What It Was Like (6 page)

≁

The Evening Activity that night with the local Eagle Scouts from Boonesville was, on the one hand, very easy. We counselors just basically sat there and let these Eagle Scouts, who were almost my age but seemed more like goony teenagers, entertain the Inter boys, going on about knots and scouting and what they did for their merit badges. Dale helped guide the session; Stewie helped demonstrate the knots by letting himself be tied up; Marcus made sarcastic comments to me about the Boonie Scout leaders under his breath virtually without pause; and I spent the whole time frustrated, thinking constantly about Rachel. Why was I wasting my time
in here
when there was this fantastic, exciting girl
out there
?

I thought about what I had learned during our talk at the volleyball courts. I already knew that she was pretty and clever, but there was definitely something complex and maybe a little dangerous about her. I knew that I would have to “handle” her carefully if I was going to get anywhere with her.

Also, she was rich. I could have known that just because she had been going to Mooncliff all these years: all these kids were basically from rich families. Two of the Doggies' parents were doctors. But from the town Rachel lived in and the way she talked about her parents' fight over their divorce – how much alimony Mrs. Prince was entitled to, who was going to get the
new
Cadillac, and who was going to get the condominium in Fort Lauderdale – and the casual way she talked about money, made me think that she might be
rich
rich. That thought both excited and worried me.

I wound up having to get the Doggies into bed by myself that night. Stewie had a “very sure thing” set up with Marcy, this bouncy semi-blonde from the Midwest, who was in the bunk next to Rachel's. He was going to meet Marcy at the Main Office, where you had to sign out anytime you left the camp, and take her to Bailey's, the best bar in Boonesville. I told him to go, no problem. Just after he left, a nasty fight between the Redheaded Doggy and the Very Fat Doggy broke out over the order of possession of this much-passed-around Classics Illustrated
Count of Monte Cristo
comic book, and I had to break it up, yell a lot, and punish both of them. I dumped both their beds over onto the floor – the frames, the mattresses, everything: a traditional Mooncliff punishment. Then, they had to pick up their beds and make them themselves, in silence. This was after repeated warnings. I
hated
getting that angry at the kids. First of all, I am not, by nature, a violent person. (I know that may seem like a ridiculous thing to say, writing this from a jail cell, but it is the absolute truth.) It just seemed like a lot of wasted energy.

When things quieted down, Doggy tears all dried, I turned out the bunk light and went out with my book, blanket, and flashlight into the cold night to take up my O.D. post on the bench in the middle of Inter Circle until midnight. I also borrowed a bag of Doritos from the Fat Doggy, which I told him I would replace. I set myself up on the bench, putting out my stuff for the couple of hours in the cold. Occasionally, there would be something to do on O.D. Sometimes, a kid would get sick, or some kids would start a ruckus (say, a “raid” on another bunk, using wet toilet paper or water balloons or squirt guns as the weapon of choice). Then you'd have to get off your butt and go deal with the situation. But mostly, it was quiet.

All the counselors who weren't on O.D. were usually hanging out in the bottom of the Rec Hall at the Snack Shak, or were at the Main Office, making calls on the pay phone outside, or had gone into town like Stewie in his Super-Coupe with his Very Sure Thing, to Bailey's or, if they really got lucky, the Quarry, the old abandoned stone quarry that served as the local lovers' lane. But for me, there was nothing to do but stay at my post in the middle of Inter Circle, reading my book by flashlight until midnight.

I had brought some Hemingway stories with me, figuring that they would be easy to read and the print was big. But I just couldn't concentrate. There I was, alone in the night, wrapped in a blanket on a hard bench, wasting time. Right then, Rachel was probably hanging out at the Snack Shak (as a C.I.T., she wasn't allowed off campus), so some guys were probably talking to her, trying to get somewhere with her while I wasn't around. Obviously, she knew how to handle guys; all pretty girls learn how to do that. But still, I didn't like the thought of guys – Marcus, for instance – talking to her and looking at her, ogling her body and all. I know what guys think about when it comes to girls, and it's not pretty.

I heard a coyote howling – crying, actually – in the distance, and it sent a shiver through my shoulder blades. Surrounded by forest, there was life all around me in the dark, and I was really defenseless. I hadn't seen any coyotes, but other people had. And there had been bears until a few years ago when they found a better way to secure all the kitchen garbage. But here, at night, with everything so dark and exposed to nature, all I had was my flashlight.

Just then, something rustled and screeched in the woods, right in the bushes at the edge of the Circle: some animal, or something. I jumped about a mile off the bench, throwing off the blanket, the book, and the bag of Doritos, which went everywhere. I shined my flashlight into the bushes and yelled out –

“Who goes there?”

