Male 20+. 300 words. Chris: "Fuckin’ His Fiancee." From: Into the River.

By Paul Pasulka  

When we graduated high school we planned a trip on the Mississippi. Destination further. Everyone said we were nuts. We were undeterred. (Singing) “Well I built me a raft and she’s ready for floatin.” Only this was a canoe. We painted it. Even named it: Charon’s Carrion Carrier. Brought a couple of cans of beans and a bottle of schnapps. We figured we’d pick up supplies as we went along. We went out the night before, celebrating our launch. Didn’t get started till after noon. Hung-over. In this stinking river. Smelling like pigs in a piss-hole.

So it starts raining about an hour after we push off. Then the wind picks up. Strong. Man, we are going down-river, but we are going backwards. I look around and he’s back-paddling. To keep us straight, he says. Now, neither of us know anything about canoeing, but that just didn’t make sense. You paddle on one side or the other. You go backwards, you’re fucked. I was pissed.

We pulled in under an overpass, opened the beans and schnapps, got hammered. We woke up still wet and even more hungover. Weather was beautiful, but we just left our shit there - canoe and all - took a bus home. We were gonna go back and pick it up. We never did. Didn’t really talk much after that. A shame. In high school, it was just him and me. Did everything together. Don’t know if was the river, or me fuckin’ his fiancee, but we really didn’t talk much after that.