Camp (4 page)

“Sonia, enough, Sonia,” my father said.

Charlie squeezed my leg. I looked down and touched his arm. “Listen, buddy. I have to get on the bus in a minute, but you’re gonna be fine. And remember, you’re coming to visit me in four weeks. And I’ll send you lots of letters. Dad will read them to you.” Charlie squeezed harder.

“Amy?” A voice I didn’t recognize.

I looked up as a blond, ballerina-type woman approached. “You must be Amy Becker.”

Charlie eased at the softness in the stranger’s voice.

“Yes, I’m Amy.”

In plain black Bermudas and a white sleeveless blouse, the woman looked like a Breck shampoo girl with an Ivory soap glow. “I’m Nancy, the head counselor. And let me see…” She crouched and placed her clipboard on the ground. “You must be Amy’s brother,” she said without rising. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man.”

“His name’s Charlie,” my father said, as Nancy gathered her clipboard and stood. “And I’m Lou. Lou Becker.” He extended his hand.

“Nancy Logan.”

“And I’m Mrs. Becker.”

“Yes, of course. Amy’s mother. I’m delighted to meet you. And don’t you worry about your girl here. Takawanda’s a great place. Amy’ll have a terrific time.” Nancy smiled a promise of support before she spoke to me again. “Sorry you didn’t have a chance to meet the other seniors, but you’ll meet everyone soon enough. So say good-bye. Then hop on that second bus over there.”

“Sure thing.” I tried to sound joyful, though Charlie wove an arm around my leg again. How could I say good-bye to him?

“Mr. and Mrs. Becker, I’ll see you on visiting day.” Nancy smiled once more, this time at Charlie, who didn’t look up. “And Charlie, I’ll see you then too, I hope.”

My father pulled him from me, held him by the hand. No struggle. No screaming. Good, I thought. No problem.

I hugged Dad first. “I’ll miss you so much, honey,” he said. “But I want you to have lots of fun. And don’t worry about things at home. Just have a great time. You deserve it. I love you.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I choked back tears. “I love you too.”

I let go of my father and looked toward the buses. A few stragglers in uniform by the first one, Nancy hurrying them along. By the second bus, no one. They all must be on, I figured, waiting for me. “Time to go, Amy,” Nancy called. “I’ll be on the other bus. See you at the first rest stop.”

Heads popped out of the Bus 2 windows. Senior campers craning for a show, I figured. I warned myself not to give them one. Just quick good-byes, then turn and go.

My mother was easy, barely a hug. “Have a good summer, Amy.” She stood there, stiff as an oak. “We’ll see you on visiting day.”

For a moment, I felt nothing. But then I looked at Charlie and my heart thumped. “Okay, buddy. I love you.” My voice broke.
Don’t cry
, I told myself.
Don’t make a scene.
“I’ll see you on visiting day. Just four weeks,” I whispered, hugging him.

“No!” Charlie screamed. “No! No! No!” Bloodcurdling loud like when Zeus, the Sparbers’ dog, raced toward him. And over Charlie’s shrieks, the laughter of girls.

“Just go, honey.” My father grabbed Charlie’s arm, then held him from behind. “He’ll be fine.”

“Go ahead,” my mother said. “Get on the bus.”

“I love you, buddy,” I told Charlie again as I picked up my carry-on.

Aunt Helen sat up front, a grocery bag beside her. “It’s about time, Amy.”

I moved to the back of the bus, to the one empty seat by an oversized first-aid kit.

We pulled away. The girls ignored me. Or maybe I just didn’t notice them turning in their seats to stare.

What I saw in my mind was my brother’s face against the backdrop of cars on the Cross Bronx Expressway. How would he survive without my protection? And what about bedtime? I wouldn’t be able to call. My mother had shown my father and me a letter Uncle Ed had sent to parents. I pictured it neatly folded and now safeguarded, I was sure, in my mother’s metal box.
Camp is a self-contained environment,
the letter began, and then continued:

The sudden intrusion of the home world into the camp world can upset a camper’s mind-set, causing a collision of two realities normally separated by time and distance. It’s hard to adjust and reenter each world. Please respect that separation. Do not call.

“How did Ed become such an expert?” My mother had asked before grabbing the paper back. “He buys a camp, and now he’s a psychologist?”

“He got that letter from the Camping Association,” my father said. “So why can’t you give him credit for a change? I don’t understand it. You and Ed used to get along so well.”

I waited for my mother to send me to my room so she and my father could argue. I would hear it, as I usually did, from my perch on the top step: my mother complaining that Uncle Ed always brags about his business deals, and my father countering with pride in his brother’s success.

But the night my mother showed us that letter, she didn’t send me upstairs, and she didn’t fight. All she said was, “Yes, Lou, we all used to get along. But that was a long time ago.”

I shifted in my seat on the camp bus to avoid the first-aid kit. The girls started singing:

A hundred bottles of beer on the wall. A hundred bottles of beer. If one of those bottles should happen to fall, Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.