Instantly I felt silly for using such a movie-type cliché, but that's what I said. My heart was pounding, remembering the warning during Counselor Orientation about the bears, knowing that I had Dorito-scented bear bait all over my hands. But I felt even sillier when I saw that it was
Rachel
peeking out from behind one of the thick bushes, with a big smile on her face.

“Hi!” she shout-whispered, waving at me. When she saw that I recognized her, she ducked back down behind the bushes. I don't have to tell you that girls were strictly forbidden on Boys' Campus, and
at night, after
“
Taps
,” it was an even worse infraction. In fact, it was just the kind of thing that I, as an O.D., was there to
prevent
. And, of course, I was absolutely, blindly thrilled to see her.

Checking to make absolutely certain that no one was around, I fast-walked toward where she was hiding, keeping my flashlight beam on the ground in front of me.

“What the hell are you doing here??” I whispered.

“Aren't you glad to see me?” she said.

“Of course, I am,” I said, trying to keep my voice down. “But you'll get us both into trouble!”

“So?” she smiled, pulling me down behind the thick hedge. “We weren't finished before. I didn't get my kiss.”

There was a little bit of light, thrown by a flood lamp on a big pole between Inter and Junior Circles, and I could just see Rachel's face. She was dressed in all dark clothes, with the hood of a sweatshirt drawn tightly, framing her almost-perfect features.

“You're right,” I whispered, surprised in two ways. Not only was she here to see me, but she had come for a kiss.

“I'm really not usually this forward with boys,” she said.

“That's OK,” I said, gently loosening and moving the hood of the sweatshirt back from her head, letting her long hair free. She might have been lying a little, but I didn't care. “You can be any way you want to be.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say because she closed her eyes dreamily and tilted her head back just so, and I moved in for that kiss. That perfect first kiss. Not too soft, just warm and close and deep and long and –

“What are you doing?” she said when I stopped for a moment.

“Letting you breathe,” I said softly. “But I don't have to.”

She giggled sweetly.

“I can't believe you actually came here to see me.”

“I have this habit of getting what I want.”

“I believe you,” I said. I mean, who would deny her anything, especially a kiss? “Wait a second,” I whispered.

I turned away from her, sprinted to the bench in the middle of the circle and, making sure that nobody saw me, picked up the blanket and ran back to her.

“Good idea!” she whispered, rubbing her hands together. The grass was already soaked with dew, and the ground was cold.

“This is really dangerous,” I said as I spread the blanket out. “We could get thrown out of here.”

“Oh, that's impossible,” she said. “They can't throw me out of here: I'm
related
. My Aunt Penny is married to Bernie Marshak.”

“But what about
me
?” I said. I was the one on duty, and technically not doing my job. “
I'm
the counselor.
I'm
supposed to control things and make sure the rules are obeyed. This is in direct violation of Mooncliff rules and regulations. They could fire me at any –”

She laughed, putting her hand gently over my mouth, and said, “Oh, I wouldn't let them do anything to you! You're completely innocent.”

Which made me laugh. Me, in the dark, on O.D., with an illegal girl.

“I can't help it, Rachel,” I said. “I have a terrible tendency to overthink things.”

“Well . . .” she said in a plain, sweet whisper, “Stop it.”

That was when our gazes locked; I took her hand and guided her down to the blanket. And we kissed again, much more deeply. It was cold on the blanket on the ground – cold and dangerous and fairly uncomfortable and foolhardy. It was wild and rushed and unforgettable, and we didn't even nearly finish.

Right in the middle of things, there was a loud cracking noise from Inter Circle. We stopped instantly, not breathing. I peeked out from behind the bush. I recognized a couple of Senior counselors walking through the Circle on their way back to their bunks. It looked like they had gone to Bailey's like Stewie, and gotten drunk because of how loudly they were talking and trudging. They didn't even notice that no one was sitting O.D. on the bench in the middle of the Circle as they walked past. Barely twenty yards away from them, Rachel hid behind me as I hid behind the bush. She pulled the blanket up around us and we huddled there, not making any noise and trying not to move.

One of the counselors stopped short. Did they hear us? Were we caught?

Rachel inhaled, making a tiny frightened noise. I winced, wondering if they heard her. Of course, there were crickets and all kinds of forest sounds all around us, but we had made human sounds. A moment passed when I heard nothing but my heartbeat, Rachel's breathing, and the crickets.

“What'sa matter?” said one of the counselors.

The other guy paused for a long, aching moment, and said, “Nothing . . . I farted.”

