What It Was Like (14 page)

Dale worked us all day, taking down the beds, removing and storing the window screens, and after that, clearing out a meadow near the campsite on the far side of the lake. As a “treat,” Dale had a couple of the few remaining workers in the kitchen bring us a picnic lunch in a motorboat. (It was really so we could keep working straight through the afternoon, without going back to the Mess Hall for lunch.) But what I really wanted was a phone. By the end of an afternoon of clearing brush in the sun, I was half agreeing with Rachel –
To hell with the money.

They ferried us back across the lake in the late afternoon in two boats. We were all pretty tired and sunburned.

“Well,” muttered Big Alby as we stepped out onto the boating dock, “Stanley is sure getting his last nickel's worth of sweat out of us.”

Nobody disputed him.

Like clockwork, I was up at the pay phone by the Main Office just before 8:00. Dale had taken pity on us and sent someone into town for some six-packs.

“This is only because Stanley and Jerry aren't around,” Dale told us, sucking back a Rolling Rock on the front porch of the Mess Hall where the beers were in a big blue plastic tub of ice. “But you guys are earning it.”

“One more day,” he said. “Then, back to reality.”

I admit that I was a little beer-buzzed when I dialed Rachel's number, leaning against the outside wall of the Main Office. I still had the pink paper folded tightly in my pocket, but I already had the number in my brain. Tonight, I was ready to let it ring forever.

Instead, before the first ring ended, someone picked up.

“Hello?” she answered. It was Rachel.

“Thank God!” I said.

“You don't believe in God,” she replied.

“I know, but if I did, I would be thanking Him now.”

She laughed, “Oh. Wait a second!”

There was about a minute of silence. I didn't know if Rachel covered the phone with her hand or put me on hold, but there was no sound for a long time. Then –

“You have no idea how much I've missed you,” she exhaled with relief.

“Yes, I do,” I shot back. “I called you all last night and –”

“Oh, I am
so
sorry, baby!” she said. “My mother dragged me out to dinner with
Herrrrb.
” The scornful way she said his name almost made me laugh, but I didn't.

“That's OK,” I said. “I just wish I had known that –”

“
I
didn't know they were going to take me out!” she said. “You think I
wanted
to go out with them? I was
dying
when it was eight o'clock, and I knew you were calling.”

“I
was
calling!” I assured her.

“I
knew
you were,” she said. “I
felt
you. You know that.”

We talked a while longer – fortunately, I'd remembered to bring a pocketful of coins. She told me how difficult her mother was being, and how she hadn't even seen her father but was dreading it. I gave her continuous sympathy, trying to pick up her spirits and look on the bright side of things. I hated to hear her sound upset and edgy.

“I don't know when she's watching me, or when she's not watching me,” Rachel whispered. “But I'm trying to make the best of it, like you said, and not get into fights with her. And I'm trying to set up the dinner, so she can meet you so we can go out. I can't wait to get some wheels so I can get out of here. But I have to handle things very carefully.”

“You
will
,” I assured her.

Finally she said, “I have to go. She's nagging me to get off the phone.”

“That's OK,” I said. “I should go too.”

“You don't want to talk to me anymore?” she asked.

“No,” I laughed, “I was just saying that because you had to go. I could talk to you forever.”

She laughed a little and said, “Good answer.”

“But really,” I lowered my voice, trying to sound seductive. “I wish we could do more than talk.”

“Stop that!” she giggled. “Wait till you get home.”

“I can't wait,” I said. “One more day.
Two
more days! I'll be home, day after tomorrow. Then we'll be in The Zone again.”

“The Zone . . .” she repeated with that musical thrill in her voice. “But call me tomorrow night,” she continued. “Please.”

“At eight?” I asked.

“Eight o'clock. I'll be here,” she said. “Waiting. I promise.”

Her voice sounded warm and reassuring, so that when I hung up the phone, I stood there under the floodlight, surrounded by the cold night, thinking,
OK! This isn't so bad. I can get through another day easily because tomorrow night I'll be talking to Rachel. And I'll be one day closer to her.

