A Tense Tent

A Tense Tent by Gary Benton
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Every summer, when the temperature goes way up, Bubba and I go camping for a couple of days just to relax. We usually leave the kids at home and the two of us head for the nearest river, stream or lake. Most of the time having Bubba along is like having a fourteen-year-old boy with me, because he’s not the most mature man I’ve ever known. He still thinks like a kid, which is fine as long as you’re a kid, but he’s on the high side of his forties. I remember just a couple of weeks ago.

I banged on the door harder and finally saw a light come on through the cracked window of Bubba’s mobile home. After a few minutes the door swung open and there stood Bubba in bikini briefs, which his beer belly almost completely covered. He was wearing a sleeveless tank top that read, ‘If ya don’t like Umerika go home’ and unlaced combat boots.

Giving him a big twisted grin I asked, “You ‘bout ready to go?”

He scratched where it itched, gave me a dumb look and asked, “What are you talkin’ ‘bout and what time is it?”

“Me and you are goin’ campin’ for the next three days, or did you forget since last night? And, it’s a quarter after five.”

“Five? As in the mornin’?”

“Uh-huh, get your gear and let’s load my truck. I’d like to be down on the Piney River by daylight and that’s not far off. We can get in some trout fishin’.” As I spoke I felt my frustration growing, but it did every single time I went with Bubba. He was not the most dependable person in the world and he hated mornings. Once, as we sat around the campfire at night, he told me Army basic training had ruined mornings for him forever. I had to agree to up to a point. My drill instructor woke us each morning by banging on the inside of a trashcan with a nightstick and that’s one loud alarm clock! Anyway, back to the trip.

Daylight found us at the river and it was empty, and I mean not a soul around. I grinned and said, “Bubba, you get your tent up, while I gather the wood, unload the truck, and get some water to cook with.”

“I can do that!” He replied as he smiled, burped, and picked up the duffle bag that held his brand new tent. “And, I found a level spot with no rocks or sticks.”

“Good Bubba, now you do what needs to be done while I get busy too.” We had to park the truck a good mile from the campsite and then walk to the river. There was nice clear trail and it was no chore at all to start back toward the truck. I kind of enjoyed the fact the campsite was away from the traffic and noise of the road.

I unloaded the truck and brought the rest of the supplies back to camp, placing them on a large tarp near where the fire would be. I noticed Bubba was having some problems with the tent, so I asked, “Ya need some help?”

“Naw, this is simple. You do what you gotta do and I’ll have this thing up in no time.”

Right then and there I knew we were in trouble. See, any time Bubba thinks he’s in control of something, well, he ain’t. But, out of respect and to get away from his cursing, I walked off into the woods looking for dry wood. The temperature had been extremely hot the last month and finding the wood was no trouble at all. However, I noticed each time I returned to the camp with wood, Bubba was muttering and cursing to himself as he held various aluminum poles in his hands.

As soon as the wood was gathered, I asked, “Sure you don’t need any help?”

Bubba’s face was as red as a beet when he turned to me and said brusquely, “I said I’m doin’ this! You jess take yer buns and go some place for a while and let me do this. How can I get this done if you keep botherin’ me every hour or so? Heck, I got me one of them college degrees, so I ain’t ignert.”

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