I didn’t know this before, but sadness can be perfect. Today Lucy left for summer camp.
If things were perfect, there would have been thunder and lightning, tree limbs crashing to the ground, a freezing cold wind, and sirens howling in the distance. Instead it was partly cloudy, T-shirt weather, and there was an ice cream truck across the street chiming out an annoyingly cheerful song. It was decidedly not perfect. The world’s outsides and my insides did not match up.
Lucy and I were in the school parking lot, not saying much, mostly shuffling our feet in the gravel. The little stones around us were bunched into piles, and my new white Converse sneakers were dirty and gray. But I didn’t care. It felt right, my shoes matching my mood—grimy and dark.
The camp bus was parked off to the side. It was the exact same bus we rode to school every day, except for the piece of cardboard in the front window saying CAMP RED OAK. This first good-bye was only for a month; the next one would be forever. I tried not to think of this as a practice run for the real thing, but it was hard to ignore.
Three weeks from now I was going to join Lucy at camp. That would be our last month together before Lucy moved to Portland. FOREVER. It was like two stepping-stones into an abyss—lonely, happy, and then nothing.
Lucy’s parents were waiting with us, but off to the side—invisible if I twisted my head to the left. I didn’t want to see them. I hated them. This was new, but it was their fault—I didn’t feel guilty. If they changed their minds and let Lucy stay, I could love them again. It was that simple. But it wasn’t going to happen.
I wanted it to be just Lucy and me. I didn’t want them standing there watching us. Even though they were silent, I could read their thoughts, and it was distracting.
Lucy’s mom was thinking, Oh, how cute, the two girls are saying good-bye. Lucy’s dad was the opposite. He looked at his phone, sighed loudly, and shifted Lucy’s bag from one hand to the other. I knew what he was thinking too. He wanted out of there. He caught my eye and smiled. I could read his mind: What’s the big deal? You’ll see each other in a few weeks. I scowled and ignored him.
They were both wrong! This wasn’t cute, and it wasn’t temporary! This was earthquake-rumbling-tornado-swirling-tsunami-coming serious! At least for me; I didn’t know about Lucy. Sure, she’d miss me, but still, she was probably excited, too. Why not? Camp, even without a best friend, was going to be fun.
“Ash, let’s promise to write every day,” said Lucy. “I want to know everything I’m missing.”
She was being nice, trying to make me feel better, but I was staying here. Nothing fun was going to happen to me. She wouldn’t miss a thing. Instead of going to camp, I was babysitting for the first month she was gone. Mom had made me one of her deals. Her deals were always the same: “You listen, and I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen.” There was no give-and-take. So now I was babysitting some seven-year-old kid who I’d never even heard of before. It was completely unfair! For me there’d be no zip line rides, no water skiing, no rock climbing, no sleeping under the stars, no anything! What was I going to write about? Playing hopscotch with a seven-year-old?
“Maybe every second day,” I said. “And we should do postcards. You’re going to be way too busy to write whole letters.”
Lucy looked at me like I had just said something mean, but I wasn’t being mean; it was the truth. I’d looked through the camp guide. Camp was a busy place. Okay, maybe I was being a little mean, but I couldn’t help it.
“All right,” said Lucy. She sighed. “Postcards, but I wish we could email. Stupid camp!”
“Yeah, STUPID CAMP!” I said it too, but mine was louder and meaner—I meant the “stupid” part a lot more than she did.
Lucy’s “stupid” was because Camp Red Oak didn’t let campers bring computers, cell phones, or anything electronic with them to camp. Going to Camp Red Oak was like being zapped back in time—not all the way to the dinosaurs, but more like 1985 or something, which was a lot less interesting. The camp motto was “Trees Over Technology,” and they were serious about it. Campers were only allowed to write letters—no exceptions, not even to parents. Someone hadn’t thought this through very well, because a lot of trees were being killed just so everyone could send home paper mail. Lucy said she was going to bring that up at some point. Maybe organize a protest—save a few trees and get to use email. Anyway, this dumb letter rule was Lucy’s reason for the “stupid.” It was a good one, but it wasn’t mine. Mine was longer—I had a list.
Before the bus left, we hugged, we cried a little, and I tried not to think too much about what was happening. Lucy got on the bus. She waved, I waved, and then she was gone. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. I cried—a lot. It’s good I knew the way home, because it’s really hard to see where you’re going when your eyes are like Niagara Falls. And it’s even harder when your hair’s hanging down to hide it.
By the time I got home and walked up the back steps, I was done—all dried up. I still felt bad, but the crying part had stopped, and now I was hungry. That was a surprise. I wasn’t expecting that. I looked in the fridge for a snack. I liked yogurt and applesauce, but today they seemed wrong. I needed something hard and crunchy. I picked out a granola bar, and with each bite I thought about my stupids. The crunching made it easier to get through them. Yogurt wouldn’t have been the same. With yogurt I’d have been stuck at the top, wallowing in loneliness.