Like Bug Juice on a Burger (10 page)

When I stopped in front of his gate,

he sniffed the air a little,

then pulled himself up and walked toward me.

He was brown from head to toe,

the color of my dad’s morning coffee.

“They’d better not name you Spot,” I told that goat.

“You don’t have a single spot on you.”

He pushed his nose through a gap in the gate.

I scratched underneath his chin

and kept thinking about names.

He didn’t seem like an Antoine.

Maybe a Sweet Pete.

But definitely,

definitely

a Cornelius.

“Don’t you think so?”

I asked him,

patting his back.

“Don’t you think you’re a Cornelius?”

He gave a nice bleat.

I took that for a yes.

I couldn’t keep talking to him, though.

Because other girls arrived

and stood beside me at the gate.

Including curly-haired Kylie.

Before long,

the farm counselor told us it was time

for the goat’s bath.

We went into the pen

and wet him gently with a hose

and rubbed baby shampoo into his soft coat

and rinsed him off.

He did not like the rinsing!

He jumped around

and shook his whole body,

splattering water all over us.

Then the counselor looped a leash over his head

and let me walk him out into the sun,

so he could dry.

As I led clean Cornelius out onto the grass,

I thought,

I’m walking a goat!

He wasn’t a dog.

But still.

For that moment,

I could pretend

he was mine.

For lunch we had a choice

of black beans with yellow rice

or sloppy joes.

I don’t like beans of any color.

And I hate orange, oozing sloppy joes.

“Can’t we ever have burgers?”

I asked the lunch teenager.

“Sloppy joes are like burgers,” she said.

“No, they are
not
,” I said.

“They are nothing like burgers.”

She shrugged

and heaped even more salad than usual on my plate.

And I ate lettuce and tomatoes with lots of croutons

for lunch.

I’d never known before

that croutons are
delicious.

I ate three rolls, too,

instead of just two.

Because Joplin gave me one of hers.

I worried and worried during rest hour,

after lunch.

Because swim lessons were next.

I’d have to go to my baby class

and then make my way to the floating trampoline

wearing my diaper.

I lay on my bed, worrying.

I’d just decided to fake

a stomachache

when Hope walked to the

middle of the cabin floor.

“Mail time!” she said.

She looked at the first letter

in her stack

and called Dylan’s name.

Then,

looking at the next letter,

she called mine!

“Your very first letter at camp!” Hope said,

handing me my letter.

“Thank you!” I said.

I ripped that letter right open

and started reading.

I read:

Dear Eleanor,

I want you to receive a letter every single day.

So I’m writing to you already,

even though you
just
left on the bus.

The apartment feels so empty without you.

I put on the radio, hoping it would fill the space a little.

But it doesn’t work!

By the time you get this,

you’ll have spent at least a day and a night at camp.

I so hope that you’re happy!

Some of my very best memories from childhood

are from Wallumwahpuck.

It might be a little hard for you in the beginning,

being away from home for the first time.

But I know how strong you are.

And how capable you are.

And I’m certain that in the end

you’ll have wonderful memories, too.

I’m so pleased about our new family tradition!

Your dad will write you soon.

He’s at the grocery store now,

because we’re out of coffee.

You know how he loves his coffee!

But not nearly as much as we both love you.

Please don’t forget to write us!

We can’t wait to hear from you!

All my love,

which is a TREMENDOUS amount of love,

Mom

I read that letter twice,

then set it on my bed.

I didn’t have to fake a stomachache anymore.

My stomach really did hurt.

Because I’d ruined our new family tradition

by hating camp.

I wasn’t strong and capable, either.

I’d already sent the Esmeralda letter.

And I still wanted to leave.

I wanted to be home.

Not lying on this thin, lumpy mattress

so close to the cobwebs

drooping from the ceiling.

I tried to figure out

whether to write my mom again.