Rachel and I held each other tight, trying not to laugh. The other counselor – I recognized them by now: Jeff and Warren, the guys from Bunk 15 – swatted the farter on the arm, and they walked on, laughing and crunching through the wet night grass and out of Inter Circle.

We breathed again, but it was a close enough call for us to start getting ourselves together.

“We better go,” I whispered, and she nodded in agreement.

“It's cold,” she said.

“Sssh!” I said, pulling on my shirt as I helped her. “More guys'll be coming back soon.”

“I know,” she said. “Jerry is kind of insane about making curfew.”

“Great!” I said to myself. I stood on one leg, putting on my shoe, and Rachel, unable to resist a mischievous urge, gave me a little push, and I fell over, right into the bush.

A ripple of her musical laugh just came out of her. I'm sure I was funny, falling over, but it wouldn't have been funny if somebody had heard us.

“Are you completely crazy?” I whispered harshly, as I pulled myself up and out of the branches.

She giggled, “Only when absolutely required,” helping me get my balance.

And she kissed me again before I could say anything else. And since kisses are better than words, I forgot what I was going to say. When we came up for air, I pulled the hood of her sweatshirt back up over her head and tucked in her soft, long hair.

“You
are
insane,” I said. “To come here to see me.” She looked so pretty and proud of her dangerous mission.

“No, I'm not,” she said. “Wasn't this fun? Sometimes the right thing to do is just right there in front of you.”

“I absolutely agree,” I said, and I drew her back to me for one more, strong kiss. She was cold, and we were both shaking, but it didn't matter.

“Be careful going back,” I said.

We held on for one last moment, and then I let her go.

“Don't let anyone see you.”

“Don't worry,” she said, blowing me a sweet, soft kiss. “I'll
fly
back!”

Then she turned and disappeared into the woods toward Girls' Campus, down a path through the trees that I didn't know existed. I guess that, from coming to Mooncliff for so many years, she knew some short cuts. I watched her until she disappeared into the forest, knowing/hoping that she'd make it back to her bunk safely.

I picked up the blanket, shook it out, and folded it up as best I could as I walked back to my bench. Remarkably, there wasn't a sound coming from any of the bunks. Not one kid cried out, no one made a fuss, the whole time that Rachel was there. No other counselors were walking by; there was still a little time until curfew. It was as quiet and peaceful as night should be. I sat down on the bench, leaned back against the trunk of the tree, and ate the rest of the Doritos. How, I wondered, did I suddenly get to be the luckiest guy on the planet?

≁

We weren't caught that night. We got away with it cleanly, just as Rachel said we would. At Line-Up the next morning, Rachel stood behind her girls across the big circle, cheerful and happy. She only looked at me once, but her Mona Lisa smile said,
Didn't I tell you we'd get away with it?

After breakfast, she was waiting for me, sitting on the low wall in the corner of the front porch.

“Nice morning,” she said to me as I approached her.

“Nice night,” I said back to her.

We couldn't really talk because she had a couple of her girls around her, and I had two Doggies in tow. But our eyes connected.

“What do you have this morning?” I asked her.

Her eyes, even bluer in the morning light, never left mine. “I have no idea,” she said. She seemed really happy to see me, her co-conspirator.

“Riflery!” her girls brayed. Which made us laugh.

“Who
are
these kids?” I asked Rachel, trying to find The Zone through the chaos of our campers pulling at us.

“We're the campers you
love
!”
 
said the Smart Doggy who was pulling on my arm along with the Doggy With Braces.

I shook them off with a laugh, “I'd love it if you'd clean up the bunk for a change! Instead of Doggies, we should call you ‘Piggies' instead!”

Rachel's girls laughed at that and started making pig noises at the boys who retaliated with noises of their own.

“Let's go, campers!” Harriet shouted from the front steps. “And
Inter counselors
!” – she looked right at us –”Everybody back to the bunks for c
lllll
lean-up!”

I don't know why Harriet seemed to single us out. We weren't the only people hanging out after breakfast; there were lots of counselors getting in one last smoke or one last joke. Who really wanted to go back to the bunk and watch a bunch of kids clean toilets badly? But we waved our goodbyes as our campers dragged us back to our respective bunks.

But before we went our separate ways, one of her campers, the pudgy one with frizzy hair from the rowboat, shouted to me, “She's still in love with Eric! . . . She gets letters from Eric!”

I turned to see Rachel swatting at the little girl who darted laughingly away, just out of her grasp.

“You little snoop!” screamed Rachel, chasing her, and not in fun.

