Steven was a narrow-boned man who came into the group by way of Katehaus, and to Katehaus by way of an ad - a very unusual circumstance in the group's tangled and incestuous lives. He also knew Kirk, one of the fringe hangers-on who was a musician, with (unsurprisingly) a 'zine. Steven was also a 'zine fiend - they both published semi-annual efforts. Kirk's was a music 'zine called Afaghan Rag, and having once traded a copy for Wild Ivy, a per-zine detailing Steven's wanderings in search of interesting herbs, fungus, and vegetation, they became correspondents, then friends.
As it happened, Steven had been biking across the country, camping out and sending postcards to Kirk for a collaborative piece on antique diners and odd tourist attractions like "the Biggest Cow in Texas" or the "Sideways House of Horrors." He'd been living in Atlanta, Georgia when he decided he needed a change of pace, so he sold everything he couldn't pack in a backpack or the panniers of his bicycle and set off. He spent the nights camping or crashing at the houses of pen-pals and 'zine traders. Finally, he ended up on the West Coast visiting Kirk, where he was struck with the notion to stay for an undetermined while.
As a denizen of Katehaus, he was unusual for more than just his manner of arrival; he cooked as well. But optimal foraging wasn't the whole of it, MC considered. She often felt that she and Steven lived in different worlds that only happened to coincide spatially. He was undeniably brilliant, well read in philosophy and literature, and an eager participant in conversation; still, she felt, they never quite meshed. Mid-stream, he would stop and cock his head, asking her "why?" while looking at her intently. She would find herself stopped, struggling to mentally shift gears and align her thoughts with his mental plane of existence. He would devour her explanation with a look of concentration, then ask a question that showed they were still headed down two separate paths, using the same words with different meanings.
It was this not-quite-understanding that put MC into a strange and somewhat awkward position. It was summer, and she'd had her summer cold - it had peaked a few weeks back. One afternoon, twice as hot as usual with fever and half delirious, she had heard the doorbell ring. Mercifully, her roommate answered, and she rolled over and went back to sleep and lurid dreams. Later, fever broken, she got up to try and find something to eat that looked like she could keep it down. Her roommate pointed at a bowl of fruit, "Steven brought that by for you."
The offering contained bananas, a kiwi, two oranges, and a mango. She'd never had the latter, and when she ate it, over the sink to try and catch the drips, she thought "this should be fed by one lover to another." Sweet, sensual and slippery - like good sex, sticky and fecund. She was glad to be alone in her house; glad to be armored in her robe and slippers, glad to be unobserved consuming the untamable fruit. Nevertheless, when Steven phoned her up and asked her to go camping with him, she didn't have a clue. "We can go," he said, "out to the Eternal Flame."
This prestigious site of legend was unknown to Mabel Celeste. It was rumored to be out in the county outside of town. She envisioned a concrete plinth, a small marker, drinking fountains and brown-painted restrooms - some sort of state park affair. As for the weekend, she'd been feeling frazzled, and this sounded like an opportunity to get out of town and away from the irritations of her job and her current unrequited love obsession. She failed to see the proposition lurking behind his invitation.
So she packed an overnight's worth of clothes, dragged her sleeping bag out of the closest, mended her sweater and bought food that could be made with boiling water. Steven promised a tent and cooking utensils; after all, he had camped out early and often during his cross-country trek.
Saturday dawned overcast and spitting. Steven arrived in his battered car, purchased from one of the mid-quarter student drop-outs who, finding themselves without financial aid often sold off their automobiles to make rent, and she threw her bags in the back and climbed into the passenger seat. He pointed the car toward the county, and they were off.
As they rattled down the back roads, their conversation ran between the usual topics: books, movies, computers, nature. Steven seemed a little more intense than usual, but MC put it down to the combination of trying to drive and wrap his mind around her worldview at the same time. The rain had stopped for the moment, and MC was staring out the window, idly wondering how much longer there was to go when Steven stopped the car. "We're here," he said, climbing out of the driver's seat.
Fifteen feet beyond the car, a gravel track with fresh mud and caterpillar treadmarks led off into the underbrush. Broken limbs and saplings had been pushed off to the side, and the occasional beer can glinted under the salal. MC thumped the car door shut and leaned against it. "The Eternal Flame?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Not here here," Steven replied. "Come on." He started down the gravel road. Ducking under a dripping branch, MC followed him, stumbling over the rutted ground. Steven grabbed her arm solicitously, and she had her first clue when he took just a little longer than she expected to release her once she was steady on her feet. They continued until the main road was out of sight and the car disappeared around a bend, bore left where the track forked, and topped a gentle hill into a muddy clearing. A small gully with rough-cut edges split the bank of ochre clay, where the butt-end of a cement pipe about ten inches in diameter protruded, gushing forth a steady trickle of bubbling water.
The track continued off into the brambles across the clearing, but Steven had pulled a paper packet of matches from his pocket and was approaching the pipe as he struggled to get one alight. MC trailed over toward him as he victoriously tossed a burning match into the frothy cauldron. With a soft "woomf" the air above the pipe caught fire, a tall flame shooting up, then dying back until she could barely see it flicker over the surface of the water. "There," Steven said, grinning. "The Eternal Flame."
MC subdued a snort of laughter. Stepping back bemusedly, she tripped on a rut, stumbled, and sat down hard in a large puddle. "Shit. I didn't bring any extra shoes!" she wailed, as the cold water seeped down her ankles and through her socks. For punctuation, a large raindrop spattered onto her arm. "Oh hell," she sighed, looking up, "and now it's raining again." Another drop landed on her nose as the number of splash rings in the puddle around her doubled. "I'm having second thoughts about the camping part of this expedition, Steven."
"We could just get a hotel room," Steven said. MC looked at him. A moment passed. "We could, um, even get separate beds if you wanted." He looked down. She got as far as the "Wh-" in 'Why, when we're only 40 minutes from home?' when everything fell into place, and she bit her tongue. Different planets, different galaxies - she hadn't for the moment thought of this as a date, of his invitation as overture, or even of the laws of physics as applied to two adults sleeping in a one-person tent. Feeling stupid, she looked around the clearing - at the soggy trash, the remains of a fire pit, at Steven standing next to what passed for the Eternal Flame, peering out at her from under dripping bangs. "No," she sighed, wishing herself anywhere, anywhere but here, "I think I'd rather go home." She stood up and brushed as much of the mud as she could off of her clothing. "Okay," Steven said in a slightly bewildered tone. "Whatever you want."
They trudged back to the car. "I'll spread out my sleeping bag in the back seat to sit on so I don't get your car all muddy," MC offered. Steven helped her, looking vaguely like a puppy who isn't quite sure what he's done wrong. He slipped into the drivers seat, coaxed the engine to life and backed out onto the main road. The drive back to town was very quiet, and very, very long.