A Quick Recounting of Acadia

 We drove out to Maine.

Didn't have much reason to, or much reason not to. Sage had ordered a truck bed tent and I had quit my job. I guess that was all the reason we needed. Left early on a Saturday morning in late August and stopped a handful of times. I offered to drive every hour or so, but Sage kept turning me down. Something about that made me smile. The "I've got this" attitude. 

Long fucking drive, but we arrived in the afternoon and walked the rocky coast line for a while, stretching our legs and breathing the salt air, before driving into the campground to look at our site. 

It was what you'd expect in a town like that. A paved loop with people packed together in 20x20 sections. RV's and netted canopies, drunk dads and loud kids. Eighty fucking dollars. Neither of us had any interest in hanging around. Drove back out of the campground and parked by the large "Acadia" sign. Debated on if we wanted to camp at the campground or try to camp unnoticed by the water, listen to the waves and watch the lights of boats in the distance. A sign nearby told us it was illegal to camp near the water, but we debated anyway. Sage asked a couple people if they had, or if they would and didn't really get any clear answers. Eventually I pushed for the campground, to avoid being woken up at three in the morning and having to relocate or deal with cops. Probably the wrong choice. 

Bought a few gallons of water and a sweatshirt because I forgot my jacket. Walked the rocks and the water, collecting shells. The stink of fish and rotted seaweed and the beauty of the expanse and indifference. I filled a large shell with smaller shells and other bits I thought were pretty and gave it to Sage. As far as I know it is still tucked safely between the windshield and dashboard of her truck. Kissed her in the sun. Walked on. 

Sage found a quiet hidden place, took off her clothes and stood in the freezing ocean. She had to. I didn't. Too fucking cold. Probably the wrong choice. Eventually a man and his dog were approaching and I handed her her clothes and we laid on a rock for a while, staring at the sky and talking about nothing. She held my thumb and that did more for my heart than I expected. It always does. 

Eventually we walked back toward the truck. Walked another path in the treeline and against the rocks. Bought a bottle of wine and went to sit on different rocks as the evening settled in. A couple near us had stainless steel wineglasses and we asked them if we could use their corkscrew. Stared out at the ocean, ate pea crisps and drank wine. 

Drove back to the site when the sun began to die.

Sage started a fire and I prepped the food. We ate, fucked around, and slept in the truck bed tent. Something washed over me in the night, a dream maybe, or some fear or anxiety or maybe a combination. I woke unable to shake it. In the morning, we cleaned up a little, ourselves, but mostly the site, and left to get breakfast.

Downtown.

Place called "Eat a Pita". A line out the picket fence of stereotypical upper-class New England tourist folks. And us. Hair everywhere. Filthy. Ripped clothes and large glasses. Vapes and American Spirits, mumbling about fucking and class consciousness and arson. I'm sure we had a scent. I felt like a cancer cell in fresh tissue and it was beautiful. I sat taking notes of the people and their conversations (using none of it here, apparently) while Sage typed on her phone. Our coffee came, which was all we really wanted, and then our breakfast. Mine; French toast with peanut butter, and Sage; a Greek omelet (though she had trouble nailing down just one choice). Sage playfully gave me shit about the peanut butter. People have, people will. They're wrong. She's wrong.

The family of seven next to us was grating, but I was writing down everything they were saying. In case I needed villains for something later. Sage got up and stepped outside of the fence to smoke. She brought her coffee with her but before she did asked me if I thought they'd think it's weird. 

"Who cares?" I said.

"I do it all the time," she said.

I had a couple hundred words of shorthand conversation written in my phone when she came back. We finished our breakfast, had another cup of coffee, and walked to the truck.

Debated on where to go next. Portland for lunch? Straight home? We figured if we made good time we'd be back by six or so and have time to wind down and relax for a while in the evening.

Maine doesn't play by normal rules of time and space. At one point we were certain we had somehow lost two hours. Neither of us could remember the time passing, and we were short of where we should have been by quite a way. We joked about it but, on top of the way I already felt, it stuck with me. Still does. 

Near four, we broke into New Hampshire. It was fucking hot. We had essentially been driving straight down the coast, so we decided to take an hour, go to the beach. Searched up a couple beaches on the map, chose one. We had to park a half mile away (summer in tourist towns) and changed in the car.

"Fuck," Sage said. "This is gonna be a pube thing."

"Who fucking cares," I said.

"I do."

It didn't matter, but I could feel the nerves coming off of her for a bit. A man near the car in a panama hat, playing guitar and singing at the ocean. I took a picture. We walked to the beach and set up a towel and laid there for a minute. I tried to shake the weird feeling out of me again, but it wasn't going anywhere. Into the water, out of the water. Sun dried, walked barefoot back to the car. 

We were both getting hungry again and drove a half hour to the nearest Whole Foods and scooped twenty dollars of shit and sushi into containers and ate it at a table outside in the evening. I could feel myself detaching. Dissociating. It had been getting worse since the night. It was six and we still had hours to go. 

"I can drive the rest of the way," I said. 

"No, it's fine."

So Sage drove. New Hampshire into Vermont. I was mostly quiet and staring out the window letting my mind wander. Doing my best to avoid that feeling, whatever it was. Stopped to piss behind an abandoned gas station. The sun finally went down and we had an hour and a half left. 

Sage played music she loved, or liked, or wanted to make fun of. I absorbed the moment. It was beautiful as the truck careened the winding mountain roads, headlights crashing off into the forests. 

It was ten or so before we got back to her house. 

"Do you want to watch a movie and just relax?" she asked.

"Yeah that sounds great."

"I think you should stay here tonight. It's late and I don't really want you to leave yet."

"Of course," I said.

We sat on Baby Bed for a while while she smoked and I laid my head against her legs, my legs dangling off the end of the collapsing toddlers bed and wondered if there were spiders near me. We went inside and watched a movie, fell asleep together on the couch, and eventually went to bed. 

And I just couldn't shake it.

We didn't talk for a week.