You’ll Be So Wrong About What You Will Feel at Camp
You’ll see yourself in ten-year-olds more than you ever thought you could. It will feel embarrassing for a moment and then it will feel freeing because you will realize that we are all people and our wants and desires only adapt, never cease.
I still want to change my appearance—I spend too much money on hot pink hair and spend too little time poking permanent ink into my foot, seeing only with the light of a lantern. I linger too long on the thought of metal in my septum and joke all too seriously about running away from here and never coming back. They are just like us, and we continue to be just like them. They don’t listen when we tell them to stop covering their arms in sharpies and they don’t like it when we tell them to go to bed (even though I know they are quietly thankful because their little bodies are exhausted.)
They are so curious.
“How much do you get paid to be here?”
“What are you going to do on your night off?”
“Are you a U-Haul Lesbian?”
“What’s your love life like?”
I can’t help but to laugh sometimes, but then I feel evil because I can’t answer them even though there’s a part of me that wishes I could entertain their curiosities because to be ten and confused at the intricacies of the world is frustrating. I am 21 and I want to know people’s salaries and who they kiss when they get home. I treasure a grocery list I find on the floor of a Harris Teeter because for a minute I get to know something I’d never ask about. Granted, it’s all a bit more appropriate because technically I’m an adult, but there’s still a lot of things I wonder and forever stay between my lips. And sure, curiosity is a great thing but still I shut my lips because I know I can’t tell them much.
You’ll see yourself in ten-year-olds when a camper tells you they are scared to get more food at dinner because they already don’t look like the other kids. You will hug her and tell her you know it’s hard but you have to challenge those thoughts because the more you allow them to change your behavior the harder it will get. You will look at her marbled eyes and say that she is beautiful and strong and all that matters is that she is happy, and a part of all that is eating. But, she is wise for ten and will say “I know, but it doesn’t matter how many people tell me I am beautiful if I can’t believe it.” And hearing that will hurt, but you will think of yourself at fifteen talking with a therapist you hated and saying “I’m not gonna change anything until I actually want to.” You know that, but when you are now 21 and you are sitting on the edge of a pink quilt looking at a girl you care so much about, it will sting. The only thing that will sting more is hugging her goodbye and knowing you will never know if she ever learns to find herself beautiful.
You will feel selfish for feeling a sense of pride when a camper snaps their ankle into an angular position and you remain calm as you have to kayak him back to shore. Your heart will feel full when he says he wants you to come in the ambulance with him. You will feel guilty that it happened partially under your watch but you will remind yourself that kids do stupid things and one day this will just be a story for him. On a car ride home for a day off with a counselor you adore you will discuss how oddly beautiful it is to have a reminder that bodies can quite literally break.
You will not always feel free or responsible or energized, in fact, you will forget everything you thought you would feel. There are still so many rules, some of which your kids will follow so closely that you’ll almost wish they took more risks. But, then you will feel silly sneaking around to smoke weed on your night off and it will make you wonder why you don’t take more risks. You’ll be in a parking lot miles from camp and check your surroundings between inhales or pile bodies on top of each other behind boulders when a car passes and there’s a beer in your hand, even though you’re off. But, you’ll feel free when you carry a stupid secret and on the night before you leave you jump into a pool naked at midnight.
You’ll realize you feel pretty at home driving a big truck and sitting with kids as they cry. You’ll even feel at home in dive bars with old men and loved guitars. On a pull off down the windy road. In dark depths of cool water, and in the arms of new friends.
You will be so wrong about what you’ll feel at camp when you beg for the last day to come but dread leaving. You will feel conflicted and wonder if you actually hate your life. But, soon you will adapt to hot wooden walls and beads of sweat that can’t be soaked up by soil. You will adapt to hidden faces on trains and a night sky that always looks gray. You’ll miss not thinking about anything other than where you are and hope that that is reality again one day, just anywhere other than camp.