Chapter Text
George stares up, blinking in the sunlight, wondering if he’s made a terrible mistake. Above him stands a tower extending almost forty feet into the air with a single square room at the top. On the ground surrounding him are boxes filled with food—beans and rice and oatmeal and granola bars, dried fruit and vegetables and ramen, packets of tuna and crackers and cans of soups and stew. There are also jugs of drinking water laying around, enough to last him at least six weeks.
He sighs and looks down at the boxes of food, along with his suitcase and backpack and then glances up at the tower again, uncertain and more than a little scared. He can do this. He has to do this, because the helicopter that dropped him off is long gone and no one will be back this way until his resupply in over a month. There’s no other way out.
When George left L.A. the previous evening and flew to Montana to spend the summer as a lookout in a fire watch tower in the Bitterroot Mountains, he knew he would be alone. He didn’t mind—he was willing to do just about anything to get out of town quickly and escape from his normal life. Now, surveying the forest surrounding him, he realizes just how alone he truly is. Beyond daily radio reports and occasional supply drops, he won’t see or speak to another human for five months.
He glances around the meadow surrounding his tower one final time, noting the little yellow glacier lilies poking up through the grass, the bees busy buzzing from flower to flower. When he finally starts to move, he takes care to avoid them—not because he’s afraid of getting stung, but because it’s their meadow too and he doesn’t want to disturb them.
Finally, he hefts his backpack onto his shoulders and grabs his suitcase, figuring he’ll start light for the long trek up the stairs to his new home. By the time he reaches the top, he’s out of breath, sweaty, and seriously doubting how he’s going to get the rest of the supplies up. It’s only eight boxes, but eight more trips up and down those stairs doesn’t sound like a fun way to spend the afternoon. He’ll have to get them up before nightfall, though, or risk meeting a bear on his first day in the wilderness. At least he can store most of the water at the base of his tower and just carry it up as needed.
Once he’s caught his breath, he unlocks the door and steps into the room at the top of the tower, taking a moment to look around. This fourteen-foot by fourteen-foot space is going to be his entire life from now until at least September. Around the perimeter of the room there’s a single twin bed, some cabinets, a cooktop, a tiny propane-powered fridge, a bookshelf, and a desk. The center of the room is taken up by the large, circular Osborne Fire Finder, the tool he’ll use all summer to track wildfires. He’s surrounded by windows looking in every direction, the better to see emerging fires, and the available wall space is covered with maps of the surrounding area, posters of local wildlife, and lists of rules and instructions.
He throws his suitcase on his bed and places his backpack in the chair to unpack later. Looking around, it’s clear nobody bothered to clean the place up before he arrived, so he grabs the broom from behind the door and starts sweeping the dust, old leaves, and dead bugs out. He’ll clean more thoroughly later, once his food is up the stairs and safely stored.
As he’s sweeping, the radio on the desk crackles to life. “MLT 404, are you there? Do you copy?”
George doesn’t recognize the voice as one of the rangers working dispatch, so he decides he can ignore it for a while. He’s hot and tired and still has a long afternoon of work ahead of him. No one knows he’s up here yet anyway.
“404, do you copy?” the voice repeats. After a long pause, during which George continues sweeping, the voice on the other line laughs. “Dude, I can see you in your tower. Pick up.”
Without thinking, George quickly spins in a circle, turning around the room to see the person talking. Of course, there’s no one there. He wonders how close the person on the radio must be to be able to see him. He picks up the radio and presses the button to speak.
“This is MLT 404,” he says. The words feel awkward in his mouth. He hasn’t had a lot of experience speaking over the radio. He hasn’t had a lot of experience with anything related to this job. This isn’t really a place he thought he’d ever find himself, at least until two weeks ago.
“Finally,” the voice says, sounding happy. “Hey, I’m your neighbor 20 miles to the north. I was watching through binoculars when the chopper left and I just wanted to say hi. I’m Dream. Um… MLT 397.”