≁

I got through the next day, moving the rowboats and canoes into dry dock, now that the paint had dried, but when I called Rachel's home at 8:00 that night, there was no answer. Nothing but the now-familiar sound of the phone ringing and ringing and ringing in my ear.

“This seems to be a pattern,” I said out loud to no one as I hung up the pay phone outside the Main Office. On this last night of Close-Down, everybody had gone into Bailey's one last time. Now I wish I had gone with them.

I called every ten minutes for the next hour and then gave up. But I did the right thing, trying that long. That is what mattered: doing the right thing, not necessarily the result.

I made one last call to my home, telling my parents when I'd be there the next day. Probably in the afternoon, but I was dependent on Sal, the waterfront head, who was driving me home. (I was lucky; he had a big enough truck, an El Camino, so that he could take all my stuff.) My mother was embarrassingly overjoyed to hear that I was coming home tomorrow and promised me a big “welcome home” dinner out.

“Anything you want,” she said. “Fried clams at Howard Johnson's. Anything!”

I said that I'd think about it and hung up. I stood there and listened to the crickets in the dark. I watched the moths hit against the floodlight over the door of the Main Office and thought about all that I had waiting for me at home. The good and the
very
good.

I was too restless to go back to my bunk – I was mostly packed anyway – so I walked around the Moon-shak one last time. It was fairly dark, but there were a few lampposts around the campus, and the sky was moon bright, so I could see where I was going. I made one long, slow circuit of the campus. I walked by the Rec Hall, all dark except for a floodlight over the big rear door. That's where I first talked to Rachel after the square dancing. I remember that she was a little suspicious of me; she was suspicious of every boy, I think. But I'd made a good-enough impression. It was in the basement of the Rec Hall, by the Snack Shak, where I first saw her, so pretty and mysterious across the room. Marcus said that she would tease me to death. Maybe she did.

I went by the net-less volleyball courts and the target-less riflery range. It was too dark to walk to the Quarry, but I thought of all our good times there. I walked around to all the places where we talked, all the places where we made love – whether physically or with our words. I heard some laughter from the staff house, behind the kitchen. There were still a few people around, but I didn't want to see or talk to anyone. I had had enough of other people for a while.

I walked down the long slope to the lake and sat on a circular bench that was built around the trunk of huge oak tree; everything else had been put away. I watched the moonlight shimmer off the rippled surface of the water, recalling how early in the summer I baited my trap for her in the rowboats with
Gatsby
. Not that I'd needed it, old sport, but I think it might have helped at the time. I would have gotten her anyway. We were
fated
for each other. I guess you would have to add to that: in both good ways and bad.

All the times we sat together by the lake, dreaming of the future, and now the “future” was upon us. I was ready to go home, more than ready. I had great things waiting for me: a beautiful girl and the beginning of an Ivy League education. Everything I ever wanted, and more. I admit that I was nervous, but I was hopeful, too, trying to think only positive things. I know it sounds corny, but this is exactly what I was feeling. Isn't that the point of this whole exercise: to be truthful? Do you want me to make up evil and dark thoughts just because of what happened later?

It was getting colder by the open water, and a little spooky. The wind had picked up for no reason, and the surface of the lake flickered with moonlight. The branches of the big tree shuddered, shaking all the leaves like tiny bells. I thought that I heard the rustling of an animal in the bushes directly behind me. I turned quickly to look, but there was nothing to see. It could have been my imagination. Or not. Who knows, it could have been ghosts – ghosts of other Mooncliff lovers, before Rachel and me. Ghosts of lovers from summers past, whose love died in the autumn but somehow came back and lived on here. Winter ghosts. Poe ghosts. Maybe when everyone was gone, they were still around, not having to dodge Jerry and Harriet, or whoever were the Jerrys and Harriets in their day. Now they could spend all the time they wanted being together, unlike Rachel and me. We were always under the threat of someone seeing us, or having to get back to the bunk by such-and-such a time. We were never free. That was the challenge of the future: How would we be together when we were really, finally “free?”

I zipped my jacket all the way to my throat, turned up my collar, and hustled back to my empty bunk. I wanted to get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow would be the end of the greatest summer of my life and the beginning of the greatest fall.

