Spooky anecdotes were shared as the last of our group finished the attraction. Brooke wasn’t the only one to be startled by the mansion’s eerie surprises. When Brase and Cal came out, clutching one another and shivering, I’m not convinced they were acting.

As the excitement wore down, our group broke apart. Dean and Marissa took off, Cal catching a ride with them. As they departed, I heard Dean suggesting to Marissa, “Maybe that guy selling candied apples is handy with a paint brush.” I said goodbyes, graciously accepted well-wishing, immediately forgot about a dozen names, and made promises to see those return after my hike. Another night of Ping Pong warfare? Sign me up!

Cal told me we needed to start training as soon as I finished, “With that Loveman thing.” He wants us to go on one of those shows, trying to eat 40 pounds of pudding or whatever. He was so excited at the prospect, I couldn’t turn him down. What’s half a ton of sweetened slime between friends, anyway?

As I made my goodbyes, Brent quietly asked, “Sure you don’t want to play anymore games?” I gave him a look. He laughed and I joined in. That disaster was miles behind me. I was floating too high to offer it so much as a parting glance.

As we walked to the car, I looked back at the carnival, sad to be leaving. In a few hours I had more adventure than I’d been expecting from the whole trip. It was a wild, roller coaster of a night, but well worth the price of admission – regardless of who footed the bill.

My benefactor was several paces ahead, comparing notes with Laurel about the Fun/Spook house. “Yes, he DID,” Laurel asserted, glaring at Brent. “He actually SQUEAKED when the pirate-skeleton said his name!”

Brooke covered her face, bending forward as she convulsed with laughter.

“Ok, ok,” Brent relented. “I did produce a SOUND. You’re right. But it was definitely more of a manly squeal. You’ve got to give me that. I still can’t figure out how the damn thing knew my name, though…”

Laurel imitated Brent’s reaction, squeaking and ducking behind Brooke in terror. Even Brent joined in the laughter at the exaggerated recreation.

Beside me, Brase asked, “Have a good time?”

I nodded. “Sorry I didn’t get to go through the spook house with you. After suffering through all the other rides, I’m sorry that we weren’t together for the one I could actually stomach.”

“No you aren’t.”

I turned to face him, worried I had somehow offended him, but saw that he was grinning fiercely. Knowingly.

I shook my head, smiling. My focus drifted toward the exchange ahead of us. Laurel was chasing Brent through the parking lot, swinging an invisible chainsaw while he dodged between cars, giggling and warning her that, “This isn’t cool. That thing still has it’s chain!”

Brooke clapped and cheered, delighting in her brother’s terror. Her laughter was lilting and abundant. I like that sound.

“Well…” I admitted, “maybe not.”

~~~

I took my place in the car, backseat, center. “The guest of honor’s perch!” Brent called it. Brooke was to my left, Brase my right, joy and contentment filling the cracks between like cottony candy mortar.

I did get my cotton candy, by the way. The evidence is still dully streaked on my tongue.

And now we come to it.

If it isn’t apparent by now, I humbly suggest a vision test in the near future. Over the past two nights, I’ve developed a significant crush on Brooke. As bloated as these entries have been, I’ve still omitted most of our conversations. We talked A LOT. Yes, she’s a fair bit younger than me, but I feel like I got to know her pretty well, and I REALLY liked that person. She is witty, charming, fun, bold – you get the picture. I hadn’t been so sure at first, but by the end of the fair, it certainly SEEMED my interest in her was reciprocated to some degree.

The hell with an age gap, the hell with long-distance; if she was ok with it, I certainly was.

Understand, that’s where I was coming from. Plus, the warm ether still dribbling into my brain after the spook house experience was coloring my thinking as well. Everything felt right, natural. Something wonderful was happening, and I was happy to be along for the ride.

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So, after a few minutes in the car, I reached out to hold her hand.

Bear in mind, we’d been hand-in-hand in that spook house just twenty minutes earlier.

I didn’t try anything weird or creepy, I swear. I just casually reached out for her hand. The moment our skin touched, she jerked it away like my fingertips were a steaming iron.

Oh, no.

What did I just do?

The rest of the ride was dead silent. Brent, Laurel, Brase… I don’t know if they saw what happened or felt its frigid echo, but no one spoke a word until we reached the drop-off point.

I stared straight ahead, eyes wide, mind racing. What happened? Had I overstepped my boundaries? What did I do wrong? I was confused, panicked, and absolutely terrified.

And then the car stopped. Brase opened his door and slid out. I finally glanced at Brooke, but she was staring out the window. She didn’t even say goodbye.

The next thing I knew, I was standing outside, in the dark, alone, limply waving to a car full of people who, for all I knew, had just transformed into enemies.

Ok, that’s not entirely fair. After I got my pack out of the trunk, the others acted normally. Maybe they’d been quiet during the ride because they were tired. Brase was telling me how excited he was for me, how he knew I’d love the trail and to tell him all about it when I got back. Brent was playfully offering Ping Pong gun lessons, “At my friends and family rate!” Laurel warned Brett that if he didn’t stop harassing me about my poor play, she’d bring out the chainsaw again.

Words; lots of words. For me, about me, around me. Into an ear they went, meeting no resistance en route, and out the other they were rudely hustled. Nothing stuck because the big, spongy glob in between wasn’t receiving any more callers.

Salutations came and went, and I stood there, slack-jawed, staring at Brooke’s side of the car. She gave me a little wave. That was it, the climax of our night together. Less energy expended than if she was swatting a bothersome gnat. Maybe she was.

Next thing I knew, the windows were up, the doors closed, and the car was rolling away. And all I could do was wave. Then it was gone, leaving me standing there, an idiot in a backpack, listening to the same, desperate refrain repeating in my mind again and again. “What did I do?”