“Okay, Dream,” George says, a grin on his face. “Nice to meet you. I thought we were only supposed to use our tower identifiers on the radio?”
“Well,” Dream says, elongating the word. “Technically that is true. Technically. At least when you’re on group channels or talking to dispatch. But this is a private channel between our towers so we can just use our names. George.”
“How did you—,” George begins before trailing off. “Right, of course, you knew I was coming. Why do we have a private channel?”
“My dad thought it would be useful since you were a last-minute hire and had to miss the training in April. And since you’re a fresh-faced newbie.”
“Your dad?”
“The District Ranger,” Dream says. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m a nepo baby.”
George laughs at that, looking around at the spartan cabin surrounding him, lacking things like running water and reliable electricity, a small army of ants marching in single file across the desk in search of crumbs. “If I were a nepo baby, I think I’d try to find myself somewhere more luxurious.”
“What do you mean?” Dream asks. “Look out the window. Don’t get luxury like that anywhere else in the world.”
George does as Dream says and finally takes a moment to look out his windows for the first time since he reached the top of the tower. The walls of the cabin are half glass, with windows circling the entire perimeter of the room. He walks in a slow circle, taking in the expansive views from every direction. It’s breathtaking.
The tower is located near the highest point of a mountain and is an additional thirty-five feet in the air, making it the tallest structure around. Because of that, his view is completely unimpeded, and he can see everything surrounding him—forest and mountains, streams and valleys, and even a lake way off in the distance. He also notices another fire tower to the north. It’s just a tiny dot in the distance, but with binoculars he’ll be able to see it more clearly.
“Wow,” George says into the radio, feeling dumbstruck.
“Wow indeed,” Dream replies. “Look, I’ll let you get back to settling in. Check in with me tonight before bed and I’ll give you a run down of what your first day will look like tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” George repeats. “Or… over and out, I guess. Do we say that?”
Dream laughs loudly and for a long time. George thinks it’s a little over the top, considering Dream literally has to press and hold a button for his laugh to come over the radio. He guesses Dream really wants him to know how funny that was.
“Something like that,” Dream says, a teasing note in his voice. “But when it’s just the two of us you can just say bye.”
“Okay, bye,” George says. He places the radio back into its dock and returns to sweeping the room. Once finished, he begins the long task of carting all his supplies up the tower and putting them away. He cleans up, makes the bed with fresh sheets he bought at Walmart on his way out here, and collapses before he can even think about dinner.
~
A few hours later, the radio crackles to life again, waking George.
“404… 404… Come on, George, wake up.”
George groans and wipes his face, forcing himself up and out of bed. When he finally reaches the radio, he barks out a short, “What, Dream?” It’s a little harsh, but George has never done well with being forced to wake up.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Dream says with a laugh, clearly not taking George’s tone personally. “Or good night, really. You slept right through a gorgeous sunset.”
George yawns as he crosses the room to turn on the little solar powered string lights. “I was tired,” he says. “Climbing up and down those stairs all day really takes it out of you.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Dream said. “Luckily you won’t be doing that much on a day to day basis. Just when you want to use the toilet or go for a walk.”
“Oh yeah, a Portaloo, right?”
“Portaloo,” Dream repeats, taking on a fake British accent. “Your file said you’ve been in the U.S. for something like fifteen years.”
“Some things stick with you.” George moves his backpack off the desk chair and takes a seat.
After a few more minutes of chatting, Dream launches into a long explanation about the job, what George is expected to do each day, and how to get off on the right foot in the morning. Most of it is information George already knows, learned either from the training materials sent to his email before he flew out or from talking to the ranger when he arrived. Still, it’s good to hear it all again, especially now that he’s in the actual lookout tower and can see the things Dream is talking about.
“I guess the last thing is wood,” Dream says, wrapping up his explanation of George’s daily schedule and duties. “There’s a pile of chopped wood underneath your tower, right by the stairs. This should last you for the first few weeks. You’ll have to chop your own wood after that. Can you handle that?”