I willed Charlie to quit flapping around in my mind as I sang quietly, hoping to blend my voice with those of the other girls. I wanted to be part of them, though I already knew I didn’t want to be like them, showing off attitude like a new pair of Pappagallo shoes. But I was fourteen. I needed them to like me.

I sang louder and smiled at the thought of a summer without my mother. A memory played in my head—a day not long after Charlie was born. I pictured myself on Dad’s lap in the armchair where he read from
The Tall Book of Fairy Tales
. I recalled the warmth of Dad’s arms around me and the woodsy smell of his aftershave.
Merrily, merrily, do as you’re told. Spin away, spin away. Straw into gold!

“Feet please,” my mother says, attacking the carpet and
Rumpelstiltskin
with a push. “I have to get in here.”

“No, Mommy. Not now.”

My mother turns off the vacuum. “Go to your room, Amy,” she orders. “And stay there until I finish cleaning the house.”

My father shoves me off his knee. “Do as you’re told, Amy. And don’t you
ever
talk back to your mother.”

Now, at least, I’d have eight whole weeks without her. Maybe camp wouldn’t be so bad after all. But what about Charlie? I’d write to him every day, I decided. I’d say that the smartest and prettiest and most popular girls saved a seat for me at the table and chose me for their team. My mother would get the letters first. And my father, all puffed up from sending me to paradise by the lake, would read them aloud—one each night— before Charlie would drift off. He would learn to sleep without my good night. He would have to.

Another song ended as a pigtailed redhead with a face full of freckles turned and smiled from across the aisle, several rows in front of me.

“Erin, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The redhead snapped around at this question from the girl behind her. “Now listen, all of you,” that same camper continued. “Stay away from the new girl till after her initiation.”

Initiation? Oh my God! What would they do to me? And why were they talking to cousin Robin? She was new too. Why no initiation for her?

“Whatever you say, Rory,” a voice called from up front. “The new girl shouldn’t even be here. She belongs with the kids in uniforms.” Laughter filled the bus with darts aimed at me. I squeezed my eyes tight and longed to fade away.
Don’t cry
, I told myself for the second time that morning.

I prayed Aunt Helen would make them stop. But she didn’t say anything until a package of Hydrox cookies snaked from camper to camper. Then Aunt Helen boomed, “One each, girls. We want everyone to get some.”

Only a few cookies remained when the package reached the redhead. Erin shifted around again, ignoring that bossy girl, Rory, and stretched across and back to give me a treat.

“Erin, what’s the matter with you?” Rory barked.

Cookies slid to the edge of the wrapper as Erin held them out to me in silence.

“No thanks,” I whispered, my refusal coming not from my mother’s warning about sweets but from the queasiness in my belly. I tried to smile. “But thanks for offering.”

Erin pulled the package back as Rory’s arm jutted into the aisle. Cookies tumbled to the floor. “See what happens when you don’t listen?” Rory said.

Her speech stopped all conversations. I knew I’d have trouble with her, though I never could have guessed how much.

Nancy saw me at the end of the bathroom line at the first rest stop. “Amy, hi,” she called, clipboard in hand. “Have you met everyone?”

“Don’t you worry, Nancy,” Rory answered from several places in front of me. “We’re welcoming her all right.”

Nancy sidled beside me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “You doing okay?” she asked softly, inviting confidences.

I didn’t see where Erin came from, but there she was, zooming in behind me. “Not to worry, Nance,” Erin said quietly. “I’ll take care of her.”

“Thanks, Erin,” Nancy said. “I knew I could count on you. And now you ladies will have to excuse me. I’ve got to supervise lunch for the younger girls. Can’t let Jody do all the work over there.” Nancy motioned to the Bus 1 campers, sliding onto picnic benches on the other side of a narrow road. A small woman dressed like Nancy—same black Bermudas, same white shirt—scattered bag lunches on wooden tables propped on sparse grass. “You’ll meet Jody later, at camp,” Nancy told me. “She’s our head tennis counselor. Do you play?”

“Actually, yes. It’s my favorite sport. So why don’t I go over there and meet Jody now? I could help with the younger kids.”

“Bad idea,” Erin said, then lowered her voice to a whisper, as if suddenly aware someone might catch her talking to me. “Don’t even think about it.”

Nancy patted my arm. “That’s very thoughtful. But Jody and I will have those little ones settled down in two shakes. And you seniors’ll be boarding again in a minute. Not enough picnic tables. You get to eat on the go.”

“Peanut butter and jelly or bologna?” Aunt Helen dipped into cartons on the ground by the bus and pulled out a lunch for each of us as we got back on. “And no changing seats now, girls. Just sit where you were so we can get this show on the road.”

“Anything to drink, ma’am?” I heard Rory ask, her words drenched with respect now.

“Of course, dear. Once everyone’s in, you’ll get drinks.” My aunt scanned the campers waiting to get on. “And please, everyone call me Aunt Helen. We’re family for the summer.”

Erin stood in front of me, but she didn’t turn around. She hadn’t spoken since her warning in the bathroom line. Rory had made it perfectly clear: no conversations until after my initiation.

I said the word to myself and swallowed hard.
Initiation. Initiation.
I shivered despite the heat.

Chapter 3