You’ve got one stick, one match. Build me a fire, he says. I use a knife and a hatchet, both Christmas gifts. Three hours of batoning, shaving, whittling. Three hours of trying to beat the drizzle. Don’t cut green limbs, use the dead stuff on the ground. It’s soaked, so pare it till the heartwood feels warm; it will be dry enough. I bring the hatchet down and there is blood all over the leaves. An hour later, the nurse snips the twelfth suture. You missed your median nerve, he says, pinching with thumb and index finger, by this much.
Noah Lee is a junior in college. When he's not writing, he's freestyle kayaking with his family or reading about Classical Greece.