George scoffs. “I’ve camped before, Dream. I was an Eagle Scout. I know how to chop wood.”
“No offense, but you’re kind of scrawny,” Dream says. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Hey! I’m completely average sized,” George protests. It’s not entirely true, but Dream doesn’t need to know that. “What are you then, some kind of Hulk-size lumberjack freak?”
Dream laughs again. “Hulk-size lumberjack? You’re such an idiot. I’m just a normal guy.”
“If you’re just a normal guy, you’ve got no reason to make fun of me. Your binoculars are probably just broken anyway.”
“George, I saw your file.”
“That doesn’t seem like something that should be allowed. Like, ethically.”
“Normally it wouldn’t, but since I’m going to be watching over you, my dad wanted me to at least know what you look like.”
“It was an old picture,” George says, thinking fast. “I spent a lot of time in the gym this year.” He had not.
“That’s not what Sapnap said.”
“Sapnap?” George asks. Does Dream have spies watching him?
“Your helicopter pilot? The guy who dropped you off this morning? He’s my best friend. He said you didn’t look like you would last more than a week. No chance against a bear.”
George grimaces. Dream does have spies. “I’ll have you know that I spent three years wrestling bears recreationally. I’m undefeated, actually. No bear has ever been able to take me down. I’d like to see them try.”
“Yeah, okay, I believe you,” Dream says with a chuckle. “Anyway, before you pass out again you need to make sure you light a fire in the stove. It still gets cold up here this time of year… like really cold, especially at night. I don’t want to wake up to a George-cicle on the first day of fire season.”
George takes the advice and gets a nice fire going in the wood stove before getting ready for bed. He chews on a granola bar, the only thing he has the energy to dig out to eat, before curling under the covers with a book. He’s never been a huge reader, at least not since college, but he’s prepared to adapt to this new situation, and that includes lots of books. He thinks there will be a lot of adapting over the first couple of weeks.
~
The sun wakes George up bright and early the next morning. So early, it’s basically dawn, because he forgot to close the shutters and lock up the cabin before going to sleep the night before. He remembers that being in the list of daily tasks, and now he understands why. More than protecting the windows from wind and storms, he doesn’t want to spend the rest of the summer waking up at dawn.
Since he’s awake so early, George takes some time to explore his surroundings and get to know the place a little better. After a quick breakfast of oatmeal and peanut butter, he heads down the stairs and explores the perimeter of his tower, taking note of the wood pile and the propane tanks, the rain barrel and the stored gallons of water. He has a little solar shower he can use to heat up water and wash if he wants, but he figures he smells fine enough for just himself.
When he was in the helicopter the day before, he’d noticed a rocky outcropping not far from his tower. Sapnap had mentioned that it would be the place to get a cell phone signal, if such a thing could be found this far from civilization. George heads in that direction.
Once he’s there, he pulls out his phone and powers it back on. He has a solar charger for it, but it’s still best to preserve battery power when he’s not using it. It strikes him as he watches it blink to life that he hasn’t looked at it in nearly a day. Has he ever gone this long in his adult life without a phone?
He waits a while after the phone has powered up, and eventually a single bar of signal flickers to life. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. He takes a seat and stares out over the valley below the outcropping, waiting for any messages to download.
When he picks his phone up again, he immediately realizes it was a mistake. Eighteen new text messages. Three voicemails. He swallows hard. The same name appears again and again.
Scott
Scott
Scott
Scott
Scott
Scott
Over and over again. There’s an ache in George’s chest, and the feeling of breathlessness returns. He tries to take deep breaths and calm down, but it’s hard. He closes his eyes tightly and brings his knees to his chest, burying his face against his legs. It’s fine. It’s fine. They’re just messages. He knew this would happen. It’s not like he told Scott in advance that he was leaving. He just packed a bag, left a note, and headed to the airport while Scott was still at work.
After he’s had enough time to calm down and let reason overcome panic, George looks at his messages again. He decides he’s not going to read them, because then he might answer. No contact is no contact. That’s what he wants. He doesn’t delete them, though. That’s a step too far. It’s more than he’s ready for.