~~~

Brent texted me later, making sure I’d reached camp safely. That was a nice gesture… which was promptly overwritten by another milk bottle joke. I know he doesn’t realize how much of a sore spot that’s become, but it really stung. Through him, Brase and Laurel reiterated how much they enjoyed meeting me. I reciprocated.

And I did enjoy it; it was a great night… if you snip off the last five minutes. Overindulging with Cal, Dean’s antics, bonding with Laurel over motion sickness, Brase’s consistent positivity, the haunted fun house… I had a great time with some amazing people.

But that’s not how our minds work, is it? We can have that, hours of uplifting, wonderful experiences. But if there’s one stumble, one moment of intense regret– ESPECIALLY if it happens near the end of the sequence – what does our mind focus on? Why does every positive experience get swept into a heaping bundle and jammed in the closet while that miserable outlier remains, alone, in the center of the room to taunt and demoralize us?

And when that blemish surrounds a person you’ve developed feelings for? It sits there, pointing at you accusingly, and sing-songs “You blew it.” Too fast, bad timing, misinterpreting events? No. There is no circumstantial mitigation. There is only self-loathing and a deep, fundamental understanding that, somehow, you just ruined everything.

So, how was your night?

~~~

I’m being ridiculous. I know it. Having gotten all that out, released the frustration like I’m on a woodland therapist’s vertical couch, I feel better. So, thank you. I really needed that.

Please don’t judge me too harshly if you think I’m overreacting or being indulgently maudlin – I am on both counts, I know – just… if you met the girl, if you felt those spark, I think you’d understand. That fun house was…

Ok, I have a job to do. These miles aren’t going to hike themselves. If it comes up again, if I have the chance to rectify what I did, I will. I’ll do better. When we talk, I’ll apologize or ask that we pretend it never happened. We move on or not – or just be friends, that would be fine, too. The romantic interludes were just a little playful flirting. Friends do that sometimes. Like I said yesterday, no expectations. Things working out between us was always highly unlikely. I knew that. So, if anything, this is me… being right, in a way. Ha.

You know what? I like pudding; depending on the flavor, maybe I kind of love it some times. It’s basically pre-chewed by nature so even the toothless among us can enjoy it. When I get back, I think I might just take Cal up on his offer. There are worse ways to become famous than eating your way into the spotlight.

~~~

Winding down; 17 miles covered. I am so ready to dig in right here and collapse. Tomorrow’s a new day.

I got another text from Brent, just making sure I’m ok. He’s a good guy; didn’t even mention the milk bottles this time.

I’m going to settle down and get my head straight while enjoying some of last night’s leftovers. That’s right, I picked up a few things to bring with me, but don’t worry, I didn’t squish an Elephant Cake into my pack. Like the failed gift for my fabricated sibling, it’s just a few treats to remind me of the people I care about. The crowning jewel of the memorial is a bag of almonds. That might not sound like much to the uninitiated, but if you’ve ever experienced roasted almonds slathered in cinnamon or sugar from a fair, you understand. I’ve been looking forward to them for hours, so they’re going to make for a delicious repose.

Tomorrow, my plan is to get past Punxsutawney. It’s best known as the digs of a certain meteorologically-gifted rodent. Maybe he’s related to Ergo. It’s the wrong season to watch him at work, but I might seek him out a conference anyway. If he’s so magical, able to detect the change in seasons, I’m sure he can’t be too shabby with dating advice, right? What could it hurt? Better than following my own intuition, clearly.

Who knows? Maybe, if he’s lucky, I’ll have a few almonds left over from tonight’s binge, and we can make a trade. Just me, my groundhog friend, and a few sugar-coated nuts. What more could anyone else ask for?