The Chase | 18 June 2021

The wind swept across my face in a warm, delicious way that reminded me of so many days spent at the beach. As the sun sank closer to the horizon, I let him chase me across the lawn until we dropped, rolling easily in the earthy cushion of the grass.

HCH Response

The dinner bell was minutes from sounding. I didn’t have to check my watch to know. There was a certain quality of shadows from the picnic benches, the upturned canoes, and on the weathered face of the birdhouse nailed to the biggest tree on the great lawn. For a camp counselor like me, this time of evening has an almost Pavlovian effect. Quick glances at the sun, summer after summer, and then the bell — in your bunk at night, you realize it’s just burned into your brain.

On this day, I’d been tasked with organizing a game of capture the flag. It was a last-ditch effort to get the kids more cardio at the end of what had been a camp week full of athletic issues. By this, I mean: the soccer coach had a family emergency; the swim instructor had broken a leg in a rock climbing accident (should’ve stuck to water, I thought grimly); and the hiking guide was with us for three whole days before a near-death allergic reaction to a bee sting on a trail (saved by a kid carrying an extra EpiPen, but out of caution he got the rest of the week off).

I am the crafts counselor. My campers weave rainbows of string around popsicle sticks, create amulets out of ordinary rocks, braid friendship bracelets, and stitch their names onto scraps of cut-up denim. Their eyes light up when they bring me their creations for approval, still warm from their earnest grips. “Look Mr. Jay, it’s got Ninja Turtle colors for my best friend!” I bend down and inspect the precious artifacts. “It’s magnificent,” I bless them each, one by one. And they really are.

Needless to say, I was a little out of my element with this game, so I enlisted the help of a few trusted hands. There was Shayla from plant and animal identification, Toby from music education, Tim from fire safety, and Meg from morning warmups to referee. Toby glued himself to me immediately, so we became a team by default. We nodded in solidarity but turned to face our squadron without a single tactical bone between us. Shayla and Tim were less intimidated. They gave a camp high-five (touching the ends of wiggling fingers) and gathered their tiny troops for a pep talk like a pair of hens.

Confession time.

I wanted an excuse to work with Tim. Our attraction was undeniable. Had I not been shy, private, and paranoid about consequences, maybe something would have happened between us. There were decades of history of counselor fraternization at this camp — hell, all camps, but this one for sure. Late nights skinny dipping after the kids were in bed. Contraband joints and condoms buried under a particularly phallic rock just outside of park grounds. Stealthy walks of shame from one cabin to the next before dawn. The legend of the mess hall underwear.

I couldn’t help but think of these tales when I passed by the fire safety circle, between my classes. Tim would be there squatting among the kids, patiently demonstrating all the steps of making a fire by hand drill. He’d build the softest tinder nest. Then he would take the perfect stick and slowly but firmly roll it in palms, pressing into the earth. Smoke would start to curl up from the bed of tinder. He’d blow gently and watch tiny embers come alight. The kids were awestruck by his magic. So was I. Once he glanced up to see me staring, and he flashed a huge unstoppable grin — then, embarrassed, let his hair fall over his eye and quickly rose from his crouch to attend to the next kid.

For the one time he caught me looking, I’d seen him out of the corner of my eye ten times. He passed by the crafts area almost every day. A faded t-shirt moving in my peripheral vision, between the trees, pausing…. Treading lightly. If I stood up, suddenly the t-shirt would move briskly and head with purpose toward the cabins.

The great lawn battleground was divided in two. We planted our team’s yellow flag in a convenient woodpecker hole at camper-height, which inspired the kids to name our team The Woodies. Toby buried his face in his hand to keep composure. Across the way, Team Lizard wedged their red flag between slats in a picnic table. We took our positions. Meg used her biggest counselor voice to refresh us on the rules, and then blew the whistle.

Thirty little ants scattered over the lawn, shrieking with excitement. Enemy lines were crossed. Fingers grazed elbows, clothing was grabbed, disputes were ignited and settled. Prisoners were taken to the freeze circles, and immediately rescued by comrades. Bushes became bunkers. Acts of heroism and self-sacrifice were rampant. Untied shoelaces and runny noses threatened to sabotage each side. Time-outs were called for minor tears after self-inflicted tripping incidents. BandAids were produced. All in all, this was a very evenly matched game… perhaps too evenly. This was taking a lot longer than I expected. “Come on, let’s get that flag!!!” I cheered while running with my soldiers. It seemed unfair for the counselors to really try, so we mostly ran around in circles encouraging them.