There are two other messages waiting for him. One from his sister, checking to make sure he arrived in one piece, and one from his best friend, Larray. He answers his sister first and asks her to pass the news of his safe arrival on to their mother. Then he responds to Larray.
Larray: u good? lmk when you get there
George: arrived yesterday. basically no signal at all. try not to die of a broken heart without me.
Larray: boy, why the fuck you texting this early? I’m taking my ass to bed. love you. xx
Larray: Don’t fall in love with a grizzly bear. Or a big ol grizzly man.
Larray: nvmd, go get you a grizzly man
George laughs and presses the phone to his chest in a gesture almost like a hug. Something about Larray always makes him feel better. He sends one final message telling Larray to keep him up to date on what’s happening at home. After a few minutes, he reminds him not to tell Scott anything about where he is.
Larray: You think I’m talking to his ass? sister please he better not come knocking
George smiles and puts the phone to the side, taking in a long, deep breath of fresh mountain air. It’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s left his troubles far behind him and he has five months to figure out what comes next. It’s been years since there’s been so much possibility stretching before him. He stays at the overlook for a while longer, then drags himself back to the tower to begin his morning work.
~
A day in a fire tower follows a routine, and George’s first day is no exception. Once he’s back at the tower, he goes about collecting all the necessary data—temperature, pressure, wind speed and direction—to radio in his 8 am weather report. Then his shift begins. He sits at his desk and just stares out at the forest. Every fifteen minutes he grabs his binoculars and does a thorough sweep of the area surrounding his cabin, looking as far out as he can see. Then he takes his seat and waits for the next sweep in fifteen minutes.
The most interesting part of his entire morning is watching the mayflies buzzing outside his window screen, zooming back and forth and living their little lives. He wonders what it would be like to be a mayfly.
At noon, he gets to leave his tower for an hour to eat lunch and to stretch his legs. Then at 1 pm he calls in his second weather report of the day and resumes his spot at his desk, sitting and waiting until he’s finished for the day in the early evening.
It’s the most boring day of George’s life. By the end of his shift, George is exhausted from nothing. He has a headache from using the binoculars so often and his skin feels hot and itchy from sitting in a room made of glass all day. He didn’t drink enough water, his butt hurts, and all he wants is to get as far away from this tower as possible.
Why did he do this to himself? What about this seemed like a good idea? He realizes he’s made a horrible mistake and wonders if he starts walking now, how long it would take him to reach civilization. He can probably be back in L.A. in a few days.
But… back to what? He left his home behind. He took a leave of absence from his job. He didn’t come all the way out here on a whim. He came to escape. If he goes back now, the effort of leaving will have been for nothing. He knows he’s not strong enough.
That thought has George pulling his phone out of his bag and powering it up again to read the texts that he had downloaded this morning. The ones from Scott. They’re about as bad as he expected. Anger. Confusion. Accusations. There’s no begging. No pleading. That’s not Scott’s style. Instead, there are threats. Insults. Words meant to make him feel small. Worthless. Helpless. That is Scott’s style.
After reading through a few messages, George thankfully snaps out of it. He shuts off the phone and throws it across the room, hoping it will shatter into a million pieces. It doesn’t.
“Leave me alone!” he screams at the phone.
He wishes it worked like that. He wishes he could look Scott in the face and scream leave me alone and that would be it. He wishes he were brave enough to even try something like that. Maybe then he wouldn’t be here, in the middle of nowhere, completely unreachable, just to keep himself from crawling back home in a weak moment.
Why is he like this?
He stands up and grabs the phone, shoving it to the very bottom of his backpack. He can’t do this. He can’t let Scott follow him to this place, even if it’s just in words.
As George is standing there, chest heaving, staring down at his backpack, the radio crackles to life.
“Hey, George!” Dream calls across the line, voice chipper. George glares at the radio for a second. He doesn’t want to make small talk right now. He’s not in the mood. But he also doesn’t want to be rude to the only person he has to talk to. He grabs the radio and brings it up to speak.
