The Cabin in the Woods

There were no airs and graces with Marty. He called it as he saw it, was totally comfortable with himself, and seemed to want for nothing. He cherished his friends, Jules knew-he’d told her enough times, stoned and relaxed-and he seemed completely unselfconscious. And he was funny.

If Jules had been born a guy, she’d told herself many times, she would have wanted to be Marty.

But as soon as she saw him and what he was doing, Jules snorted in disbelief. It was almost a laugh, she supposed. But not quite.

Marty had parked his car and was still smoking a huge bong while climbing out. It was an awkward maneuver, but he concentrated hard to maintain his balance and avoid knocking the bong against the doorframe. It looked to Jules as if he’d done this many times before.

They all glanced around to see who was watching, who might see, and whether there were any cops in the area. The police often cruised by at regular intervals, and sometimes if they were bored they’d park up and watch for any students they could hassle for something. It didn’t happen much… but for them, something like this would have been pure gold.

“Marty… ” she muttered, not quite knowing what to say

“Fuck is wrong with you, bro?” Curt said, a little louder.

Marty took the bong away from his mouth and slammed the car door behind him. He blinked slowly.

“People in this town drive in a very counterintuitive manner, and that’s what I have to say.” “Do you want to spend the weekend in jail?” Curt asked. “’Cause we’d all like to check out my cousin’s country home, and not get boned in the ass by a huge skinhead.”

Speak for yourself, Jules thought of quipping, but Curt sounded serious. And pissed.

“Marty, honey, that’s not okay,” she said instead.

“Statistical fact,” Marty said. “Cops will never pull over a man with a huge bong in his car. Why?” And damn if he didn’t take one more hit before continuing. “They fear this man. They know he sees further than they and he will bind them with ancient logics.” He smiled, wide and honest, and then the faintest frown creased his forehead as he focused on Jules and asked, “Have you gone gray?”

“You’re not bringing that thing in the Rambler,” Curt said.

“A giant bong, in your father’s van?” Marty asked as if the very suggestion was mad. Jules was trying not to smile, but it was hurting her face. She glanced sidelong at Curt and saw his simmering anger, but then she heard a muffled giggle from behind her. She couldn’t tell whether it was Dana or Holden, or maybe both of them.

She was going to look down at her feet, but then Marty suddenly became more animated. He emptied the bong’s water, removed the bowl, placed it into a recess inside the tube and pushed the entire length closed. Then he plucked a lid from the bottom and fitted it neatly on top, and the bong had become a silver thermos flask. “What are you?” he asked Curt, maneuver complete. “Stoned?”

Curt broke. His tension went and he walked forward, clapping Marty on the shoulder. As they passed her by Marty gave Jules a quick wink. She rolled her eyes.

Dana and Holden got into the Rambler, and Marty leapt in after them.

“It’s going to be a fun weekend,” she said, probing to see whether Curt was okay. He held her tight, grabbed her around the hips and planted a quick, passionate kiss on the lips.

“Damn right it is,” he said, and Jules smiled inside.

From inside the Rambler they heard Marty speak up.

“Dana, you fetching minx. Do you have any food?”

He’s got the munchies already, Jules thought. And then she thought of the keg sitting in the RV and, notwithstanding that it was barely in the p.m., she thought that a drink might be a good way to commence their vacation.

She climbed in after Marty, Curt behind her, and when he slammed the door it felt as if their weekend had finally begun. She sat up front with him, and they grinned at each other, remembering their last weekend in this vehicle. He shook a little in his seat, and she giggled.

“Everybody ready?” Curt called, and there came a cheerful chorus of assent.

“Wagons ho!” Marty called.

“Go, dude!” Holden said. “Let’s burn daylight!” Dana whooped.

Curt laughed.

“Then let’s get this show on the road!” He turned the key, Jules sighed as the Rambler vibrated beneath her, and then they were on their way.

Free will is a precious commodity. It’s relished as much as political freedom, and most people believe it is a central part of their existence, whether this conviction is a tenet of their religious beliefs or born of a more secular outlook. All five people in the Rambler considered it to different degrees, and believed that they oversaw their own destinies. Perhaps Marty thought about it more than most, but then he always had been a thinker rather than a doer.