Adirondack Audacity (13 page)

The rustic boathouse tucked a mile down shore from
the main camp, sets as a reminder of days gone by, slowly
returning to the forest from disuse and neglect. A flight
of rickety stairs leads to the second story, a large spacious
room framed with small leaded glass windows and a
French door which opens onto a small balcony. Years
ago, guests of the camp seeking a place of solitude would
come to the boathouse and sit, read, enjoy a cup of tea or
an evening cocktail as the sun set behind the mountains.
Once cleared of cobwebs and the accumulated dirt and
grime of neglect, the boathouse proved to be a perfect
meeting place for young lovers. Our night on the
mountain meant to quell the fires of passion, served only
to stoke the flames into smoldering embers of desire not
to be denied. Desire overcame reason and we were
headed toward a towering inferno of disaster. And on the
nights we could sneak away, we made love in the
boathouse with reckless abandon ….until Burt found us.

A thunderstorm had just passed over the boathouse
leaving the sky pierced and shattered with trailing flashes
of distant lightening pursued by the answering rumble of
thunder. It’s drizzling outside, not a downpour or a
shower, just a slow steady sprinkling drizzle. The soft
dancing of raindrops on the tin roof plays a steady tune in
reverence to the falling rain. The French doors are open
to capture the subtle breeze of the storm’s aftermath.
Small brown bats dipping and weaving using echolocation to hunt; dart past the open window. Up and
down, back and forth streaking over the lake’s surface
chasing mosquitoes in the feeble light of the moon as it
breaks through the thin veil of cloud cover. A foundation
of old deck cushions bleached clean by the sun and
zealous scrubbing, along with a couple of old sleeping
bags makes for a cozy haven. Drowsy in the wake of
spent passion, the tin roof symphony lulls us to sleep
innocent in the belief of being safe and alone.

And that’s how Burt found
us. The beam of his
flashlight cuts through the darkness of the boathouse,
ravaging our sleep laden eyes.

