The Patriarchy Pitches a Tent Meg Carroll

Liam has: black hair. Small eyes that make him look like he’s always staring into the sun. A buttchin. One dark freckle on his nose. A gap between his two front teeth, big enough for a cocktail straw, but not for much else. A square jaw. A height of five-foot-nine, but usually he tells people he’s five-ten. As for clothes, Liam has: one flannel shirt from L.L. Bean. A ski jacket from the 80’s he inherited from his dad. Two pairs of jeans. One pair of sweatpants, one pair of suit pants. Two pairs of shoes; some hiking boots and a pair of penny loafers from Brooks Brothers. And a $600 wool jacket his mom bought him on a trip to New York. He brought the jacket along in case he and Emma decide to go to a nice dinner on their trip. He’s had the jacket for over a year and has never worn it. Emma has: short, blonde hair. Giant blue eyes; the color is visible even in the dark. Perfect teeth, due to braces, but perfect nonetheless. A nose that a flea could ski down. Thin legs, small ankles. Good posture. A height of five-foot-five. A tiny face that makes you want to cup her cheeks in your hands. For clothes, Emma has: three flannel shirts from the thrift store. Two college sweatshirts, one being her mom’s from the 90s. A pair of jeans, a pair of sweatpants. A corduroy jacket. A pair of hiking boots, and a pair of Doc Martens. And a red dress, with long sleeves and a babydoll cut, which she also wore on her first date with Liam. Liam had to do a lot of insisting for this first date, which took place at a brew pub. He ordered a Black Widow cider to drink, and Emma ordered a water because she is only 20. They shared a basket of fries. Now they’re on their tenth date, which is a camping trip to Seven Devils in North Carolina. Liam had to do a lot of insisting for this date as well. Emma loves camping, just not in January. But Liam is hard to sway once he has an idea for an excursion. To set up camp, they have: one tent. Two sleeping bags, two sleeping pads, two flashlights for when it gets dark. A tarp in case it rains. Five packs of hand warmers. Extra-long matches, and an extra-long lighter. They picked up firewood at a dingy gas station on the road right before the campsite. You can’t transport firewood over state borders, Liam says. Emma already knows this. Liam was an Eagle Scout. He reminds Emma of this like he’ll forget if he doesn’t say it aloud. He’s good at camping, he says; Emma would be lost without him. Unsafe. The campsite at the Seven Devils is quaint; big enough for a fire and their tent. An Eagle Scout could set up a tent all by himself if he really wanted. Liam doesn’t need Emma’s help. In fact, he secretly expects her to be quite useless. And Emma secretly suspects Liam’s secret thought. She tries not to act bothered. Secretly she is. Liam pulls out the tent pack. It has: eight stakes, two expandable rods. One two-person tent. A tarp. Liam is surprised when Emma moves to spread out the tent with the rods on top, in all the right places. He knows that — for an Eagle Scout — setting up a tent is easy. But Emma isn’t an Eagle Scout, only a girl. You know what you’re doing? he says. Emma almost fakes a smile, but her lips are halted by the annoyance rushing through her neck, flooding into her cheeks. Her eyebrows raise and crinkle in the middle. Yes, she says. She moves to thread the rod through the tent, but Liam thinks she should have started by putting the stakes in the ground. He moves to take over. The tarp rips under his foot — rips magnificently under his foot, a size nine, but usually he tells people he’s a size ten. No tarp tonight. Now the annoyance is in Emma’s eyes, ringing in her ears. You better hope it doesn’t rain tonight, Liam says. To eat, they have: one pack of hot dogs. A bottle of mustard, and a bottle of ketchup. A bag of hot dog buns. One pack of marshmallows. A bar of Hershey’s chocolate, and a box of graham crackers. Two giant jugs of water. The basics. They forgot the metal pokers, and each blames the other for this. Liam blames Emma for not reminding him when he ran into the gas station for firewood, and Emma blames Liam for forgetting in the first place. Liam is more vocal about it, more obviously agitated. Quite useless, he thinks, secretly. Emma is still thinking about the tarp. After dinner and the fire, they huddle together in the tent. It’s cold; the coldest day of winter so

far. Liam might have picked a better weekend to go camping if he’d thought about it. But they have hand warmers, he thinks. He steals an extra out of the packet for himself. Emma shivers beside him, and he pulls her close. Not really because he wants her close — he’s been sensing her radiating anger ever since the tarp broke — but because he could use the extra warmth. They both could. An Eagle Scout knows best.

First they hear a pitter, then a patter. A steady tapping. Then the sound crescendos into brutal nicks, slaps, and beatings on the outside of the tent. It’s a rainstorm, a real drencher. No tarp. No tarp. So the flooding starts. Water seeps in through the bottom tent flap and the sleeping pads turn soggy. Without thinking, Emma and Liam grab the valuables: two wallets, two cell-phones, a camera, a flashlight. Hurry up, Liam says. The rain feels like knives on Emma’s skin as they run for the car. It’s only a short distance away from the campsite, but it’s dark. The flashlight hardly cuts through the raindrops. It takes them too long. Emma’s clothes are soaked through every thread, every layer, her blond hair is stuck down flat to her head. It’s cold, so cold. Roughly 16 degrees outside, in fact. Emma wants to go home. To go home right now and put on her Mom’s college sweatshirt from the 90’s, fresh out of the dryer. She wants to ingest the beady hand warmers. She wants to blast a hair dryer on her skin until she is hot and dry to the bone. By next week, Emma has: a low-grade fever. Body aches, chills. A cough. An inhaler, but only just in case. Phlegm. A regret. She does not have: a boyfriend.