Outdoorsmen
When I was young I sometimes played with a kid named Steve. He was a year and a half younger than me, but always fun to play with because he was a natural born out-of-doors man. When we played GI Joe in the snow, his men wore fur leggings and parkas he had made himself from the skins of rats he had trapped, skinned and tanned.
When we swam in the pond in the summer, our underwater time was greatly enhanced by his home-made SCUBA gear. He attached a plywood board to an inflated inner tube, then ran & secured one end of a garden hose through a hole in the plywood, pointing up. The other end ran down through the hole in the inner tube. That was the end we put into our mouths. The addition of a snorkeling mask enabled us to fully explore the murky depths for as long as we cared to - our air supply floating dutifully along behind on the surface of the water. We had the chance to see bluegill, bass, turtle and crayfish from the most excellent perspective thanks to his ingenuity.
By the time we were sophomores we had drifted apart. He hung out with guys who wore camo and talked hunting and I with the guys who peg-legged their jeans and talked cheerleaders. I still heard stories about him, though, which further contributed to my admiration for his outdoor prowess.
In high school his rabid pursuit of the outdoor lifestyle changed him from a skilled outdoorsman to, in my opinion, a survivalist weirdo [for some of you it may have happened way back when he dressed his dolls in rat fur]. His leg was always adorned with a large bowie knife which, it was rumored, was his preferred weapon for ending the lives of deer he had wounded. That is, if he wounded a deer with his shotgun he would track it until it fell. Then, rather than waste a bullet, he would straddle the dying deer and slash its throat. During that time period he became a walking encyclopedia on how to efficiently kill living creatures - including people.
While I was in college Steve and I were reacquainted because he and my younger cousin began dating back in my home town. No, he thankfully did not kill her. He was, according to my cousin, a perfect gentleman. I invited Steve to join my college roommates and myself on a camping trip. By the time he arrived we already had our camp set up. The idyllic valley had been remodeled for our comfort. There were cases of beer in the stream, lawn chairs, mountain bikes, chicken breasts on the fire and exactly 53 containers of condiments. It took us several trips with a wheel barrow to get it all down to the valley camp site.
It was after dark when Steve appeared at the edge of the firelight carrying only a small bedroll. We offered him beer and grilled chicken, but he politely declined and informed us that he was going to hunt his dinner. He went away for a little while and returned with a long stick. He used his bowie knife to sharpen the tip and whittle a barb onto the side of the stick near the end. He tested the balance of his new spear by holding it above his head and did a couple warm-up throw motions in the firelight, then disappeared into the darkness. His audience was left, of course, in awe.
Steve returned in a half hour, leaned his spear against a tree and started building a small fire off to the side of ours. When asked about his hunting trip he produced a plastic baggy full of raw meat. He told us it was rabbit and that he had skinned it by moonlight at the site where he killed it with his spear. After fielding the inevitable gush of questions he cooked the meat on his small fire and went to bed, his reputation as a strange but bad-ass dude solidified in our minds.
I told and retold the rabbit story to many people - many times with Steve present, silently absorbing the glory and admiration of all who heard it. Years later, long after he and my cousin broke up, I was told a story about how a friend's friend had fooled a bunch of stupid college boys into thinking he had killed a rabbit with a spear. He had picked up the meat [chicken breast] at the grocery store on the way to camp.
If I ever see Steve again I will say, "Good one. You got me good." But in the back of my mind, I will be thinking, "It's really, REALLY weird that you never fessed up."