“
Son of a bitch
,” I hear the expletive explode, shattering
the quiet of the night.
“
Damn
it, damn it,
Damn
it,” Burt swears, enunciating
his words even more than normal. “I knew the
two
of you
were up to no good.”
I scream in terror, pulling the sleeping bag up to
cover my nakedness, while Vic pushes me behind him in
a protective pose, saying, “What the fuck?” Trying to
shield his eyes against the glare of the flashlight’s beam,
he yells, “Who the hell is it?”
“Who the hell do you think it is? It’s
Me
! You two
dummies! You’re not even up to knuckleheads anymore,
you are both beyond
Stupid
.” I groan to myself, I’ve never
hated the way Burt emphasizes certain words in his
sentences as much as I do at this moment.
Stupid
. He is
bellowing his anger at us out into the night
“Burt,” we groan, relief mixed with fear.
“Just what the
Hell
do you think you are doing?” He
rants at us. I pull the sleeping bag higher, mortified,
busted by Burt, ohh, this is not going to be good.
“Could you turn the flashlight off or direct it away
from our faces?” Vic asks him, holding up a hand,
shielding his eyes from the glaring beam.
“
Hell
no!” Burt spits back at him taking a step closer,
shining the light directly into our eyes with even greater
intensity.
“Damn it,” Vic growls, pushing his hair back, a
pained expression on his face. He drops his head onto his
hands, elbows propped up on his knees, exhaling a loud
sigh. I nestle closer burying my face into his back, praying
if I don’t open my eyes Burt will vanish like a bad dream.
No such luck, he is still there with a mounting temper to
match his red hair.
“I want the two of you
dressed
and in the Algonquin
Nature Cabin in ten minutes. If you choose not to show
up, then I will be forced to go to Morris and report the
inappropriate conduct of his two favorite counselors. Do
I
make
myself perfectly clear?” He commands in a tone
just shy of being beyond furious, punctuating his words
with the flashlight. Bouncing the flashlight beam from my
face to Vic’s, weaving back and forth until we’re dizzy
from the rapid motion.
Blissfully, the light ceases the back and forth assault
on our eyeballs as he pivots on his heel, disappearing into
the darkness of the staircase. “Ten minutes and
don’t
be
late,” echoes up the steep wooden steps.
“Oh, we are so screwed,” Vic says, gathering me into
his arms, burying his face in my hair. “Oh, Elle, I feel like
I’ve been caught by your father. You know Burt adores
you. I’m a dead man. If he punches me, I deserve it.”
“We’re in this together remember, he has to punch
both of us.” In the back of my mind, I can’t help but
think, Burt’s not very big………. how hard can he
punch…..
…
Clad in jeans and sweatshirts, our hair damp from a
quick swim in the lake, we mount the steps of Algonquin
cabin holding hands in a white-knuckle clasp. Burt shakes
his head, looking away from us as we come through the
door, a pinched look of pain scrunches up his face. I hear
him mutter under his breath, “God, I wish I didn’t care
so much about what happens to them.”
The cabin is bathed in the dim glow of candlelight.
Being so far removed from the main camp, it is
impractical and expensive to run electrical lines.
Therefore, the cabin exists in the rustic state of light
furnished by candles or lanterns. The rough wooden table
in the center of the room is covered with a vintage
flowered tablecloth I found in the boathouse. At the end
of our workday, Burt would make tea while I set the table
using our favorite mugs. It was a small ritual we shared,
taking a quiet moment to reflect on the activities of the
day and plan ahead for tomorrow.
Two pillar candles imbedded with bits of pine needles
and wood chips flicker in the dark casting golden
shadows on the walls. Our teapot, the one with the
chipped lid sits on the table. Steam wafting from the
spout fills the room with a minty aroma. Burt
remembered mint tea is my favorite, but tonight, three
mugs sit on the table, and he’s standing there with a
thunderous look on his face, arms akimbo. He flashes a
look of murderous venom at Vic. Okay, so this isn’t
going to be a proper English high tea…….
“I
really
want to punch you,” he fumes at Vic shaking
his head vigorously back and forth.
“I understand, sir.” Vic replies nodding his head in
agreement. “I deserve it.”
“You do not.” I butt in with rising indignation.
“I’m just as much to blame for this as you.”
“
You
, be quiet,” Burt says, stabbing his finger in my
direction to emphasize his point. “I’ve been trying to talk
to you all summer. I begged you to trust me, let me help
you. Do you know the consequences of your actions?
Do
you really understand what an unwanted
Pregnancy
could
mean to your futures? Do you?
Do
you?” he repeats as he
whips into a tirade about the statistics of teenage
pregnancies, early marriages, suicide and just about every
pitfall that can happen to stupid kids who don’t stop to
think about the future.
“I could see this coming since the beginning of
summer. I tried to intervene, make you understand that
You
are too young to be having sex. Just… too… young!”
His voice rises on each word. “
Seventeen
years old, shit,
you have your whole lives ahead of you. You wait until
you’re in college, at the very least.”
“
What
do you have to say for yourselves? Huh?” He
flops down onto a bench, chest heaving from the
exertion of his rant.
I think he simply ran out of breath, unable to yell,
rant and rave at us any further. What did we have to say
for ourselves? Well, there’s not a lot to be said in our
defense. We’ve been like small children playing with
matches, hoping not to get burned. So we stand looking
sheepish, nodding in agreement with his assessment of