The shadows got longer, the light more golden, and then just as I suspected, the dinner bell rang. Meg blew the whistle again.

“TWEEEEEET! OKAY CAMPERS, LOOKS LIKE WE’VE GOT A TIE! WOW, GREAT JOB EVERYBODY! IT’S DINNERTIME, LET’S WASH UP!” We rounded up the stragglers. Toby, Shayla and Meg filed the kids into line for the mess hall. You could hear exaggerated war stories being told until the door closed. I lingered behind to collect the little orange cones we’d set up for boundary markers. I had just finished stacking them when I heard over my shoulder, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Tim was by the Team Lizard picnic table, poised like a runner at a starting line. He pointed at the yellow Woodie flag across the lawn. Before I could say anything, he took off sprinting towards it. Oh my god, was he serious? I threw the cones down and went after him. “You wouldn’t!” I gasped, already out of breath. “For The Lizards!” he panted, zig-zagging out of my reach. I finally got within contact range and smacked his shoulder blade. “AAHAAA! AHAAAA!” I gloated. Before either of us could catch a breath, a glimmer of mischief crossed my face. I broke for the picnic table, gunning straight for his flag. We were fueled by some second wind. “In your dreams!” he taunted me. We laughed and scrambled and I managed to evade him, until I didn’t.

I felt two palms make full contact on my back. Their warmth stunned me, even though I was already hot. My feet slowed. Tim’s momentum was broken by my mass and we collided, falling to the ground in a cooperative pile. Holy shit, this sensation. I could feel his heart pounding, smell the salt of his clean sweat. Our chests rose and fell together, as if the grass itself had put us in sync. It felt like a sacred act, breathing with him. I knew this could only last a moment under the acceptable guise of horsing around. We were due in the mess hall. Tim let his hand travel down to the small of my back, then rested it safely on the ground. I took a chance. I reached over and swept a piece of hair away from his eye. For the first time, we dared to look at each other.

“Meet me at the dock tonight?” I whispered.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He said.

DD Response

And then I woke up. Tangled in the sheets and my thoughts, reality rushes me like a 300 pound  linebacker, and my heart starts pounding in my chest. The fantasy becomes reality, and I remember in vivid detail every single frame - moment by moment - and I’m angry. I’m just so fucking angry. I hit redial and hear her syrupy voice- the sickeningly elongated “hellloooo” as she answers thinking it is him. I start to plan my revenge, but the precious reverie of his demise is interrupted by the sounds in the kitchen. The children are up, and they’re hungry.

I stumble to the kitchen after a quick pit-stop - just quick enough for the three of them to start fighting over cereal bowls. Why in the world did I think it was cute to buy that set of character bowls when all they do is fight over Elmo? “Hey kiddos,” I say in my fake growl voice, “You know mommy is not fully human until she has her coffee. Wanna watch a cartoon while I make that happen?” They scurry to the den in unison giggling over my weirdness, and I am alone for a few more minutes. “Breathe in and breathe out… you can do this,” I say to myself as the aroma of coffee fills the room.

Two hours and 2,600 steps later, I’m sitting in my office - our office technically,  but he’s not here. He’s with her while I sit with all of the responsibility - home, kids, company - all of it - alone, being the good girl while he’s luxuriating on Miami Beach with a 23 year-old. My anger sizzles on my skin and locks my jaw. My brain is swirling, and I’m starting to sweat. I decide to meditate and clear my head, so I shut my office door and sit on the floor with my back holding it shut. I feel the air from the vents blowing on the top of my head, and I hear the hum of the electronics. I close my eyes and breathe- long inhale- long slow exhale. Over and over until my mind is thinking only of my breath… and my body. “No.” One simple word resonates with the vibration of my heart. “No.”

“I will not carry the pain of his actions.” The hidden tears leak from my eyes. The pain sizzles on the surface of my skin. I hurt. And I cry until the cleansing tears subside. “I can do this. I can stay true to me. I smile as I remember Scarlet with her fist in the air, “As God is my witness, they're not going to lick me.”