Meeting Brenda
The person who gave me a place to stay and made me dinner.
Listening in the distance, I heard a creek roaring, echoing through the forest. I was sitting at a picnic table, enjoying the wind and the mountains. The clouds were dark and stormy. Hopefully, my small tent could bear the weather. I had placed rocks around it to hold it down, and I was praying to the sky to be nice to me that night.
I had lost my wallet backcountry camping through Yellowstone National Park. It must have fallen out when I was taking a number two in a hole behind a rock. Nasty, I know. I love the wild, but having to carry all of my necessary resources in a pack on my back is not my favorite detail. One can easily lose things, as I had, and it is also quite painful at times to carry all that weight.
Due to my disappearing wallet, I snuck into this campsite, hoping not to get caught. Shortly after I had set up my tent the camp host drove to my site in a red 2001 Chevy Silverado that reeked of diesel, and the engine roared like a starving mountain lion. I nervously stood up and contemplated whether I should lie or tell the truth.
A woman stepped out of the truck. Her dirty blonde hair was effortlessly pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing a sleeveless white striped flannel with sky-blue knee-high jean shorts. Her brown hiking boots seemed like they’d just lost a war with the terrain.
In a calming tone, she said, “Is it past 4 p.m. yet?” I look at the time on my phone; it’s 3:48 p.m.
“It’s close,” I responded.
“Have you paid yet?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t.”
I took a deep breath. “I lost my wallet backcountry camping at Yellowstone National Park. I have no money and no identification.”
“Oh, my goodness. That’s horrible,” she said. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need. I’ll pay your camp fee.”
I was amazed as this was an unexpected reaction. “Thank you so much.”
“You are welcome,” she responded. “My name is Brenda. Please let me know if you need anything.” She backed up the vehicle and drove away. I was at peace, and I felt immense gratitude. Thanks to Brenda, I had a place to stay that night.
An hour later, I was still sitting at the picnic table. Brenda, the camp host, approached me again. “Have you had dinner yet?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t, but I have food that I’ll be making shortly.”
“Are you vegetarian?”
“No, I am not.”
“Well, come over for dinner. I have made some food for you.”
I was speechless. She was incredibly generous. “Okay, thank you.”
“Come over in about fifteen minutes,” she said, then drove away.
Fifteen minutes later, I walked over to Brenda’s campsite. She was walking outside, patrolling the campground. As soon as she saw me her right hand struck up waving hello. “Let me get a plate ready for you!” she exclaimed. With a slight limp, she walked inside her camper; I sat down at a picnic table on her site.
The campsite was surrounded by flourishing nature. On the site, there was a lawnmower, a shed, and a rusty white camper. I took a moment to appreciate the silence and flowing trees.
Brenda walked out with a contagious smile on her face and a plate full of food on her hands. “Here you go; I hope you like it.” She served me a plate of pasta with mixed grilled vegetables and sausages.
Graciously, I said, “Thank you. This looks delicious.”
As soon as I started eating, she began sharing life stories. She asked me what I was doing and where I had come from. I told her about hiking the Yellowstone River Trail and how I was trying to head home to Florida because I had no money and no identification.
Brenda talked about her passion for rap music and that she considered herself a gangster. “Listen to this.” Brenda played her choice of rap songs. Eagerly, she said, “Listen, this is good, this part is so good.” She had an undeniable passion for rap music. Rappers like Kid Cudi, Kendrick Lamar, and Snoop Dog were some of her favorites.
Not to stereotype Brenda, but she was a retired white lady, someone I would not expect to be a rap fan. But I was amazed at her love for the music genre. She continued, and at one point she said, “ You know, I’m a rapper.” This is far from what I was expecting but I was intrigued.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes!” she responded. “My rapper name is Brenda Benda B. I have released one song, and I have a music video on YouTube. Would you like to see it?”
Without hesitation, I said, “Yes!”
She quickly played a video titled “You Don’t Know Me — Brenda Benda B.” It was seven minutes long. The beginning was a comedy sketch about her wanting to spit her rhymes and gathering the necessary talent to do so. “I hate this part,” she said. “The producer forced me to do this to make it funny, but I’m not funny; I’m a gangster!”
We continued watching and halfway through the video the song started. I was filled with wonder and excitement. The song was beautifully written and executed. The beat was captivating, and the backup singer was phenomenal. In the video, Brenda was wearing an oversized white t-shirt, matching white pants, a graphic bandana, dark sunglasses, and she was holding the biggest handgun I had ever seen. She was an absolute badass.
Once the video was over, I complemented Brenda. “Wow, that was good.” She smiled and continued talking about her love for rap and the gangster life. Hours went by, and the evening passed on laughing and conversing.
The more I learned about Brenda the more I realized that I had never met anyone like her. I felt fortunate to be in her presence. She was so full of love and passion.
After a while, I saw the sun was setting. “It’s getting late, I think I’m going to head out.” I shook Brenda’s hand, thanked her for dinner, and said, “Goodbye.”
As I walked away, I turned around and waved to her. “Thank you for playing with me,” she said. “That was fun.”
I smiled back at her. “That was fun!” I yelled, as I walked back into reality.
I never saw Brenda again, but I think about her often. Feel free to watch her video so you know this story is 100% true. You do not know Brenda (as she says in her song), but I would love for you to meet her.
