Who ...: -eng- Camp With Mom And My Annoying Friend

“I know I’m annoying,” he said, poking a log. “My dad says I don’t know when to stop. But when I stop… the quiet gets loud, you know? Like, in my head. It’s scary.”

We didn’t become silent friends overnight. But the next morning, when Leo started narrating the process of brushing his teeth (“First, the minty sting of existence…”), I didn’t groan. I handed him the toothpaste and said, “Chapter two: the flossing.” -ENG- Camp With Mom and My Annoying Friend Who ...

For the first time, I really looked. Leo wasn’t performing. He was fidgeting. His leg bounced. His hands moved constantly. And his eyes—usually hidden behind jokes—looked small and tired. “I know I’m annoying,” he said, poking a log

“Why didn’t you just say that?” I asked. Like, in my head

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who can sit in silence and listen to a forest breathe, and those who feel the need to narrate every breath the forest takes. My mother belongs to the first group. My best friend, Leo, is the undisputed champion of the second. When Mom announced our annual mother-son camping trip would now include Leo, I felt the same dread a squirrel must feel when it sees a golden retriever barreling toward its favorite tree. This is the story of three days in the Blue Ridge Mountains, where my annoying friend taught me that sometimes, the loudest person in the room is also the bravest.

We arrived at Lake Serene Campground at sunset. The moment we parked, Leo vaulted out of the car like a caffeinated squirrel. “Oh wow! Smell that! Is that pine? Or is that your mom’s perfume? No, it’s pine. Hey, is that a raccoon? Can we pet it? What’s the Wi-Fi password?”