our wrong doings. As we sit in that peaceful cabin in the
woods, he’s right, we’ve been playing a game with
consequences too dire to imagine.
“Sit down,” he says in a weary voice, pouring the now
cooled tea into our mugs, passing a small plastic bear of
organic honey. “What am I going to
do
with the two of
you?” he muses shaking his head.
“What are you using for
birth
control?” He asks
suspiciously.
Vic and I glance over at each other with a pained
expression on our faces.
“Oh, Sweet Jesus, Mary,
Mother
of God! Don’t tell me
you haven’t been using anything, anything!”
“Well, the rhythm method. Kat said if you count back
fourteen days from your period…” I start to explain
before he erupts, his voice shaking with disbelief.
“The rhythm method! Do
You
know how many good
Catholic families of eight kids are running around in the
world because of the rhythm method? Millions, my
parents for starters, I have five brothers and sisters. It
doesn’t work very well.”
“And we used…….” My voice trails off in
embarrassment, looking at my feet, unable to continue.
Vic finishes in a tight voice, “I had some condoms.”
“Of course you did!” Burt fumes. His voice lowers to
a hiss as he slams the table with his fist. “You should
know better,” he points an accusing finger at Vic. “She’s
innocent, I can’t believe she let this happen, but she loves
you. But you
know
better, Vic, I know you do. You know
how the world works.”
“Innocent?” I squeak in disbelief. “I’m not an
innocent baby. Kat said….” I weakly try to explain but
confusion and doubt cloud my words.
“You chose to talk to
Kat
, Queen of Camp Wild Life
instead of me! I’m a biology teacher, my life is teaching
about reproduction, but no, you talked to your eighteenyear-old girlfriend. Ask her about
her
abortion last year,”
he says, dropping this bombshell in our laps.
Our eyes widen in horror at the thought of Kat
having an abortion. Oh, God, abortion, babies.
“Yeah,” he continues, “No one is supposed to know
about
it
, she came to me at the end of the summer last
year, scared and wanting to know her options. Some guy
back home.”
“Oh my God,” I say, the breath escaping my lungs
replaced by a quaking fear. A tremor starts at my spine
working through my body to a quavering chill. I clutch
Vic’s arm in a vise-like grip. He straddles the bench,
pulling my trembling body into the hollow of his arms,
kissing my forehead saying, “We’ll be all right, mia, Don’t
worry.”
“A little
late
for that,” Burt says getting up from the
chair he was straddling. “Stay here,” he commands as the
screen door bangs behind his retreating back.
“Where is he going?” I ask, the warmth of Vic’s body
doing little to quell the rippling fear gripping me. “What’s
he going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Vic says with a deep sigh, “I’m so
sorry, Elle.”
The screen door squeeks on its’ hinge announcing
Burt’s return. He tosses a small box on the table. “Here,”
he says pointing to the box.
Vic and I look at the box in confusion then read the
word,
condoms.
Condoms. I can’t look at Burt’s face, I pray
the floor will open up and swallow me; even China won’t
be far enough.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper into Vic’s shoulder.
Vic instead chooses to look directly into Burt’s eyes, a
man to man in agreement.
“If you’re going to have sex, have it
responsibly
. Count
your days and use the condoms, better yet don’t have sex
for a year or two. The pill works the best. Ellen, make an
appointment with a doctor, but you may need your
parent’s permission being under the age.” I look at him in
disbelief and horror at the mere suggestion of involving
my father and Helen, is he
nuts!!
“Consider talking to Noreen, the camp nurse, she
may be able to give
you
some advice.”
“It won’t be an issue in two weeks,” Vic says, rubbing
his hands up and down my arms in agitation. “My father
is sending me back to school in Mexico. He wants me to
finish my high school education there, it’s tradition for
the men of our family. And when my father insists, no
one stands in his way.” The muscles in his jaw twitch, his
arms pull me tighter into his embrace. “I don’t know
when I will see Ellen again.”
“I see,” says Burt. “I’m sorry, but maybe it’s for the
best, try looking beyond next year. College will open
many doors for you. I’m sorry I came down so
hard
, but it
had to be said. You know I care for the both of you,” he
shrugs his shoulders, stifling a yawn. “Look, I’m going to
bed. I’m
exhausted
. I’m too old to be running around all
hours of the night. I don’t think I have the energy to
climb into the tree house. Maybe I’ll just sleep on the
ground, like a bear.”
“Burt, wait.” I call out, leaving Vic’s arms to give him
a hug as he stands at the open door. “Thanks for caring.”
“Hey, I was young once, believe it or not. Blow out
the candles when you leave.”

Summer is over on the mountain, Pegasus retreats
south as Orion climbs higher in the night sky. The early
fall reds and yellows of deciduous trees pepper the
otherwise green mountain slopes. The golden rod is thick
with bees as the sun ebbs ever closer to the equator and
night time temperatures bring the foreshadowing of
winter.

A hillside meadow stretches to the mountain lake,
dotted with a tide of black-eyed Susans. The yellow
daisies wave in the early afternoon breeze. Our last day at
camp. A sense of melancholy pervades our hike up the
hill. Thick tufts of cumulus clouds give relief to the heat
of the day. Shaking out the faded sleeping bag, we fall
wearily onto the cushion of daisies, cocooned in a
sheltering ring of tall wildflowers. We are surrounded,
hidden by a wall of purple knapweed, blue chicory, and
Queen Anne’s lace, overshadowed by the vivid Tuscan
yellow of black-eyed Susans.