You said we’d go to the little lake on the res. You’d know the right site, the two trees, the private beach, the wasp nest, where you saw the owl, a skunk ignored you, the beer you already got, that many mushrooms is all you said we’d need. Drive your red truck to Elkhorn past Hales Corners where you shopped for backpacks, sleeping bags, rain hats at Sherper’s, Army surplus and camouflage. I still think I’d take care of the fire while you made the tent livable; cut green wood for hot dogs, gathered kindling and fallen logs. I would burn the first flame even though yours would burn faster, hotter, more inside the pit we dug together.