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“Get out! I can’t have a freeloader in this house anymore!”

Twenty-six years old and he kicked me out. My own father kicked me out. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

Finding a job had been my goal for the past few months, but no one was hiring, and our small savings ran dry weeks ago.

I stood on the sidewalk, staring at the closed door, trying to process what just happened. My dad wasn’t perfect, far from it, but he’d always been there for me. He’d never lost his temper like that before.

What was I supposed to do now?

Sitting in my car in a daze of confusion, I watched as other people went about their days. They all seemed so purposeful, so certain of what they were doing and where they were going.

Why couldn’t that be me?

This thought led me down a spiral of self-pity and self-doubt. Maybe I was worthless trash who would never amount to anything in life.

No! Stop it!

I shook my head hard to rid myself of these negative thoughts and tried to think rationally. Where could I go? Who could help me? The list was disturbingly short.

Maybe if I explained things better… No. Dad had made himself clear: he didn’t want me around anymore.

Of course! Mom! She would understand; she always did.

As soon as this thought entered my mind, another followed closely behind:

She’s dead!

I fought back tears as grief washed over me anew. How could I have forgotten something like that? It had only been…

I took a deep breath and pushed those thoughts away again. There wasn’t time for them right now. Emotions would have to wait until later.

My first priority should be finding somewhere safe and warm to sleep tonight.

The idea struck me like a bolt from the blue: why not go camping? I’d always loved the outdoors, and it was summertime. This could be an adventure!

As soon as this idea came to me, I knew it was the right one. My heart lifted with hope for the first time in hours.

I set the car in motion, heading for a nearby state park that had good memories for me from when my parents used to take me camping as a kid.

After a quick stop at a store to pick up some supplies (most of which were on sale because it was late in the season), I headed out to find my spot.

Driving slowly down a dirt road, I scanned both sides of the road for any sign that looked promising. Well into my second loop through the area with no good options presenting themselves, I had just about given up hope when I saw it: an old wooden sign half-buried in grass and weeds that said “Campground”.

The narrow dirt path leading off into the trees didn’t look well-maintained, but there wasn’t much traffic on this road anyway.

After another twenty minutes of slow driving and several wide-eyed navigational decisions later, I found myself at what must have been the campgrounds.

I walked around for a while until I found what appeared to be an abandoned fire pit surrounded by flat rock surfaces. This would do nicely!

Setting up my tent was easier than expected thanks to YouTube tutorials, and soon everything was organized inside as well. The sun hadn’t quite vanished yet; but having spent most of today either sitting or driving, I wanted to stretch my legs a bit before dark.

Walking aimlessly through the trees without really thinking about anything helped clear my head more than anything else so far today. After fifteen minutes or so of wandering like this and almost completely zoning out on automatic pilot mode, something caught my attention and jolted me fully aware: noises coming from up ahead.

At first glance, I couldn’t tell what was making the noises or even for certain where it was coming from. It seemed to be all around me and nowhere at once.

Telling myself there was nothing to worry about (what kind of scary animal would make… laughter sounds?), I pressed on towards the center of the noise.

This turned out to be a small clearing with a large rock in the middle. The raucous noises were clearly emanating from this rock.

As soon as I took a step closer, actual words became discernible.

“…tell another one! He’s here!”

“He won’t get it. He never does.”

I hesitated for only a moment before strolling into their midst.

“What won’t he get?”

The group of rocks sitting on the ground all laughed at this.

“I told you so! He didn’t get it!”

“We’re not doing anything, we’re just sitting here talking to each other and laughing.” “Yeah, that’s all we do all day.”

All five stones were now jiggling up and down on top of each other in what looked like stone-on-stone belly laughter. The stone they’d been speaking to stood up high and proud amongst them, looking nearly twice as big as any of its companions.

“What are you?”

This time there was no laughter at my question, just silence.

Feeling more than a little stupid for talking to rocks, I turned away and began walking back towards my campsite. Maybe these woods weren’t safe after all…

It felt like less than half an hour had passed when I stepped back into my clearing lit by the pale light of an almost full moon overhead; but judging by how much brighter it was (and how much colder), several hours must have elapsed.

That is odd. Maybe I’m tired.

Going inside my tent for warmth and sleep did seem like the best plan right now.

Just as I zipped open the tent door, I heard a voice speak from behind me.

“Why are you leaving?”

Turning quickly (and almost tripping over the tent in the process), I looked towards where I’d left the rocks sitting.

The biggest one was no longer there.

It was standing just inside the edge of the clearing, silhouetted by moonlight. The top of it came nearly to my chest; but without really knowing why, I felt like it was looking down at me.

“You’re back! Tell us another joke!”

Now that several minutes had passed since their last sentence, I finally realized what was bothering me about their voices: they were speaking English!

And why did they keep saying “he” instead of “you” when talking to me?

As soon as this thought entered my mind, another followed closely behind:

Who cares? These are talking rocks! Just enjoy it!

The largest stone spoke again.

“I am called Graham. Please sit and talk with us.”

“What would you like to talk about?”

From there on, we discussed great many things. They were eager for any sort of entertainment news or gossip about things happening outside their clearing (a state park felt okay because people came and went often enough that hiding from them wasn’t an issue; but going into town would be out of question).

They also had a lot of questions themselves. Some were simple (“What year is it?”), some were very deep (“Do humans feel pain more than other animal species?”).

When asked if they ever got bored just sitting here all day every day forever, they smiled and said “No.” They described feeling connected to everything around them: soil, tree roots above them and below ground level being particularly interesting due to diversity in textures alone (I pointed out how strange it seemed that the rocks would find something so foreign interesting, which resulted in another round of laughter).

Several times during our conversation (which went on until the first weak rays of daylight began to filter through surrounding trees), I tried explaining how it felt to be human. Words were inadequate in so many ways, but they seemed genuinely interested and made me feel like a teacher and friend rather than a boring lecturer.

The last thing they asked before I finally picked up my now-cold coffee cup for another sip was this:

“Do you experience love?”

After thinking about this for a moment, I decided that the only way to answer such a question honestly would be to share its feelings.

I went around the circle, placing hand on top of every rock and squeezing as hard as humanly possible.

They didn’t say anything at first; but after several long moments, I could feel my hand being squeezed back. Not by Graham (the rock at other end of the line from me) either; all four rocks between us were also squeezing my hand!

No one spoke for a very long time after that.

Now here’s what happened next: I finished my coffee and drove back home.

Today was spent painting signs.