Some "Camping" Trip

Author’s note: Cassie and I decided to write about a hilarious memory that we shared together while at a campsite with her family. We were originally going to make a combined piece, but decided to write separate point of views on the same time. Our main focus in this piece was to see just how much two people’s perspectives may vary from each other and it was overall just a fun piece to write. Please comment on both pieces.

Cassie


No one can truly express, with any amount of words, just how it feels to have a best friend.  When a person comes into your life, that is truly special, that’s not something you are going to get everyday, that is something worth fighting for and holding onto.  That’s how it is with my best friend Callie, we click, it’s as simple as that.  We agree and disagree, but we accept each other and hear each other out.  Finding a person who knows every secret about you and still loves you is truly something that not a lot of people will experience in their lifetime.  “Best friends are the sisters God forgot to give us.” ~Anonymous. Enough said.  

The simple memories are ones that in the end, matter most, for every single one is special in its own way.  Pulling up to the campsite, Callie and I bounded out of the car and walked down to the fire like the cool cats that we were, still humming the song that had been playing on the radio.  A night full of burgers, smores, and sunshine all to share with my best friend equals an obviously great time.  With the country music blaring from the radio, I rolled my eyes and set out to change that, turning on my favorite station, a Katy Perry song played through the speakers, only to have it changed right back by my brother who never fails to get on my nerves. Being the classic brother and sister that we are, I changed it back continuing in what seems a non-ending cycle, until finally he gave up and I grinned in satisfaction.  The next song came through and let me tell you first off my dad can absolutely not dance for the life of him.  Of course, that doesn’t stop as he breaks into the whole routine, unfortunately for all the people around which included my mom, brothers, my dad’s friend Ralph and his son Alex, along with Callie and I.  

The boys having caught fish earlier, I spent the majority of the night getting a piece of fish dangled in front of my face courtesy of Alex, much to my dissatisfaction.  We are now sitting at a picnic table, waiting for our cheeseburgers, as Callie is showing off her latest phone background which consisted of us posing while wearing the dorkiest sunglasses we found in Kohls the plastic hanger sticking straight out. Soon, my uncle and cousins along with my dad’s work friend and his wife are all here.  

Sitting around the fire, I look around at the sea of happy faces stuffing burgers, hot dogs, hashbrowns, and beans in their faces as if they had never seen food in their life.  In the moment, although I thought nothing of it at the time, I was truly happy being with my family, some delicious food, and a best friend.  

As night settled in, the boys trudged down to the pier to fish, armed with only flashlights and fishing poles, and the most ridiculous headlights strapped across their foreheads.  Callie and I remained, content with the fact that we now had several smores in our stomachs, our music playing, and a marshmallow between our fingers that we were in the process of turning a regular marshmallow into marshmallow taffy, a bonfire tradition.  When we got bored we wandered around on the paths, just talking about whatever we came to mind, or in silence because for us silence didn’t have to be awkward, it felt perfectly okay to just know that we had someone with us who understood who we were.  

After sneaking around in the woods, in a failed attempt to scare to guys who had now returned empty-handed to the fire we resorted to one of the tents.  I put on my i-Pod setting it to shuffle on one of my Avril Lavigne albums and we plopped on the air mattress joking around and telling each other stuff that wouldn’t make sense to any other person who could’ve been listening.  We understood each other and that was all that mattered.  When the boys snuck up to the side of the tent in a fail attempt to scare us, we fake screamed and pounded our fists against the side seeing if we’d able to catch them off guard.  We crawled out the tent, when we were sure they had left and heard voices coming from the next tent over, could payback be any more obvious?  With myself following Callie’s lead we sprinted the distance between the two tents, wincing at any twig that snapped beneath our feet not wanting the parents to catch us in the act.  When we got closer we slowed and the next thing I knew Callie was on the ground.  “Wait. Cassie don’t-” she started, but before I had time to process anything I was on top of her, a stick painfully cutting into my calf.  

Only then did we realize that the tent was staked into the ground and that was the string holding it down.  I rolled off of her, but made no attempt to stand because we laid there speechless, dying of laughter.  When we finally did pull ourselves from the ground, we avoided eye contact knowing we would just have another laughing fit, and brushed ourselves off only then realizing we both had some nasty cuts on our calves where the stick had got a piece of both of us, along with scrapes on our hands and forearms.  Callie, having volleyball the next day, was frantic to cover up her “battle scars,” so we rushed to the car to get sweatshirts.  Returning to the fire, we shared knowing looks, but casually joined in the conversation anyway.  

Being our usual weird selves we took to only speaking spanish and if any one spoke English in response we acted as if we had no idea what they were saying.  When Ralph told us to make him another hamburger I responded with, “Yo no cocino hamburgesas muy bien,” or in other words, “I don’t cook hamburgers very good.” When confusion was evident on their faces, we both took the opportunity to bolt from our lawn chairs and act it out, which proved to be a lost cause even with my cousin, who had a few years of practice up his sleeve, helping with a few words.  You eventually sat back down, drowning our failure in more marshmallow taffy and singing songs we learned in spanish with Alex occasionally joining in.  As we pitched in the conversation, we laughed openly and rubbed our sore legs every so often as night set above us, the stars twinkling over our heads.  It was truly the end of a perfect night and some memories I would hold dear to my heart for the rest of my life, though simple as they may be, this is what built up the friendship between Callie and I, into where we both stand today, together.  

