The only phone the campers can use is in a tiny office near the mess hall. It’s made of hard black plastic, with a phone number typed onto a round piece paper glued to the centre of an actual dial. We have to sign up to get thirty minutes of phone time. A counsellor sits outside the open office door to make sure you’re not up to anything.
“Do you know how to use that thing?” Brad says.
“I think I can figure it out,” I tell him.
“Do you know your home phone number?”
“Yes. I’m not an idiot.”
“A lot of campers don’t know their home phone numbers,” Brad says. “I’ll be right outside. If I suspect you’re up to no good, I’ll come in and hang up the phone.”
“I’ll be good. I promise,” I put my finger in the round hole and push the dial around. It’s harder to dial than I thought it was going to be. How did people do this back in the day?
“Hello?” Mom says.
“Hey, Mom, it’s me, Adam.”
“What a pleasant surprise. I was wondering how you were doing.” She sounds like she wishes she hadn’t picked up the phone.
“How are things?” I ask.
“Quiet. It’s a blessing after the, um, stress of the last little while. I’ve been praying a lot, which has been a comfort.”
“How’s Dad doing?”
“He’s okay, I guess. He’s still a little tense.”
“Can I speak to him?”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. It might be best to give him a little more time.”
“Okay.”
“How about you? Do you feel any . . . better?”
“I do. Pastor Connell was right. I did need some time away alone. Thanks again for the sketchbook. I’ve been drawing the scenery like crazy.”
“That’s nice. It’s beautiful up there, is it?”
“Words can’t describe it. I wish I had my phone so I could send you pictures. You would get dizzy just looking at them.”
“How are they are treating you?”
I can feel Mom dancing around the real reason I’m here. If she had her way, we would never again speak about me being gay. At this point, I’d like that too. But I don’t think Dad would ever let us forget.
“I’ve met a lot great people. I’ve even managed to have some fun between Prayer Circles and Bible Study.”
“Are they feeding you well?”
“The food is actually pretty good. I’ve been impressed with the whole set up. Where did you and Dad find the money to send me here?”
“We used your university fund.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I get out of the chair and start to pace as far as the phone cord will let me.
“You didn’t expect us to spend $5,000 of our own money, did you?”
“But that’s my money. I earned it and gave it to you to put into my education fund. We had a deal.”
“I don’t know why you’re getting mad at me. You brought this on our family. I’m still dreading running into Greta Harris at church on Sunday.”
“I need to go. I can’t take this anymore.”
“Adam, you have to take responsibility for what you did to our family!”
“The only thing I did was tell you the truth.”
“Is that what you think? You have been keeping this secret for who knows how long. And out of the blue you lie about where you are and flaunt yourself in a shopping mall where everyone can see. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened.”
“Mom, I have to get off the phone before I say something we’ll both regret.”
“Let me save you the effort,” Mom says. She hangs up the phone.
I drop the phone on the base and walk out of the office. There is so much tension in my neck and shoulders I can barely turn my head to respond when Brad asks if I’m okay.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just a little misunderstanding with my mother.”
“I’ll say. If I spoke to my mother like that, she would have washed my mouth out with soap.”
I start to tell him to mind his own business. But I think better of it. Instead I go back to the room. No one is there. I grab my sketchbook and pencil out from under my pillow and sit by the window. I try to draw the horizon, but all that comes out of me are images of storm clouds and tornadoes.
“I thought I saw you coming this way,” a voice says from behind me. I dread that it might be Randall, but it’s Paul. “They’re showing The Sound of Music in the media room. Want to come?”
“No thanks. I think I’m going to turn in early.”
Paul leans over to see what I’m sketching. “Whoa. Is everything okay?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Those sketches don’t look like nothing,” Paul says. “You know, you can talk to me, Adam. I promise not to judge.”
“It’s my parents. We’re not getting along at the moment. It’s stressing me out.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“It’s personal.”
“I understand.”
“What about you? Do you get along with your parents?”
“Like a house on fire.”
“Then why are you here? It seems like everyone I’ve met so far is a little damaged somehow. Not you though. It’s like you’re the perfect Christian kid that we’re all supposed to aspire to be.”
“That’s the problem. I have great parents who I can talk to about anything, and my sister and I are like best friends. I couldn’t be more blessed. Something is still missing though. I can’t put my finger on what it is.”
“I feel like such a jerk. Here I am feeling sorry for myself and you’re as lost as I am.”
“That’s why we’re here: to work out our problems.” Then Paul smiles. “But even God took a break on Sunday. What do you say we take our mind off our problems with some Julie Andrews?”
“You’re really into The Sound of Music, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea. I cry at the end every time. Besides, if you don’t come I’m going to get stuck listening to Martin and Randall bicker for three hours. Life is too short for that. What do you say?”
“I hate The Sound of Music.”
“Oh come on. Do it for me,” Paul holds out his hand.
“Fine,” I give Paul my hand and he pulls me out of the chair. He’s stronger than I thought he would be — I barely need to use my legs to stand up. I wish we could hold hands all the way to the media room. But that would fly in the face of the rules in the camp handbook. I’ve already had enough heartache for one night.