“Hey, Dream.”
“How was the first day?”
“Long.” Maybe if he keeps his answers short, Dream will get the message.
Instead, Dream laughs. “A man of many words, I see. Yeah, I totally get that. These days can seem to stretch on forever sometimes. Just wait til we’re in the middle of summer and the fire threat is high. You’ll end up at your post for twelve hours some days, and it’s hot and there are bugs and it can be a real pain.”
“Fun.”
“You’ll get used to it though. You’ve just got to find some kind of project you can get super into. Some people like to build things or make repairs to their towers. One guy completely repainted the entire tower and all the stairs last year. All the stairs. It was kind of insane. One person brought seeds with her and started an honest to God garden so she could have fresh vegetables. You’ll find a way to cope with the long days and the boredom.
“If you want to make repairs to the tower or anything like that, you just have to let the rangers know. They’ll send the supplies you need with Sapnap when he comes for the next supply drop. They’re always thrilled to let us do that kind of stuff because it makes their jobs easier. Not me, though. I do not yearn for labor, you know? I’m a strictly inside, on the computer kind of guy. But I have my projects and still get a lot done in the summer. You just have to figure out what it is that’s going to keep you sane, and then—”
“So are you just going to talk to me all the time?” George asks suddenly, cutting off Dream’s monologue. His head hurts and he wants to get out of the tower for a while. The air feels heavy and the walls feel close. “I thought this was a sort of solitary job.”
“Oh,” Dream says softly, grinding to a halt. George picks up on the difference in his tone right away and he winces in response. Stupid, stupid. He knows exactly what it feels like to be spoken to like that, and he doesn’t have any right to do it to someone else.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly, trying to undo the damage. He tries for a laugh but it sounds fake to his own ears. “Just that everyone back home told me I was going to be so lonely that I’d run away after two weeks.”
“Am I bothering you?” Dream asks. His tone is blank, but George thinks he can sense a little bit of hurt there. Then again, he barely knows the guy.
“No, no!”
“You have to tell me if I’m bothering you,” Dream says. All the confidence George has heard from him over the past two days is gone, and now he sounds uncertain. “I just… sometimes I get excited and I talk a lot. I forget. People are always telling me I talk too much.”
George winces, guilt sinking to the bottom of his stomach like a rock. At the same time, a memory of what he’s been trying to forget smacks him in the face.
It would be better if you just kept your mouth shut. No one wants to hear you rambling about your weird little interests, George. It makes people uncomfortable.
“People tell me that too,” he whispers over the radio, hoping Dream hears and understands. He clears his throat. “You don’t bother me. I like listening to you talk. I’m just tired and cranky.”
Dream is quiet for a long time and George curses at himself. Why does he always ruin everything? Then Dream returns, speaking in the softest voice.
“Sorry, it’s a touchy subject for me,” he says. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I just… I want people to understand me, and a lot of times it feels like people aren’t willing to listen to anything I say at all. They say I’m too much and too loud and no one wants to listen.”
The confession makes George’s heart ache because he knows exactly what that feels like. He doesn’t know Dream at all, but he already knows they have more in common than he’s had with most of the people in his life.
“I want to understand,” George says.
Dream chuckles. “It sounded more like you wanted to get rid of me.”
“I didn’t mean…” George starts, but he trails off when he’s interrupted by a yawn.
“I know you didn’t, George. But first days are hard and you’re tired. We can talk tomorrow if you want.”
“I do. I do want,” George says.
~
George spends the entire next day staring at his radio, willing Dream to call. He’s scared that he’s ruined whatever burgeoning friendship they might have had. He really is useless sometimes. He keeps the radio by his side all day, no matter where he goes. He doesn’t want to miss it if Dream tries to get in touch.
Dream doesn’t radio all day. When their shifts end, the radio stays silent. George cooks an actual dinner with the few fresh ingredients he brought with him, and Dream still doesn’t call. He eats dinner and cleans up after himself, and walks in circles around the tower.
