There's a Bat in Bunk Five (8 page)

“And a date with a very nice young man named Ted?”

Again I nod.

“So go get ready. And cheer up. It'll work out. I'll come in to talk to you after I check on the kids.”

I go back into the cabin and think about what's been said. Maybe I do expect too much of everyone. My mother tells me that a lot.

I start to pick out what I'm going to wear.

There's a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

It's Barbara. “Marcy, I'm really sorry.”

I stand there, holding a shirt.

“It's been a little rough lately. I'm sorry I blew my top.”

“It's all right.” I'm just relieved she's not mad at me.

“I want you to know the reason I got so angry is that I think sometimes we're a lot alike. I want too much perfection from myself and others too. There are lots of good ways we're alike and some not so wonderful ways. So I guess getting angry at you is a little like getting angry at myself.” Barbara plays with her hair, twirling some of it around her hand.

“I can think of worse things than to be like you,” I say. “But I do understand what you're saying.”

“Good,” Barbara says. “I'm glad we can talk about it.”

“Instead of yelling,” I say, thinking about how my father reacts.

“I'll see you later. Have a nice day off,” Barbara says. She smiles, waves, and leaves.

Being close to other people isn't always easy, but it's worth it.

Vacation. I need a vacation. All of this dealing with feelings. Working. Living with thirteen other people in the same small area. Being helpful. I'm wiped out. If I've got to finish off one more lanyard, I'm going to scream. Swimming. Hiking. Working on the camp paper. Cookouts. Getting ready for the talent show. Trying to keep the kids from killing Ginger when I'm not sure that I really want to stop them. Thinking of ways to try to reach her even though I'm afraid to try because she'll be mean. She's only ten, but she can be deadly. At night I'm so exhausted it's hard to fall asleep. The kids giggle. Corrine snores. I stay awake waiting for the sound of rushing mice feet and the swoosh of bat wings. I'd almost like to go off someplace alone and sleep my time off away.

But I'm going to Woodstock with Ted. He's managed it so that we've gotten the time off together, and he's even arranged to borrow a car. A date with Ted, the use of the car. I wish everyone back home could see me now.

Corrine walks in while I'm getting ready. “Marcy, why are
all
of your clothes on your bed? Are you
planning on running away and can't decide on the proper wardrobe for your flight? Please don't desert me.”

I grin. “I can't decide what to wear.”

“It's Woodstock. Denim,” Corrine says. “Wear blue jeans or something like that. You're not going to a prom.”

“I've spent the entire time up here in blue jeans,” I say. “I want to wear something different. After all, it's my day off.”

“You just want to show Ted how pretty your legs are,” Corrine teases.

Janie runs in. “Would one of you please remind the powers that be around here that I'm going to take the next bus back to New York City if they don't stop bugging me about learning to swim. If I were meant to be in water, I'd have been born with gills.”

Corrine says, “Marcy, it's your time off. I'll handle this,” and she takes Janie outside.

I think about going to Woodstock. For years I've heard about it and I saw the film about the rock festival, which wasn't even held there. I've always wanted to go. It's supposed to be this special place for the arts, for all different kinds of people. And now I'm
going . . .and with Ted. I'm so excited that my stomach hurts.

I decide on my denim wraparound skirt, a light blue blouse, panty hose.

I grab my purse and walk out of the cabin.

“Stockings.” Corrine raises an eyebrow.

Janie looks at me. “You look nice. Big day off, huh? Bet you're going out with Ted. Be good. And if you can't be good, be careful. . . .”

I can't believe she said that. When I was her age, I knew nothing. As a matter of fact I still don't know much.

Risa and Linda come running up to us. “Did you see Nick? Did you? Did you?”

We shake our heads.

They're all out of breath.

We assigned them the job of camp gossip columnists, and they take their jobs very seriously. Only they spread the word before it's printed.

“Some of the kids bet Nick he didn't have enough nerve to shave his head. Now they've got to pay up.”

“You mean Nick, the counselor, or Nick, the kid in bunk nine?” Janie wants to know.

“The bunk nine Nick.”

The bunk nine Nick is coming up the hill, surrounded
by a bunch of kids. Only now he's the bald bunk nine Nick.

“I only hope his parents aren't coming up on Visitors' Day,” Corrine sighs.

I look at my watch. “I'll see you all later. I've got to go.”

I'm glad everyone's paying attention to Nick. Now I can make a fast getaway without any more comments.

Ted's waiting in the parking area.

I get into the car.

He looks different, a little less like camp, a little more dressed up. Blue jeans, just washed and even pressed. A short-sleeved T-shirt with the insignia from his sister's college, Princeton. Even his sneakers look like they've been washed.

Neither of us are wearing the usual layer of camp dirt that seems to collect on us as soon as we've been out for an hour.

“Did you see Nick?” I ask.

He nods. “I'm afraid of what he'd have done for twenty bucks.”

Ted starts up the car and heads out of the driveway.

We're on our way.

W
oodstock, only eight miles from camp. Here we come.

“Do you have to sit all the way at the other side of the car?” Ted asks. “I promise to keep both hands on the steering wheel.”

I move closer to him and look at the scenery.

He says, “I think you're going to like Woodstock.”

“Corrine says there are some great places to shop. Do you like to shop?”

“Sometimes. When it's places I want to go and my mother's not along telling me what I should buy.”

I continue to look at the scenery.

“So what do you really want to be when you grow up?” I ask and giggle. Giggling's truly catching. A regular plague. By the end of the summer I'll probably turn into a laughing hyena.

He says, “A set of Tinker Toys. And what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I want to be a kumquat.” I don't even know what a kumquat looks like. I just like the way it sounds.

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “But if the job market's tough and there are lots of kumquats out looking for work, I guess I'll be a novelist.”