Part II

The Fall

≁

The first thing I did when I got home from the eight weeks at Camp Moon-shak – after taking my things out of Sal's El Camino, thanking him, carrying them inside, and kissing my waiting mother on the cheek – was call Rachel. I walked into our house, which wasn't very big to begin with, and it seemed small and dark, compared to the expanses of the summer. The summer was all about the big outdoors; even the
indoors
were big. Now there I was, back home, and things felt different. Cramped.

I went directly into the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed. Nothing had changed in the kitchen: same table and chairs, same pots and pans, same smell. You would think that with having their only son away for two months my parents might have changed
something
, but no, everything was exactly the same. By the time I finished turning over these thoughts, I realized that the number had rung several times and nobody was home at Rachel's. I slowly hung up the phone on the wall in the kitchen: the same phone, on the same wall. I was somewhat disappointed that she wasn't home, but there was nothing I could do about that for the moment.

The second thing I did when I got home from the Moon-shak was sleep thirteen straight hours. I know that I had all these plans – lists of things to do, stuff to buy, friends to see – that I went over and over in my mind during the long drive back with Sal, but once I got home, all the tiredness of the summer descended into my body. Sleeping in my own bed, in the cocoon of my own dark bedroom upstairs, made me realize that I hadn't gotten a really good night of sleep all summer. Sleeping in a giant, drafty bunk with a dozen drooling Doggies and Stewie too, with raccoons walking just outside and coyotes howling in the distance, isn't the way to get a good night's rest. There were no curtains on the windows, no privacy, no quiet for eight weeks. No wonder I was bone-dead tired.

After my thirteen hours of coma-sleep, I came downstairs feeling like somebody had hit me over the head with a baseball bat. Maybe a shower would make me feel human again, but first I went into the kitchen to ask my Mom a question.

“Hi,” I said. “Did anyone call for me?”

“Yes,” said my mother, turning around from the stove where she was cooking something. “A girl. But she didn't give her name. She said that you would know who it was.”

That made me feel better instantly. I ran back upstairs and took a hot-cold-hot-cold-hot shower, sort of like James Bond does, that reinvigorated me and somewhat restored my humanity. All the while my mind raced with plans. I had much to do: Connect with Rachel. Meet her mother and her father, in whatever order they wanted. Get myself organized for Columbia. And do all my shopping for school. I had only a couple of days before Freshman Orientation started. Thank goodness, I was finally “going away to college.” OK, it was only Manhattan, not all that far from the Island, but I'd still be living on campus, in the dorms. I know that some kids commuted to Columbia and had to live in their parents' home; at least I was spared
that
.

I came back downstairs, clean and ready for the day. My mother read my mind and had French toast, Canadian bacon, and the real thick apple juice I like prepared for my first breakfast home. It was one of the few good things she cooked, and I needed fuel. I had taken the Freshman Orientation packet from Columbia to Mooncliff, but I have to admit that I only glanced at it once during the whole summer. I guess I had wanted to be a different person, a less responsible one. Now that I was back in the real world, I had to attend to business.

“Can I use your car this morning?” I asked my Mom, who was pouring milk into a measuring cup with surgical concentration.

“Why?” she said suspiciously, with that parental reflex of refusal.

“You know I have a million errands to run,” I said.

“‘A million'?” she repeated archly.

“As many as I have,” I said. “And no more French toast. Please.”

“Well . . .” she said, pausing for no reason because we both knew that she had to say ‘yes,' “As long as you bring me a half a gallon of milk from the A&P on the way home.”

“Does the milk have to be from the A&P?”

“You know your father likes the A&P milk,” she answered as if it were something I should know. And I admit that I did.

“OK,” I muttered. “One half-gallon, A&P milk.” I loved my parents, but I already couldn't stand being home.

I made a list of everything I needed. I figured I could buy some stuff at the Columbia bookstore, but I wanted to start with some basic things, all fresh and new, the spiral notebooks I like, pens, etc., and I could probably get that stuff cheaper out here. Things in the City were generally more expensive. Plus I had to go to the bank. There were a couple of guys from high school, Paul and Jeff, I wanted to catch up with before they went off to school (Williams and Lehigh, respectively), but they could wait. I had more immediate things to do.