George is about to give up and crawl in bed for the night when the radio comes alive.
“Hey, you there?”
George knows Dream can probably see him in his tower. It’s dark out and he has the lights on inside, with all the shutters still open. He guesses this must be Dream’s way of giving him an out, of allowing George to avoid a conversation if he wants to.
George doesn’t want to avoid a conversation, though. He grabs the radio and responds in a matter of seconds.
“Hey! Hi! How are you?”
Maybe he sounds a little eager and a little breathless, but he doesn’t care. He’s just happy to hear from Dream again, happy that he didn’t ruin everything with his outburst the day before. If he’s honest, he’s also just incredibly lonely. It’s only been three days, but he doesn’t think he’s gone three days by himself ever in his entire life. He still hasn’t learned how to do it properly.
“Okay,” Dream says, laughing. “I guess you’re in a better mood today?”
“Second day was easier. Still boring, but at least I was expecting it. When am I going to see fires?”
“Calm down, calm down! It’s still really early. Honestly it might be a while. They like to get us in the towers a few weeks before fire season really kicks into gear so we have time to get settled and into a routine. Plus, with how crazy the weather’s been the past few years, you just never know.”
“A few weeks,” George whines. “I thought I would be calling out fires right and left.”
“You’ll get your chance,” Dream says, chuckling fondly. “Though I hope it never gets that bad. Even a small fire can do a ton of damage to a forest.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, Smokey,” George says. “Where have you been anyway? I thought you would have called by now. I was about to go to bed.”
“Oh, do you want me to leave you alone so you can get some sleep?”
“No, idiot,” George says. It feels like the awkwardness from the previous day is gone, and he’s grateful it’s not hovering over them like a cloud. He thinks Dream must be the forgiving type, or at least the type not to hang onto bad feelings. A nice change. “I was waiting to talk to you so now I want you to talk to me.”
Dream laughs, and it sounds genuine. “Oh, I didn’t know I was in such high demand. What do you want me to talk to you about?”
“I already said,” George answers. “What were you doing?” He crosses over to his bed and sits down with the radio, propping himself up with his pillows. When he looks out the window here he can just see Dream’s tower in the distance as the only other speck of light in the forest. He wonders if Dream is looking at his tower too.
“Oh, I was writing and I lost track of time. That happens to me a lot when I get really fixated on something. I kind of forget what’s happening around me and that time is passing and the world is moving on.”
“Wow, what a great characteristic to have in someone who’s supposed to be watching for fires,” George jokes. Dream laughs, so he thinks it’s okay.
“I don’t—” Dream tries to speak, but he’s still laughing too hard to finish his thought. The sound of his laugh makes laughter bubble up out of George too. Dream has a good laugh, and it’s nice to just talk to someone and not worry.
“You don’t watch for fires?” George says. “Wow, you really are bad at your job. No wonder you’re a nepo baby.”
Dream’s laugh gets deeper and suddenly he starts wheezing like a tea kettle. It’s the funniest thing George has ever heard.
“Stop it, stop it,” Dream wheezes. “I can’t breathe. I’m scaring Patches.”
“Patches?”
“Hold on,” Dream says.
George waits quietly for a minute before he gets bored and tries talking again.
“Dream, did you forget about me?”
“No, hold on,” Dream says. “Damn, she won’t come out. I wanted her to say hi.”
George raises his eyebrows. He genuinely has no idea where this could be going.
After another minute passes, Dream returns.
“Oh well,” he says. “I was going to see if Patches would say hi, but I laughed too much and she won’t come out from under the bed now.”
“And Patches is…?”
“Oh, right!” Dream laughs. “She’s my cat. I bring her with me every summer so I don’t get too lonely. You know, I don’t always have a chatty neighbor to talk to.”
Dream keeps a cat in his tower. George is simultaneously amused and extremely jealous.
“I’ve always wanted a cat,” he says.