“I want to be a doctor, if I can't be a set of Tinker Toys. And no matter what, I always want to be able to play music.”

We grin at each other.

Getting into town, I see how small the shopping area is. I'm used to the shopping malls around my house. Ted parks behind the bank, and we walk to Tinker Street. There are lots of people around. Folks are sitting on the village green, talking, playing
instruments, looking around, resting. Some of them look like pictures of the sixties, long hair, headbands. Some are wearing jeans, long skirts, dresses, shorts. It looks like anything goes when it comes to dress. Everyone looks summery. Comfortable. No one is wearing a prom dress. Corrine was right.

Ted holds my hand. “Come on. Let's start at the library and work our way down.”

We walk along, swinging our hands and looking at everything.

The Woodstock Library is a wonderful little building, one story, made of wood. It looks like a house that elves could live in.

“Let's go in,” I say. “I love books.”

“Me too.”

We walk up the path. People are sitting all over the lawn, reading and talking.

We enter. It's great, real homey with librarians who smile and offer to help.

“I wish I had a card here, even though I don't have much time to read,” I say.

“There's a bookstore farther up,” Ted says. “We can stop there.”

As we leave, I hear one of the librarians talking to
someone about the fair that's going to be run later on in the summer. Rummage sale, games, plays, good stuff like that.

We walk up farther.

There are lots of great stores, beautiful jewelry, clothes.

“Here we are,” Ted says. “The Golden Notebook.”

In we go. I love the place. It's got natural wood, books all over, piled up on the floor, shelves practically up to the ceiling. By the nature section there's even a real spider weaving a web. I point it out to Ted.

“They probably pay it to be there,” he says.

“Maybe it's going through an identity crisis and thinks it's a worm—a bookworm” is my comment.

I feel like a little kid in a toy shop. All those books. I've always wanted to be a writer, but before Ms. Finney, Barbara, I was afraid to tell anyone. I think it's some kind of miracle that all we have to work with is the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. And they turn into words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, books, conversations, plays. It's just incredible to me.

I buy three books. So does Ted.

We go through more stores.

“Here's one of my favorites,” Ted says, stopping in front of a house. Rainbow Shop, it says.

We walk in. The place is filled with rainbows, stars, moons, unicorns. It's like being in a fairy tale.

The guy standing there smiles. He's wearing all this rainbow jewelry. He's even got an enameled tooth with a star and rainbow on it. If I saw him walking down the street in my hometown, I'd be a little surprised, but here it seems perfectly natural.

A woman walks up to us and hands us a piece of paper. “Here's your rainbow.”

“Thanks.” I want to hug everyone in the world.

Ted starts to ask the Rainbow Man some questions, about the store, about how he got started. I think it's wonderful that Ted's not afraid to talk to people.

The Rainbow Man's telling him about the time he said, “I wish I had a quarter for every person who comes in here,” and then decided to charge admission.

“I refused to work until he cut it out,” the woman who gave us the rainbow said. “I went into the back room until he quit doing it.”

Everyone's smiling at everyone else.

I pick out a pair of rainbow earrings for me and a copy of
The Rainbow Book
for Stuart. I want to share this with him in some way. After all, he's stuck back home, and I just want him to be part of this somehow.

As I take the things up to the cash register, the Rainbow Man says, “Would you like me to autograph the book?”

It dawns on me. He's the one who did the book. The real-live author. I'm in shock. A real-live author. And he seems like a regular person.

He signs the book.

As we leave the store, everyone waves good-bye.

Ted hugs me. “Happy?”

“Very.” I hug him back.

He kisses me right there on the street in front of the world.

I'm too busy kissing him back to notice the world's reaction.

If my father could see me now, he'd probably lock me up in my room. But he's not here.

We stop kissing because I've dropped my packages and have to pick them up.

Pizza next. The bulletin boards in the restaurant
are full of news of upcoming concerts, plays, and art exhibits.

Next comes Rock City Rags, a place for T-shirts, where you can have anything printed on them.

“Let's get matching shirts,” Ted says. “To always remind us of today.”

He's not afraid to say things like that. I come from a family that finds it hard to show feelings. It's so nice to be with someone who isn't.

We pick out the shirts. White. With the “I Love New York” emblem put on it. Ted has his name put on the back with black lettering.

I say, “I think I take a medium or a large, and I'd like ‘Marcy' put on with glitter letters.”

The saleswoman looks at me. “Medium or large? I think you'll need a small. In fact, I'm sure of it.”

She and Ted are looking at me.

I can feel myself blush. Always blushing. It's disgusting. And it embarrasses me to have them look. Don't they know that blimps always take big sizes?

She puts a T-shirt up to me. “I bet you've lost a lot of weight. People who do never have a really accurate picture of what they look like.”

The small shirt fits.

One of these days, when I grow up, I'm going to
learn who I really am, what I really look like. But it sure isn't easy.

Even when I was heavier, I wasn't as bad looking as I thought I was. People usually aren't. But it's not an easy lesson to learn.

We leave the store.

Ted's got his arm around my shoulders, and I've got an arm around his waist.

All of a sudden I feel something weird around my hips, under my skirt.

It's my panty hose. They're starting to roll down.

I stop and pretend to look in a store window.

I put my hand into my skirt pocket and grab on to the panty hose to stop it from continuing the roll down my body.

We continue to walk.

One hand's holding on to my packages, the other's trying to hold up my panty hose. The hand that's trying to hold it up is attached to the elbow that keeps hitting Ted in his side.

Finally he stops and whispers in my ear, “Want to tell me what's going on before I end up with a bruised and battered body?”

I whisper back, telling him.

He starts to laugh and can't stop.

I start to laugh too, dropping my packages, and try to hold up the stockings with both of my hands in my pockets.

He just stands there looking at me.