Two weeks of camp gone already.
Linda and Risa organized a midnight raid on the kitchen.
Kitty’s been taking extra food from the dining hall and hiding it under her bed, in case hunger strikes late at night. We found a mouse under her bed. Stacey brought it to the nature shack.
Crying a lot from homesickness, Bobbie said she’s allergic to bug juice and wanted to leave. Now that she’s having fun, her allergy has disappeared and she’s consuming large quantities of bug juice.
Alicia’s teaching everyone to swear in Spanish.
Ellen’s circulating a petition, protesting the amount of meat served. She wants a choice for vegetarians.
Ginger’s been brutal. I tried to talk to her one day and she told me “bug off.” Another time I put my hand on her arm and she pushed it away. Only once was she ever friendly, the time that I suggested that she do some drawings for the camp magazine. When I asked her about the artwork later, though, she said, “Who wants to work on that lousy magazine, anyway?” So I gave up.
I hardly have any chance to be alone with Ted. Camp’s been in session for two weeks and while it’s mostly fun, Corrine and I’ve been run ragged.
We’ve just called a bunk meeting.
Barbara’s on her way up the hill right now to be part of the meeting.
The kids are sitting around, not saying much, playing jacks, writing letters, practicing dance steps.
I look over my notes about what we’re going to cover at this meeting.
Barbara arrives. “Hi, gang. Let’s get started.” She smiles.
Everyone looks at her.
“Why don’t we hold the meeting under a tree outside?” Corrine suggests.
“Good idea,” Barbara says.
Outside we go.
Barbara takes out a clipboard. “I understand some of you want the chance to air your feelings. Well, let’s do it.”
The girls look at each other.
“I don’t think it’s fair that we have to go swimming,” Janie says. “I don’t want to learn. It’s impossible.”
“But it’s good exercise,” Barbara answers.
“Not when Jimmy’s had to rescue me twice,” Janie says.
“Lucky.” That’s from Risa.
Ellen raises her hand. “I think the food here is nutritionally bad, too starchy, too much meat. Meat makes people act like animals.”
“I like meat,” Kitty says. “Just because you don’t, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to live on rabbit food.”
“I’ll give you my spinach,” offers Linda.
“Sugar’s bad for us. There’s too much sweet stuff given out.” Ellen won’t quit.
“How come there’s a rule that we can only get two candy bars a day from the canteen?” Janie makes a face.
“How about some rice and beans?” Alicia asks.
Barbara says, “I want all of you to notice the differences of opinion here and see how hard it is to meet all of the individual needs.”
“You end up meeting no one’s needs,” Robin says, pulling bark off a twig.
Sighing, Barbara says, “We try.”
Stacey says, “Someone put bubble gum in my flute. No one’s been caught.”
“And someone cut the strings on my guitar.”
“My sculpture got destroyed.” Ellen is angry.
Corrine says, “It’s hard to prove who’s responsible.”
Everyone stares at Ginger.
“I get blamed for everything. I don’t have to take this.” Ginger sticks out her tongue. “And I have a complaint too. How come you won’t let me bring up my portable television? I’d rather watch that than have to be part of all the stupid group activities around here.”
“No TVs allowed. You know that.” Barbara stares at her.
“Rules are made to be broken,” Ginger smirks.
“No they’re not.” Barbara shakes her head. “Not the rules here. They’re for your own good.”
“You’ve broken some rules in your life,” Ginger says. “So don’t play Ms. Perfect with us.”
“Ginger,” I yell. “Stop that.”
“It’s all right,” Barbara says. “It might as well be out in the open. I’ve been hearing a lot of that lately from a few people. It’s better to get it all straightened out.”
She looks very tired but continues. “I know I’ve taken some stands that don’t go along with everyone’s wishes. But I want you to realize, Ginger, that I felt that there were some very important issues at stake. It wasn’t done lightly or without a lot of careful thought. That’s different from the way that you’ve been acting, Ginger.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
“Well, that’s what we’ve all been trying to help you see.”
