive dance-violin-soliloquy, so why me?

Lacy glances at my thin grin plastered on and sighs. This isn’t resolved. That’s her way of silently giving up. I should probably leave. My throat constricts as she retreats into her tent, one eye trained on me and the other on her precious violin. I must look terrifying right now. Time for me to check out too. Since I used to be the glue of our now dysfunctional friend group, my tent links in the middle.

Usually, we all spent the night in one tent, rotating by crawling through the zippers linking all of them. I don’t remember that social boy. He would’ve kicked a ball—and his shoe—at Travis, then doubled over laughing. Lacy’s violin strings would be tangled in her hair by now. I’m a terrible glue. I can’t even keep the forest together. The smog is probably the reason they retired so early. My misery never stops the fun when we’re together.

But are we together, I think when zipping up my sleeping bag, or did I force them to come? Travis only liked the message I sent. He didn’t heart it. He said okay instead of that sounds amazing. Lacy resents this too. Didn’t she have a concert to play at? I forced them all here. If I leave, everyone might as well. Nobody drives home this late, though. It’s nearly midnight. What did I plan for tomorrow? What’s going to happen tomorrow? Better yet, what’s happening right now?

My brain explodes with thought as my throat closes in. Swallow. I have to swallow. I just can’t breathe. Travis starts snoring through his side of the tent. Great. I roll over to Lacy’s zipper, but she’s cleaning her violin. I know better than to interrupt her during that. Maybe I can make it myself. My inhaler can only be in one of five places.

Not at the bottom of my sleeping bag—silly, but it’s happened before. Not anywhere in my tent. Definitely not lying out by the campfire. I glance at the embers while sifting through my memory. Only Travis and Lacy would know. Another time when it’s terrible to be stuck in my head. I grimace, staring at those stupid embers again. The crackling from burning has been my least favorite sound for years—its cruel laughter during destruction, a tease to all that’s been lost.

I imagine the smog gathering on the pines, stifling them. It would only take one chance spark to emblazon everything. I won’t find my inhaler at this point. Nobody’s awake enough to help me. Then again, Kevin, I remind myself, they are your closest friends. I always think of the right answer too late. But I always get to it eventually. I drag whatever oxygen is left inside my lungs to Lacy’s tent. My face should tell her everything. She’ll know what to do. I fall. I close my eyes, and I leave the world behind.

That was a month ago. I’ve changed since then.

First, I apologized to Travis and Lacy from my hospital bed. From the first wisp of smoke, I knew something was wrong in the forest—that factory polluting everything across the skyline. Then my throat closed. I usually can’t shut up. My inability to talk was the biggest warning I had. I’m not sure why I stayed. I felt possessive over the forest, like it was mine.

Second, I found that stupid factory—and sought revenge, of course. Travis brandished his soccer ball like a foot shuriken while Lacy pushed me in my wheelchair up those steps. Lemmings Corporation. Some Lemmings would have to explain why I couldn’t breathe, why my friends found me purple on the ground, and why I lost my vocal cords for life. An excellent composition from Lacy, akin to baby birds screeching for food, bought me enough time to enter—not to protest or say anything.

I slid them two things: one, a photo Lacy took of my face; I added my inhaler too, still white on the outside but filled with blood. Some pristine assistant clobbered over in her heels, smirking as security dragged me away. It’s sad her all-white outfit gained some variety that day. I guess I get the last laugh. They’ll be seeing us again, bringing me to my third change…

I finally told Travis and Lacy what I’ve been doing all those years. I assumed they wouldn’t care—maybe that it was too mundane for all that effort. They’ve become heroes in their own groups for their flashy accomplishments. But I do things my own way.

“This is sick! Absolutely the coolest thing ever. You’re a genius for this. An actual genius,” Travis exploded, dumbfounded.

“The birds and I can play together! How wonderful!” Lacy gushed, pulling me into a hug.

For the first time, I used my voice box, decreeing the only thing I truly needed to say for the rest of my life: “I am Kevin Gupta. Lemmings Corporation tried to destroy me and my forest. But with Lacy and Travis, I don’t just have this forest. I have the world.”

I guess they liked my solar-powered house. It is one of a kind—not for long. I’ll take every last dollar from Lemmings, reclaim every acre of land, and place humans back in nature if it’s the last thing I do. I haven’t lost my message; I’ve just changed my voice.