The Camino Club

by Kevin Craig

  Claire allows her words to trail off.

  “Or else, what?” Shania says. I reach over and squeeze her hand because she’s pushing and pushing. She should just let Claire speak and get it out. “Ow,” she says. I give her a look and hope she can read my mind right now and shut it.

  “A few months back, they sent me away to this weekend retreat.” She air-quotes. “Like three weekends in a row. You know, to get me to give this up.”

  Claire holds up her bag of candy, and I can read Shania’s mind even before she asks the question. I squeeze her hand again to stop her. She looks at me like I’m the one with the problem.

  “Give up being gay,” Claire says, answering Shania’s unasked question.

  “Oh, man, girl,” Manny says. He has the same stunned look on his face as everyone else. “That’s just so wrong.”

  “Conversion therapy?” Troy says. “You didn’t tell me this. Why didn’t you tell me this? Are you fucking kidding me? Oh my God, they’re nuts. You poor girl.” He hugs her. She accepts it, but only for a second. She wants to keep it together.

  Gil says exactly nothing about Troy’s use of the F-bomb. And my boy never swears.

  “It’s not what they call it. But, yeah. Pretty much conversion therapy. I’m going to get out as soon as I can figure out a way. Until then, I just can’t be who I am. I already know that. Mostly, it’s okay. I deal and deal and deal… until I can’t do it any longer. It gets too exhausting. I just put on this face like everything’s fine and I’m not this monster they can’t stand or relate to or accept.”

  “I’m really sorry, Claire,” I say. I don’t know what else to say because I can’t imagine Moms ever going against me for any reason.

  “That’s just not right,” Shania says. “That’s messed up.”

  “We’ve been talking to Claire, guys. We had a discussion with her back in Samos,” Gil says. “We’re going to see if we can’t get her some help when we get back home. She’s promised not to make a run for it before we get to Santiago. And I believe she’s telling us the truth. Right, Claire.”

  Gil winks at Claire and smiles. The two of them share this look with Meagan. I sometimes forget why we’re here, that these two are our guardians, that counseling is happening out here. This is pretty much as heavy as it gets.

  “I already told you, Claire,” Greg says. “I got your back no matter what. I don’t give a flying shit. If anything like that shit happens again, they’ll want to run as far away as possible. If I find them, they won’t like what I’ll do to them.”

  “My little assassin,” Claire says. She laughs, wipes away more tears with the handkerchief. “To think a few days ago I slapped his face so hard for being an asshole, it left a handprint. Anything can happen on the Camino, folks.”

  This is the tension breaker we all needed. We laugh, but not much because, man. I don’t think I ever heard of anything as heavy as this.

  “Maybe we should hit the road, gang,” Meagan says. “Like Troy said, Claire. There really isn’t anything to apologize over. I think the rest of the kids have your back. Considering the impossible pressure you’ve been under, it’s no wonder you’re struggling.”

  “Thanks, Meagan.”

  “Don’t mention it. Now look what you’ve done. You’ve made this old man cry, even. Imagine that.” Meagan climbs off the sweater she’s been sitting on and reaches across to pat Bastien’s knee. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine, oui.” But he doesn’t look fine. I want to bash Claire’s parents in the face for hurting him. He points to the sky above us. “You see, Claire. The hawk. He stays for you. To allow you to tell your story. He can take some burden, maybe, yes? Fly away with it.”

  “I hope so, Bastien,” she says.

  We’re all on our feet now, and the picnic is pretty much put away. Time for the last half of the day’s walk. To Gonzar.

  I can tell Shania has something to say, but I don’t want her to say it. I know Shania. She’ll have all these questions for Claire and start freaking out about things. But arguing with her is hopeless, so I try another strategy to distract her. As everyone else struggles into their backpacks, I attempt to deflect the impending Shania tirade with my lips. With kisses.

  As I get her into a lip-lock, everybody is quick to tease, but the tactic works. Soon everyone’s walking away, rejoining the path, and I’m left standing in an open field kissing my girl.

  Chapter 35 — Shania Reynolds

  Tuesday, July 9th – Day 11 – How Can I Hate My Life When Claire… ?

  I didn’t want to journal last night when we finally got to the albergue in Gonzar. Yesterday put me in a real funk. First with the whole thing Claire’s dealing with, and then, to top it off, I had to listen to a lecture from Diego about leaving her alone and giving her some space.

  I thought I had it bad. I mean, yeah, my parents constantly ignore me. But I’m such a princess. They give me everything. They make sure there’s nothing I want… even if they’re not emotionally there for me. They’re busy. It’s not like they hate me. It’s not like they try to change me. I mean, not the way Claire’s parents are trying to kill her.

  I need to talk to her. We never really got along all that great. Maybe I can fix it. I fixed it with Diego, after all. If I can fix that situation, I can probably do anything.

