treasure chests – one for me, one for Zoey – and she said they were full of diamonds.”
He jerks open a dresser drawer next to me and pulls out a small, gold-painted treasure chest. “She filled it full of rock candy. She actually turned them opposite of each other, so the sticks were hidden, and it just looked like a chest full of jewels, like real treasure,” he says.
He pulls the remaining sticks out of the paper sack and weaves them perfectly against each other in the small chest. His eyes light up when he smiles and shows me his replica of his Nanna’s gift. The blue rocks sparkle under the light, and I can vaguely picture Micah at Abby and Jade’s age, excited over his treasure chest of blue diamonds.
“It was like the coolest thing I ever got…ever,” he says.
He removes his candy from the wooden chest and tucks it back into its hiding place in his top left dresser drawer. Then he looks over at me.
“Nanna used to always bring me rock candy. I mean, it’s only ninety-nine cents now, so I’m sure it was like super cheap back then,” he says.
My smile sinks into a frown. I don’t think Micah realizes how sad that sounds. The greatest gift he ever received in his life was a cheap treasure chest filled with even cheaper candy, which he loves to this day. He catches me staring and sticks his tongue out. How mature. Blue flecks of candy decorate his tongue like blue rose petals frozen in tiny blocks of ice.
“Don’t worry about fixing your hair,” he says. “You’re about to get it wet again anyway. Get dressed. We have another horse to get through before tonight.”
One thing I really hate about the reservation is the dirt roads and flying dust. It wraps around Micah’s truck, and again, I really can’t see where he’s taking me. I know the river is close by because the top of the bridge is slightly visible over the dust.
He pulls his truck off the main road onto a sandy clearing under a bridge. “This is the place,” he announces. “C’mon. Get out.”
Awful attempts at graffiti and spray painted names cover the bridge. I wonder if Jon and Tara really stayed together “4-ever” or if anyone really cares that Kris M. was here. In the sand is a pile of beer bottles, cigarette boxes, condom wrappers, aluminum cans, and even a pair of swimming trunks. A Bud Light box has been mashed into the sand, half-buried under the tire tracks of a four-wheeler.
“Seriously, Micah?” I ask. I refuse to walk any further. This place is disgusting.
His attempt at a serious face goes askew, and he erupts into laughter.
“It’s bad, right?” he asks me.
“Bad? It’s worse than bad,” I say.
I glance back down at the trash pile and instantly feel the need to bathe.
“Get in the truck. We’re going somewhere else,” Micah says.
“This isn’t where you were taking me?”
“Hell no. Get in.”
I don’t even try to hide my sense of relief, and Micah is having too much fun at my expense.
“That’s the civilian side of the river. It’s county land, so when all your camp buddies talk about going to the river, that’s where they’re going,” Micah says.
“They’re not my friends,” I remind him.
After seeing it for myself, I’m so glad I never went along with them. I cringe at the thought of the kinds of girls they’ve been meeting there.
“I’m taking you to my side of the river,” Micah says. “It’s on reservation land, and it’s a hell of a lot better than that.”
The dusty roads don’t faze me during this ride. I don’t really care where he takes me as long as I don’t have to hang out in a murky landfill all day. The hazy air fades as Micah’s truck hits a gravel road. Rocks sling beneath his tires. A bridge lies ahead of us. It’s the same one that stretches across the civilian side of the river, but it lacks the spray painted names.
Micah pulls his truck off to a clearing under the bridge. It’s still the same water and sand, but it’s cleaner
He jerks open a dresser drawer next to me and pulls out a small, gold-painted treasure chest. “She filled it full of rock candy. She actually turned them opposite of each other, so the sticks were hidden, and it just looked like a chest full of jewels, like real treasure,” he says.
He pulls the remaining sticks out of the paper sack and weaves them perfectly against each other in the small chest. His eyes light up when he smiles and shows me his replica of his Nanna’s gift. The blue rocks sparkle under the light, and I can vaguely picture Micah at Abby and Jade’s age, excited over his treasure chest of blue diamonds.
“It was like the coolest thing I ever got…ever,” he says.
He removes his candy from the wooden chest and tucks it back into its hiding place in his top left dresser drawer. Then he looks over at me.
“Nanna used to always bring me rock candy. I mean, it’s only ninety-nine cents now, so I’m sure it was like super cheap back then,” he says.
My smile sinks into a frown. I don’t think Micah realizes how sad that sounds. The greatest gift he ever received in his life was a cheap treasure chest filled with even cheaper candy, which he loves to this day. He catches me staring and sticks his tongue out. How mature. Blue flecks of candy decorate his tongue like blue rose petals frozen in tiny blocks of ice.
“Don’t worry about fixing your hair,” he says. “You’re about to get it wet again anyway. Get dressed. We have another horse to get through before tonight.”
One thing I really hate about the reservation is the dirt roads and flying dust. It wraps around Micah’s truck, and again, I really can’t see where he’s taking me. I know the river is close by because the top of the bridge is slightly visible over the dust.
He pulls his truck off the main road onto a sandy clearing under a bridge. “This is the place,” he announces. “C’mon. Get out.”
Awful attempts at graffiti and spray painted names cover the bridge. I wonder if Jon and Tara really stayed together “4-ever” or if anyone really cares that Kris M. was here. In the sand is a pile of beer bottles, cigarette boxes, condom wrappers, aluminum cans, and even a pair of swimming trunks. A Bud Light box has been mashed into the sand, half-buried under the tire tracks of a four-wheeler.
“Seriously, Micah?” I ask. I refuse to walk any further. This place is disgusting.
His attempt at a serious face goes askew, and he erupts into laughter.
“It’s bad, right?” he asks me.
“Bad? It’s worse than bad,” I say.
I glance back down at the trash pile and instantly feel the need to bathe.
“Get in the truck. We’re going somewhere else,” Micah says.
“This isn’t where you were taking me?”
“Hell no. Get in.”
I don’t even try to hide my sense of relief, and Micah is having too much fun at my expense.
“That’s the civilian side of the river. It’s county land, so when all your camp buddies talk about going to the river, that’s where they’re going,” Micah says.
“They’re not my friends,” I remind him.
After seeing it for myself, I’m so glad I never went along with them. I cringe at the thought of the kinds of girls they’ve been meeting there.
“I’m taking you to my side of the river,” Micah says. “It’s on reservation land, and it’s a hell of a lot better than that.”
The dusty roads don’t faze me during this ride. I don’t really care where he takes me as long as I don’t have to hang out in a murky landfill all day. The hazy air fades as Micah’s truck hits a gravel road. Rocks sling beneath his tires. A bridge lies ahead of us. It’s the same one that stretches across the civilian side of the river, but it lacks the spray painted names.
Micah pulls his truck off to a clearing under the bridge. It’s still the same water and sand, but it’s cleaner
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