I watched as Rachel caught up to the little girl, twisting her T-shirt in her grasp and holding her tight. She marched the little girl away, obviously giving her a good talking-to. Rachel didn't take any lip from her kids. Good for her.

But that name couldn't stop reverberating in my mind: “
Eric
.”

≁

I got Sid from Marcus's bunk to cover for me at Swim Instruction, and I surprised her at the rifle range, which was on the far, far side of the baseball fields.

“You sweet thing!” she cried when she turned around after I had snuck up on her and put my hands over her eyes. She had been standing with her back to me, watching with her girls as Gil, the riflery counselor, loaded a BB gun.

All the girls turned and looked at us.

“You girls watch Gil!” Rachel ordered. “
Now
!” Instantly, all their heads swiveled back to face the BB gun demonstration.

Delighted by the automatic obedience she commanded, I took Rachel by the hand and led her away from the rifle range toward a flat boulder nearby.

“I can't believe you came to see me!” she said.

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” I said. “Right?”

I checked to make sure that all her girls were watching Gil before I pulled Rachel into a deep, warm kiss.

I released her and whispered, “That's for last night.”

She smiled dreamily and kissed me back, even more deeply.

“And that's for right now,” she said.

I tried to pull her into even another kiss, but she turned away.

“We should stop,” she said.

“We should
never
stop!”

But she laughed, pushing me away with both hands, and I let her. It really wasn't the right place, or the right time. She giggled that musical little laugh as I took her by the hand and sat her down on the flat boulder in the sun. I sat next to her, very close.

We didn't say anything for a while. We just sat in the sun, feeling its warmth like that great Beach Boys song, our shoulders touching. And it was OK, being silent together. It was surprisingly . . . comfortable.

I whispered to her, “I can't believe they let these little girls shoot guns.”

“They're only BB guns,” she said. “And it's really fun. And it teaches them gun safety. I've been doing it my whole life here, every summer.”

She jumped up from the boulder and demonstrated. “‘Load, cock, aim, fire. Load, cock, aim, fire.' I'm actually a great shot. I have medals.”

“So let me get this straight,” I said. “You're strong,
and
you can shoot a gun?”

“You don't think I can shoot?” she said, her voice rising once challenged.

“I bet you're Annie Oakley,” I said with a smirk that I just couldn't keep off my face; she was so damn cute.

“
Better
. My father has a couple of guns,” she said. “He says it makes him feel safer, in our neighborhood. Besides, he says a girl like me has to learn to take care of herself.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that you can take care of yourself,” I cracked, which made her smile and poke my arm. “My parents are not what you'd call ‘
gun
people,'” I said, thinking of my father with a gun. “They're more like . . . Formica people. Linoleum people.”

Which made her giggle out loud, earning us a disapproving cough from Gil.

“Can we have a little quiet back there?” he twanged. “We are dealing with a dangerous firearm here!”

The Inter girls all turned as one and looked at us with dark accusatory looks.

“Sorry,” I said. “We'll shut up.”

I got up from the boulder, took her hand, and walked her a little ways away from the rifle range.

“C'mon,” I whispered.

“Y'know, I got a big fat earful from big fat Harriet this morning,” she said. “About spending too much time with you on the Mess Hall porch after meals. The old bag. She's just jealous. She only wishes a man would look at her without gagging!”

“What did she say?” I asked.

“Oh, just the regular control thing,” she said with a dismissive twist of her mouth. “‘
You must consider your priorities more caaarefully, Rachel
.' She's always hated me, hatchet-faced old –”

I had to smile, so fierce was her condemnation of Harriet and so dead-on was her imitation.

“What?” she said. “You don't think people want to control you? Everyone wants to control someone! My parents want to control me.”

“But no one controls you,” I teased her.

“Not unless I want them to,” she flirted back, but I could tell that she really didn't like the idea of
anyone
controlling her.

It was as good a time as any to ask the question that had been eating away at my brain.

“So,” I said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask me anything you want,” she said, looking straight into my eyes without a hint of fear.

“Who is Eric?”

I think the name made her flinch just a little, but she kept her eyes locked on mine.

I waited until she spoke. I wasn't going to let her off the hook.

“Eric?” she said with a slight stammer. “Where did you get that? Eric is . . . nobody.”

I didn't say anything else. I let her talk.

“That's just something from home,” she said haltingly. “Oh, I know what it is! I have this big reputation around here as a tease and everything, but that isn't me anymore. Don't listen to anybody; I'm really not the same person I used to be.”

She paused and her eyes narrowed as she thought of something that troubled her.

“I've learned a lot of things lately,” she reflected. Then she took my hand in her two hands.

