I spent the summer prior to ninth grade with my best friend Todd at his grandparents’ home in North Carolina. The same summer, I received my first camera as a birthday gift.
The wilderness was our playground, a setting I enjoyed but one that Todd truly cherished. One day, we set up camp, which for us included a tent on the slope of a grassy hill. I was simply a pawn in Todd’s world. I still hold a vague recollection of trying to assemble a tuna fish sandwich inside the tent, and Todd mocking or scolding me or perhaps both when I spilled stinky portions onto the floor. However, I remember in detail how after the sun abandoned us, I laid back and gazed through the tent’s cutout that served as a window back and above my head. Todd told me that at any moment, I might look and catch the outline of a figure staring back with killer intentions. I knew Todd was trying to scare me, but I couldn’t help but imagine how a strike of lighting might briefly illuminate the boogeyman.
I don’t remember sleeping in a tent since that summer other than once shacking up in a news vehicle deep inside a forest while covering the story of a real killer on the loose. (My co-worker slept next to me in the passenger’s seat, tucked under a blanket for protection from that night’s boogeyman.) Despite all this, few scenes relax a day’s anxiety more than sitting on our back patio and listening to wildlife hidden in the desert. Staring at the stars is an outdoor cineplex. I hike once a week and probably ride a bike now more than anytime since I was a kid.
However, that’s still a mountain away from spending a night zipped inside a tent. This tent-a-phobia will greatly disappoint friends and strangers who are camping enthusiasts, but a man must know his limits. I imagine capturing a video of a night-in-the-life of camping would provide some spectacular cinematic moments. But I would likely focus one eye on the viewfinder and another searching for the scary figure lurking in the woods, waiting for a strike of stormy weather to reveal himself. I imagine Todd, wherever he is now, would smile with a sense of pride on his role in keeping a city boy in his place.