“Why don’t you just leave?” Janie says. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“No name-calling, please,” Corrine says.
Ginger says, “Someday I’ll be gone and then you’ll all be sorry.”
“I doubt that,” Betsy says, speaking for the first time at the meeting.
Everyone looks at her.
She shrugs. “Well, it’s true. None of us would be sorry if Ginger left. I know she’s the one who put peanut butter in my sleeping bag . . .the crunchy kind.”
Barbara says, “I really hope you can all learn to get along.”
“Dream on.” Kitty makes a face.
Linda says, “We’re making it sound like camp’s terrible. I don’t think it’s that bad. I’m having a lot of fun.”
Of course she is, I think. She loves camp and kidding around. The other day someone told her that if you put a sleeping person’s hand in warm water, that person would think she wet the bed. This morning I woke up with my hand in warm water.
“I like camp too. I just want a vegetarian diet,” Ellen says.
“I don’t want to find bubble gum in my flute again, but I like it here,” Stacey says.
The kids continue to talk.
I keep waiting for Barbara to come up with the magic solution, the thing that’s going to make it all better.
It doesn’t happen.
What does happen is that everybody gets a chance to talk out what’s bothering them.
Barbara takes some notes and promises to consider the suggestions.
The meeting ends, and the girls go on to other activities.
I’m not sure what’s been accomplished, except that I’m going to try again to reach Ginger, to do something no one else has been able to do.
Barbara puts down the clipboard. “What a week. I’m exhausted.”
“It’ll be okay,” I say.
She smiles. “Carl would say you’re beginning to sound like me, always sure that everything’s okay.”
“That’s what I tell her,” Corrine nods. “Barbara, are you getting discouraged?”
Barbara nods. “I figure that we’ve got a great place here—creative, open, sensitive to the individual—and still, people complain. Not only that, but we’ve had to send home two staff members for breaking the rules, smoking grass in their cabin. It’s not been easy.”
“But think of all the good things happening here.” Corrine puts her hand on Barbara’s shoulder.
“I’d like it to be perfect. How are we going to work all of this out? Where are we going to get the money to afford all these different foods? Vegetarian? Ethnic? No sugar? Some sugar?”
We sit quietly for a minute.
She speaks again. “Is Ginger getting any better? Do you think she’s responsible for all those problems?”
“Most of them.” Corrine nods.
“Maybe I made a mistake, letting her come back.” Barbara puts her head into her hands.
“You wouldn’t do anything that’s not right,” I say. “Somebody may be able to reach her.”
“Marcy, stop making excuses for me. It’s getting a little hard for me to be the perfect example that you want me to be. I’m really getting tired of it.”
“Just get off my back,” Barbara says, standing up. “I’m going for a walk.”
She leaves.
I feel stunned.
I really hurt.
The tears start.
I’m glad the kids aren’t around.
Corrine says, “Marcy, she didn’t mean to hurt you. People sometimes say things without meaning them.”
“But she’s really mad at me.”
“She’s upset and just took it out on you. Marcy, you really do expect her to be perfect. You don’t think that the people you care a lot about can make mistakes or be human. That’s a heavy load to lay on someone.”
“I’m sorry,” I sniffle.
“You don’t have to be perfect either. I know I’m not.”
“Sure, you are.” I smile at her.
“I snore. That’s not perfect.” She’s grinning at me.
“How do you know you snore?” I ask. “You seem to sleep right through it.”
She grins more. “I’ve had some comments and complaints.”
I grin back. “Well, your snores are perfect, just the right decibels and very even. When I grow up, I want to snore just like you.”
“Surprise, my dear, you do snore.”
“Really? Nobody ever told me that before.” I’m surprised.
“That’s because you usually don’t sleep with anyone.”
I get up. “I guess I’m just not as worldly as you are. Have you gotten many complaints about your snoring?”
“Nosy,” Corrine says, getting up. “I’m not going to answer that on the grounds that it might incriminate me. Look, don’t you have the afternoon and evening off today?”
I nod, drying my tears.
“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.