“And,” she said, pausing for just a second. “I've been developing certain plans. Things that I've been thinking about seriously, for a long, long time. You want to know them?”

“Go on,” I said.

“OK,” she said in a lower voice, choosing her words carefully. “What I feel is . . . that . . . you don't have to live the way that other people live; you can make different choices. We can live different lives.”

“I know we can,” I smiled back.

“No!” she said sharply. “I'm serious.”

I saw that she was and said, “Keep going.”

She got quiet for a long moment, and I saw that she was telling me something that obviously meant a lot to her.

“So you know I'm going to be a senior this year at Oakhurst High.”

This, I did know. The little town of Oakhurst was about a twenty-minute drive from my house, but a world away, income-level-wise.

“And this is the year I'm supposed to be applying to colleges and all that,” she said.

“I know,” I said, coaxing her to continue. “So?”

“Well,” she said, her eyes fixing on me. “What if I didn't do all that? What if I didn't go to college like everyone else? My grandmother left me some money that I inherit when I turn eighteen, which will be next January.”

“Well, happy birthday to you,” I said, impressed.

“No, listen to me!”
 
she said fiercely. “I've decided. I'm going to take that money and move into the City and get an apartment and just live for awhile. I am
finished
with school, at least for now. And I am finished with unhappy, hostile people telling me what to do. Why should I listen to my parents? They're
miserable
! I don't want to be like them. And so if I refuse to be put into a mold –”

“I won't put you into a mold,” I said, but she went on, ignoring me.

“Some people say I'm selfish and naïve and everything, but I don't care what people say. I'm going to get this money and do what
I
want to do with my life. At least for now, while I can. And now with you going to
Columbia
” – she pointed at me, her two index fingers aimed directly at my heart – “it's like it was
planned
. I
so
didn't want to come here again this summer, but now I see it was for a reason. It's like Fate brought you here, to the Moon-shak, so that we would meet. And now I'll have you in the City, waiting for me, when I make my move. It's like it was meant to be!”

She smiled, hopeful and a little uncertain, wanting me to respond.

“Well?” she asked me. “What do you think?”

I admit it: I was a bit dazzled. I had been flash-daydreaming about her virtually from the moment we met, fantasizing about how I could make this girl mine – and there she was, two steps ahead of me, making plans for us to be together in the fall
and beyond
!

“Wow,” I said. “When did you think all this up?”

“I don't know,” she said. “It all just came together. I've been thinking about this for a long time, about doing something with my grandma money –”

“Your ‘grandma money'?” I repeated with some amusement: I mean it did sound funny.

“But meeting
you
” – she leaned forward, ignoring my wisecrack, and poked my thigh, right above my knee – “crystallized everything. It's like a sign that I'm doing something right.”

“But –” said the Realist/Puppet in me. “Don't you
want
to go to college?”

“No!” she shot back. “Not right now! I'm
sick
of school, aren't you? Oh, I used to get all As, but then after a while, I decided what's the point? I used to sit in the front row and flash my teachers a big, big smile and get all As. So then one day I stopped smiling and started sitting in the back row and all the As magically disappeared. It's all just a big game, and I stopped caring about it a long time ago.”

“I'm sorry . . . I never really thought about it that way,” I said, realizing that I sounded a little foolish. “College was always such an . . . an inevitability,” I continued. “It's all that anyone ever expected of me.
And
it beats going to ‘Nam. I mean I need the student deferment, or I'm gonna be face-down in some rice paddy somewhere.”

“OK,” she conceded. “You're right about that. At least I don't have to think about going into the army.”

“Maybe you could join the WACs,” I joked. “You look great in green.” But that was the wrong thing to say.

She grabbed my wrist tightly and said, “No, I'm really
serious
about this. I want something
different
out of life.”

I could see that she was more than serious. The intensity in her eyes stood me still. This was no idle thought with her: this was a long-contemplated, life-or-death escape plan.

“Do your parents know about this?” I asked.

“My parents have totally screwed up their lives,” she said. “Why should I take their advice? . . . I'm not saying anything new; I'm just going to be the one to
do
something about it.”

“OK,” I said, nodding, trying to show that I understood her. “I hear you.”

“But do you
believe
me?” she asked, her blue-blue eyes burning into mine, asking me for the truth.

“I believe you.”

I hustled down to the Boys' waterfront, my head spinning with thoughts of Rachel. I'm such a “good boy,” with hardly a rebellious bone in my body, and here was this girl who seemed to have everything (looks, brains, money, confidence), everything the typical suburban princess possessed, and yet she wanted something different out of life, something
more
. Rachel was becoming more and more interesting by the moment.