My parents cried out when I told them where I was going. I cried too. I do not know about anyone who has been in The Camps. I don’t know what to expect, but I try to comfort myself by saying it is only ten days. I try to think of it as running. I have always liked to run, but it can be painful. Therefore, it sometimes helps to have a timer on it. I will run one hour, I say. And after one hour, there will be no more pain. Ten more minutes, I say, and it is over. Over, over.
I pack a small, black suitcase of clothes. Outdoor clothing and woolen underwear. It is cold by the border in the winter. And it is even colder in The Camps. No electricity. When the suitcase is packed, I snap a photo and make a post of it. I do not lie, but I do not add any caption, and the response from my followers and friends is to ask where I am going on holiday. I don’t answer. Let them believe I am going away holidaying.
Afterward, I call Jenny and ask if I can come over in the evening. Jenny is the only human being I feel safe to say I have a friendship with, that does not depend on Social Media. When we talk, we do it together, in a room, our bodies near each other.
I tell her about the book, and what happened afterward, and where I am going. She stares at me, her mouth hanging open. It would have been a humorous view if not for the circumstances.
“You are going to The Camps? For real?” she asks.
I nod. “Yes. I’m leaving tomorrow. For ten days.”
“Ten days? In The Camps?” Her eyes are wide with fright.
I nod again. Her reaction makes my own fear grow ten times the size.
“But, they can’t do that. You’re just a girl. You could be raped, you could be killed. The people in those camps are animals, criminals.”
I have tried my best not to think about those possibilities, but now the words have been spoken, and there is no way back from the fearful sceneries triggered in my mind.
“It doesn’t have to be so bad,” I try to say, my voice weak.
She is silent. Jenny is usually a talkative girl, and her silence scares me much more than her words. It means that there are no words for what is about to happen, and before my eyes I see into a wordless, black hole, stretching in front of me for the next ten days.
“Will you be living in The Camps, in the tents, with those people, those animals?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh my God. Prison would have been better.”
“Why on earth would you read that book? Why would you read a book in the first place? You have Kindle.”
I can’t explain. I just shake my head.
“What was it about?” she asks next, her voice suddenly a whisper. We both look around in the room, to make sure there are no listeners. To simply talk about a flagged item is not a problem in itself, but you always have to be careful.
“It was about the issues of race and class in the USA, from the time before, you know, in 1930 or something.”
She frowns.
“But that has been solved ages ago. Our society is much better now. African Americans have had equal rights for years.”
I nod.
“I know, but it is not so much about African Americans as it is about people in general.”
“What do you mean?”
I shake my head.
“I don’t know.”
I quickly change the conversation into a safer topic. No ripples.
Now, you might wonder why I am not guarded. Why I, in peace the night before my shipping, can go unattended to a friends house. There are two reasons for that. The first, and the most important one, is; Where would I run to? There are no wilds anymore. There are people living everywhere, the same strict society no matter where your head turns. The only place to run to would be The East. And that is basically where I am going anyway, since The Camps are by the border. The second reason is that it is, after all, only ten days. Ten days, and my life will be normal again. If I am lucky, the mental troubles afterward will be minimal. Ten days is not worth throwing away your whole life for. I hope.
I try my best to keep the conversation with Jenny normal. Speak about normal things. Such as likes, what to post and what not to post, or the latest scandal on Social Media. But no matter how hard I try, the conversations all die out. Jenny is not cooperating. I can already feel her draw away from me. Maybe she is scared for me, and this is a way of protecting herself, by distancing herself from me. I can not blame her for that. The Camps are very real. It is not something you can simply post. It is complicated and cruel and very real. It does not fit into our world. Or her world.
Still, she gives me a hug before we part. Wishing me good luck. I ask if we can keep in touch while I am down there. There are no rules against bringing a phone. She says yes, but I can tell she is lying. The way she looks away when she says it.
I leave.