“You should get one. They’re great. Patches is the very best companion. She’s perfect. Purrfect.”
George rolls his eyes, but he’s secretly a little charmed. He’s never been able to have a cat before, but maybe after this summer he can revisit the idea. Things in his life are changing, and maybe a cat is part of that change.
“Anyway,” Dream says, returning to their previous topic. “I don’t do it when I’m working. I mean I could, but I set alarms to go off every fifteen minutes to remind me to do a scan. Otherwise I would get too focused and forget to look.”
“What are you writing?”
“Hmm,” Dream says.
“Hmm?”
“Trying to decide if you get to know yet.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” George wants to know now. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just assume you’re writing a crazy manifesto on how to overthrow the government and I’ll have to report you.”
Dream laughs. “George, we literally work for the government.”
“You can still overthrow it. Like a mutiny. Kind of.”
“I don’t think that’s how mutinies work,” Dream says.
George’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “Have you ever mutinied? How would you know?”
“You’re right… I have no prior mutiny experience. I’ll defer to you on that.”
George lies down and turns on his side, holding the radio close so he can talk into it without raising his voice. He closes his eyes and relaxes against his pillow. It’s been a long day and he’s tired, but talking to Dream is fun.
“I’ve never mutinied either, so maybe you’re right,” he says softly into the radio. “Now tell me what you were writing. Please.”
There’s a long pause and then Dream speaks. “I was just working on my novel. I… it’s stupid. I don’t talk about it with many people because I feel like everyone says they want to write a novel. This is my third one. I actually wrote the others over the past couple of summers. I just… I want to be a writer someday and I figured the only way to get there was to try writing. I don’t know if my writing’s any good or not... but it’s a nice way to pass the time when I’m out here.”
“I want to read it,” George says with a big yawn. “At the end of the summer you have to let me read what you wrote.”
Dream chuckles. “Let’s see if you make it through an entire summer first, newbie.”
“Hey,” George protests, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s cozy. The shutters are still open and he knows he should get up and close them or risk waking up with the sun, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to lie here and talk to Dream. “I’m doing a great job so far.”
“Yeah, you are,” Dream agrees, voice soft. “Really killing it for three days on the job.”
George ignores the implication that he might not do as well as the summer goes on and instead focuses back on the topic at hand. “Promise me.”
“Promise you what?”
“If I make it to the end of the summer, you have to let me read your novel.”
Dream is quiet again for a while and George almost dozes off.
“Maybe,” he says at last.
“Maybe what?” George asks, having forgotten what they were even talking about. Dream chuckles lowly.
“Go to sleep, George,” he says. “We can talk tomorrow.”
“You won’t forget about me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Okay, goodnight Dream.”
George isn’t even awake to hear if there’s a response.
~
The next day and the day after it and the day after that pass in very similar ways. George wakes up and walks to the outcropping that looks out over the valley below, the one spot where he can get his single bar of signal. He checks his messages and emails, ignoring anything that comes in from Scott. He knows he should just block him, but he isn’t quite ready yet.
After he responds to anything urgent from his mum or sister or Larray, he heads back to the tower and does his weather report. Then, it’s a long day of sitting in the tower. He takes Dream’s advice and starts setting a timer to go off every fifteen minutes, reminding him to get up and scan the region for smoke, and then fills the time between scans reading or dozing. He downloaded several shows and movies onto an external hard drive before he came out here this summer, so he’ll occasionally fill the time watching one of those. His laptop is relying on solar power, but it’s usually sunny enough to get the battery full each day.
In the evenings, he goes for short walks in the area right around his tower, makes some kind of dinner from his stores of food, and then waits for Dream to be ready to talk. They talk almost every night. George is glad to have something to look forward to at the end of the day. Someone who makes him laugh. Even more importantly, someone he can make laugh. The more they talk, the more things they find in common, from a love of video games and fantasy stories to a shared fascination with geography. Dream can name more state capitals than George, but George can name more countries. Apparently competition is another shared interest. It’s a weird way to pass the time, but at least it’s something.