It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

The clusters of cars parked in random patches of desert looked strange at first. Dusk is falling, there’s no block party. Why on earth park here? I thought.

Now I see the cars, and I know what to look for. Sometimes it takes me a minute to find: the circle of men in their crisp robes and regal hats sitting and talking. If night has fallen, a campfire twinkles in the middle of the circle.

This isn’t for special holidays. It’s usually on the weekend, every weekend. Maybe not the same men every weekend, but similar circles and fires.

I asked a former student if she ever sat in the desert with a campfire, and she laughed. “No, it’s only for men.” It’s one of those rare and fleeting moments when I wish I were a man. I yearn to join the circle and listen.

I content myself to drive by the cars and be happy that community and friendship are alive.