Page 149 of Wayfarers

A lot of other people apparently wanted to walk on water during their eclipse, and unlike us they’d planned ahead. Like, months ahead. The Holiday Inn guy was right.

We ended up in a Walmart parking lot.

We couldn’t make our fire.

We couldn’t pitch his tent.

The eclipse wasn’t for another eighteen hours, and we were inches from a van that was inches from another RV, and everyone had their lawn chairs out and chili going and drinks in foam drink holders like it was a tailgate, this, our last night together maybe ever and—

We were going to spend it listening to the dudes in the camper next to us howling along to “Margaritaville.”

Sylvie

“I am going to murder someone.”

Knox is half-listening. “We only have crackers,” he says, going through the cabinets. “Gluten-free crackers. Some of that soup in the fridge. It’s a little dried out but together it could work.”

The van is buzzing from the mighty strength of this Jimmy Buffett sing-along.

“I am,” I tell him, “going to go out there and tell them where they can stick their margaritas.”

“After that, can we eat? I’m starving.”

“You think this is funny. It’s not funny! Two days from now we’re going to be writing stupid letters to each other and until then we’ll be eating pathetic leftovers while trying to ignore the senior citizen hoedown happening around us in this parking lot.”

Knox shuts the cabinet door. “You’re upset,” he says, and immediately I want to deny it, course correct, be fine, fine, fine.

“Yeah,” I say instead. Maturely. “I had a different idea about what tonight would be like.”

“I’ve heard that anticipating something, wanting something, is always more satisfying than actually getting it.”

“That might be the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well,” he says with conviction. “It’s seven p.m., June seventeen, and we’re still together, and we’re young, we’re free, we can do anything we want. We can have the thing we want. We can go anywhere.”

“Actually,” I tell him, “we’re boxed in by the solar eclipse tailgaters, so—”

“We can walk anywhere.”

“To the Exxon next door? I mean, I guess we can—”

“We can walk into that Walmart and buy some junk food.”

I stand up. “Actually, yes. Yes we can.”

A LITTLE LATER

We meet back by the checkout.

“Okay, what did you find?”

I survey my basket. “Rolos. Three kinds of Haribo, including sharks, frogs, and Happy Cola, which, I’ll have you know, is the ultimate Haribo, haters can hate. The crispy M&M’s in the blue package that I thought they didn’t make anymore, so actually I got three of those and I’m going to save one for a break-glass-in-case-of-crispy-emergency situation. Mint Milano cookies because I’m fancy. And some of the chocolate pudding that they don’t refrigerate and somehow it doesn’t go bad.”

“Wow,” Knox says.

“What do you have?”

“Sour Patch Kids. Isn’t it weird to make your candy look like people? But I want it. I guess I want to eat the little chemical and artificially colored people.”