You have to understand that my boyfriend is better than me at a lot of things, like cooking, playing the guitar, and, well, being an overall likeable and entertaining person. He told me he hadn’t spent much time in the wilderness, so I tried to even up the playing field of our relationship by sharing stories of river rafting on the Colorado, horseback riding in the surf in Puerto Rico, and traveling solo through Thailand. He might win the Most Talented or Most Popular award, but I wanted to win Most Adventurous. I cemented in his mind, for better or worse, the image of me being independent, strong, and remarkably self-sufficient. What made me nervous about this trip, the only thing, is that now I would have to prove it.
Our drive south was perfect: conversation, laughter, good music. I had a moment of panic when I remembered that I forgot to remind him there was no air conditioning in the car, but of course he saved the day, saying, “Fresh air is better anyway.” We found our way to Joshua Tree by about three in the afternoon and set out on our first hike through the barren and dry terrain. Our desire to sweat profusely was realized. The tuna sandwiches we had in the air conditioned restaurant after the hike were glorious, and the soda we drank was divine. We went back into the park, sat on a rock to watch the sunset, and felt supremely happy and smitten with ourselves.
It was dark by the time we got back to our campsite. I had set up the tent earlier, with a dismissive wave of my hand, “No, no, don’t worry, I don’t need any help.” It was my intention to do everything and have my boyfriend sit back and bask in the glow of my competence.
But then I couldn’t figure out how to put together the stove I had just bought. I read the directions and moved easily from steps one through seven, but there was a wind protection shield I needed to put around the top that I just couldn’t figure out. My boyfriend, the champion Rubik’s cube solver, looked at it and said immediately, “See, honey? You just have to take the top part off, put this part around it, and then, voila!” I hated his French, and I hated that he was being so nice to me about it. Patronizingly nice, I thought, but I tried to be graceful about the whole thing. “Yeah, I always had a hard time with those three dimensional puzzles in gifted class,” I offered.