I waited until after 10:00 to call the Princes' number. I figured that was a decent hour: not too early, not too late. I picked up the phone on the kitchen wall, dialed the number, and pulled the long cord into the dining room for some privacy. I needn't have bothered. On the second ring, it picked up.

“Hello,” said a female voice, “Prince residence.” It was a soft Southern-accented voice and definitely not Rachel.

“Hello, is Rachel home?” I asked.

“No,” said the voice. “I'm sorry she's out. May I ask who's calling?”

I gave her my name and number and asked when she'd be back.

“She went out with her mother, so there's no telling,” said the voice. “But I'll tell her you called.”

Before I could say “thank you” she hung up.

OK
, I thought to myself,
I'll do the rest of what I have to do, and I'll see Rachel later.
I told myself that I had to be patient; if I thought about all the time I
wasn't
with Rachel, I'd go nuts. Instead, I went on my errands.

The first thing I did was go to the bank. I had
two
checks: one was my regular paycheck for the summer, and the other was a separate check for Close-Down. I put the whole regular check into my savings account, and the Close-Down check into my checking. I have to say that I felt good about this; I'd wanted to come back with a decent chunk of money to start the fall with, and I did. I'm not exactly a pauper, but I'm just about the farthest thing from rich, and this was far-and-away the most money I had ever had in the bank in my entire life. I had no idea what my expenses would be, but at least I had a nest egg to start with.

As I drove around from store to store in my mother's old Ford Falcon (a car that does not deserve a nickname), it occurred to me that, if I wanted to, I could just drive over to Rachel's house. I knew the address, and I knew where the town of Oakhurst was. I had been there several times. I was even at a debating tournament at Oakhurst High, the same one that Rachel went to. I could drive over there, go into a gas station and just ask for directions. I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard to find the house; there was nothing stopping me. Nothing stopping me except good common sense. The last thing Rachel needed was me showing up unannounced, before she had time to prepare the situation. Not that I didn't want to drive over there, take her in my arms, and re-enter The Zone – with everything that meant. The main thing is that
I didn't
. Instead, I finished my errands, stopped at the A&P for the half-gallon of milk, and went home.

I was rewarded for my patience and self-control. Not more than ten minutes after I walked in the door, the phone rang. I pounced on it, feeling optimistic.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Thank God it's you,” Rachel said, and I felt instantly happier and calmer. “God, I've missed your voice. I've missed your –”

“Everything,” I concluded for her, and she laughed the musical laugh that I loved. I'd loved it on that first night after square dancing with Pecos Pete and the Joad family, and I loved hearing it then, over the phone.

“So how have you been?” I asked her.

“Semi-horrible,” she said fake-cheerfully. “But I'm much better now.”

“Me too,” I agreed.

“Can I ask what you are doing for dinner tonight?” she floated.

I played along. “I don't know,” I said. “What
am
I doing for dinner tonight?”

“You're going to meet me
and
my mother and
Herrrb
at our beach club and have dinner,” she said. “If that's OK with you?”

“That is
more
than OK with me!” I answered eagerly.

She lowered her voice and whispered hurriedly, “You have no idea how horrible it is here, the tension. She really hates me.”

“She doesn't
hate
you,” I tried to comfort her. “I'm sure she's just –”

“No!” she cut me off. “You'll see.”

“OK . . .” I said. “You know that
I
don't hate you.”

“I don't hate you either,” she said.

Just like that, we were back in The Zone. We talked a little longer. Rachel gave me the address of the beach club and a bunch of warnings about what not to talk about during the evening: the War, the Marshaks, and the divorce.

I just laughed her off, “Don't worry, sugar. I know how to handle adults.”

“You've never met my mother,” she said.

“Don't worry so much!” I said. “I'll charm her, and she'll relax and let you go out with me, and we'll have everything we want. Time, privacy, no Jerry, no Estelle. Just like we planned.”

That made her laugh. Which is what I always wanted, one way or the other: to make her happier.

“I told you, we're going to do everything right,” I said. “See you tonight.”