The Grove

memoir part 6

At dusk we see a grove, just off the road, of Eucalyptus trees, tall and white-skinned in the fading light. It seems like a good place to camp. We park the van and let Wogart out. Jesse picks up a stick and throws it for him. I watch and remember how when I was a kid my mom would pick up branches from the giant Eucalyptus that grew by our house. She would tear off the leaves and put them under my mattress to ward off fleas. Jesse and I don’t have fleas but I find a branch and pull off some leaves and put them under our mattress in the back of the van. 

It gets dark. After a while I go to bed. It’s warm and I leave the window open. Jesse stays outside. 

     “I’m just going to have one beer,” he says. 

I can hear him singing, softly at first, to himself. I hear the modulations of his voice change as he drinks. It becomes louder, slower, the words slurred. 

     “Who’s a good boy,” he says to Wogart. “Are you gonna catch us a rabbit?”  

     I try not to listen. After a while he opens t…