Callie

I can’t imagine anything better. The weather is nice, I’m outdoors, the music makes me laugh and what makes it perfect is that I’m sitting on a beat up picnic table with my best friend, Cassie, laughing right  there with me. Her dad puts on absolutely horrible music and starts dancing in a god awful embarrassing way that makes me die with laughter.  Nothing could make this more perfect. Her brother’s perfectly annoying, as usual, and her brother’s friend is walking around with a hatchet acting like he’s so cool and tough, which he’s not. Even that keeps Cassie and I laughing because the mood is absolutely, you guessed it, perfect.

Her dad grabs some burgers off the fire that he made and offers one to Cassie and I. Ladies first I guess. We pig out until it gets dark and the boys go out fishing for tomorrow's lunch. We decide that this is the perfect time to go explore the campgrounds. We walk around imitating people we know and being perfectly obnoxious as we go. Luckily not too many other campers are around to be annoyed. As a joke we come up to our campsite but cut through the woods instead. Right at the edge of the campsite we duck behind a tree plotting out our attack to scare her brother. But of course, since it’s Cassie and I, we each manage to step on a stick and get everyone’s attention. So much for the element of surprise.

Once we’ve each had plenty of s’mores, we head back to one of the tents and play music on Cassie’s iPod telling each other random stuff that only best friends would tell each other. Cassie’s brothers and cousins try to scare us by slamming into the tent or putting their hand on it as if they were a ghost. We counterattack by pushing them over every time. We’re too smart for their tricks. Then, as a trick for us, we stealthily run  to the other tent where there’s a lantern glowing from the center.

I duck behind a tree and motion for Cassie to follow. We run behind another before our final sprint to behind the tent. Once we’re clear, I bolt with Cassie close behind. As I’m running I don’t see the tent line jetting out of the corner of the tent because of the darkness and trip. I fall hard on the ground. Just as I turn and start my warning to Cassie, she trips as well and falls hard in almost the same exact spot as me and manages to bring a big stick with her to cut up our legs.

Our initial reaction was, “Are you okay!?!” but that quickly passed. We lay there for nearly three minutes laughing too hard to stand. Once we finally do get off the cold, hard dirt ground we go into another laughing fit as we realize no one was even in the tent, and the lantern was just left on by her cousin. I nearly wet my pants, or shorts to be more exact, when I fully process just how stupid we were. After we pick ourselves up and dust ourselves down we head to the car to grab our sweatshirts to attempt to cover up the scrapes and bruises we so gracefully received from the fall.

Still trying to hide everything, we sit down by the fire with some of the adults and start talking to them. Cassie and I decide it would be funny to try to talk completely in Spanish from then on and the grownups scramble to try to understand. They pick up a word here and a word there but it’s only funny to us. Every time they attempt to say something back in Spanish Cassie and I decide on the response of, “¿Que?”. Their look of confusion makes everything about this night that much better. And the look seems to be plastered to their face as we make marshmallow taffy and lick the sticky goodness off of our fingers.

What’s their problem? What’s wrong with them? Those are probably their exact thoughts. The answer to that questions is  very simple minded. We’re best friends. Isn’t that what they do? Act young and foolish because they bring that out in each other? Embrace each others quirks? Laugh at dumb jokes? Sing so obnoxiously loud that other people complain? These are the perfect qualities of my friendship that I can’t imagine being taken away. The ones that matter.

Connections

Author's Note: Lately I've just been trying to keep my writing frequency up, so I wrote about something that happened somewhat recently. I've found I write better when I write about something I've experienced or some memory, so I wrote about... well you'll just have to see. 

I spot a gentle bird off in the distance and it looks dead at me, then flies away. That's the bird. The one I've been hearing all of these days. That pure two note tune that brings a smile to my face no matter what my mood. Beautifully carried through the air, the sweat sound triggers a nonexistent memory, causing me to react in a way that can't be described.  Passed through my genes my reaction is to whistle back. The same exact two note tune.

It's truly remarkable how you can be connected to your relatives without even knowing it. Without knowing them that well or without even knowing the connection. Finding out unique aspects of how anything from really blue eyes, to a reaction to a specific noise is related to someone you barely know. 

I've recently discovered that I have this connection with my great-grandma.

Sitting outside eating dinner on mother's day a bird off in a nearby tree sang the two notes.  My grandma makes a comment about how that was the bird that her mom used to whistle back and forth with. I was positive that it was the exact bird I hear in the morning sometimes. The conversation continues with remarks on how we are alike in that way, and how my great-grandma is still here. In the form of that bird.

The hunt began as my dad tried to find a bird book and CD he had for his classroom a couple of years ago. In the meantime my grandma and I talked about the sound. By then, the bird had left and we were trying to recreate the tune it so beautifully makes. My mom tried to whistle it, and to her I bet it sounded right on, but there's a distinct difference between that bird and anything else. My grandma remembers from her childhood and knows that's not quite right. The first time I tried I could tell it sparked her memory because the smile on her face said it all. My grandma couldn't exactly get the tune right either, so it must be a special bond only I share with my great-grandma.

It's amazing the little details in life that you give no second thought until something comes out if it. That bird, the Black-Capped Chickadee we now think it is, is probably the strongest connection I have with Lumpy -- That was my great grandmas nickname. She and I never actually spent that much time together, but somehow I got this reaction to this one and only bird. It could've been any other bird that I whistled back to. But it was the Black-Capped Chickadee. The one that stood out. To me, to her but to nobody else.