  We’re in a small café in a place called Palas de Rei, on our way to Ponte Campaña Mato. We’re almost done walking for the day. It seriously feels like everything’s wrapping up. I’m going to miss this place and these people like I’ve never missed anything before. Except maybe how I miss Flibber right now. I’d give anything to kiss his silly face.

  “No, no,” Bastien says. “Hórreos.” This is about the third time I heard him pronounce the word for Greg, who is adamant in his insistence that the “little houses” he keeps seeing in the small towns we’ve been walking through are coffins for the dead. Greg’s arguing that people store bodies in these little houses over the winter because the ground freezes. Because some guy named Louis from Seattle told him this. Everyone is laughing but Greg. He’s just annoyed.

  I put my journal away to listen. I’ve seen the long miniature houses on stilts all over the place. No clue what they are. I could see how someone would mistake them for that. They’re almost the size of coffins, taller with fancy little roofs on them. But I also didn’t think that’s what they were.

  “Greg, my friend. No,” Bastien says, sounding a bit frustrated himself. He speaks as much with his hands as with his words. “I tell you this promise, these are not houses of the dead, little coffins in the sky. Merde. They are granaries for the farmers and villagers. To keep their stock dry and away from the riffraff of rodents. I promise you, this is so. Not these houses of the dead corpses you speak of.”

  Greg does not want to give up.

  “But Louis knows. He said—”

  “He said, he said, he said. Nonsense. The man does not know. Someone is a joker. Someone told him this to make him the fool, the ass’s ass. They are granaries.”

  “Dweeb,” Manny says. “Come on, bro. You don’t think Bastien knows of what he speaks?”

  Greg’s face turns beet red, and his frustration shows in the way he shakes his head. He’s not going to win this one. When he accepts his defeat, he gets up and makes his way to the washroom.

  “His Louis, he is a fool or a trickster,” Bastien says. He grumbles under his breath and there is more laughter.

  “On that note,” Gilbert says, rising to his feet. “How about we head out of this one-horse town and get moving? Onward to Ponte Campaña Mato, my little lovelies.”

  Every one of us groans. This is the second time he’s made the horse joke. As we walked into town, there was a solitary horse standing in a field by itself, and he mentioned it then. In his own head, Gil is the funniest person he knows.

  * * *
>
  By the time Diego and I arrive at the albergue, we’re both spent. This does not stop us from walking around the large property or finding a quiet place alone to make out. I keep worrying I’m going to wake up at the end of this trip and realize it was all a dream and I didn’t really get the boy. I can’t even believe I used to have to keep reminding myself to be nice to this guy. He’s like Flibber. The only thing in the world Diego wants is my happiness. Even if he does sometimes try to keep me in check. That. Will. Never. Happen.

  We’re sitting on this homemade wooden bench under an apple tree, at the very end of the property, when I see Claire come out the back door of the albergue. She takes something over to the outdoor sink, turns on the tap and starts scrubbing the thing in her hands under the running water. She must be cleaning her underwear, something we’ve all been doing every night. Pack light, wash, and rewash.

  “It looks like she’s trying to murder her poor gotchies,” Diego says. The words sound like he’s attempting to be funny, but his face is all seriousness. He’s rigid and stern. His cheeks are tight, like he’s clenching his teeth.

  Diego seems to be taking this thing with Claire hard. I also think he doesn’t want to discuss it with me because he thinks I may snap. Which I may.

  “Can I talk to her yet, Diego?”

  He takes his eyes away from Claire, and his facial muscles relax.

  “I would do anything for Moms, Shania,” he says. “And I would have done anything in the world for my grandmother. Anything. How could her parents love her and do that to her, Shan?” He stops talking and kisses me. It’s gentle at first and then a little rougher.

  “I would never in a million years ask someone I loved—or anyone—to change who they are.” He’s angry. It’s like he’s been holding it in since the picnic. “I don’t want that kid to go home after this. They’re breaking that little girl’s soul, Shan. It ain’t right. Nobody deserves that. There’s some things you just don’t come back from. People die when they break.”

  There’s something inside Diego, I swear, that’s the same color and brightness as the thing that burns in Bastien and makes him so magical. They both have it. No wonder they found each other.

  He takes my face in his hands and plants another rough kiss on my mouth. Then he gets up, turns, and walks toward the albergue. At first, I assume he is going to talk to Claire. Instead, he walks past her, opens the back door, and steps inside.

  I guess he was giving me his blessing.

  Claire finishes up at the sink, turns the water off, and brings her underwear over to a clothesline between the albergue and myself. There’s some old-fashioned covered-wagon lawn ornament between us. It blocks my view at first, but she steps around it. I smile, and she takes it as an invitation to join me.

  “Hey,” she says.

  “Long day, eh?”

  “Not the longest. That was yesterday.” She makes this face like she’s exhausted, for emphasis. I know yesterday wasn’t the longest day of walking, so it’s obvious she’s talking about dealing with her shit at the picnic. “Compared to yesterday, today’s been a walk in the park.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right,” I say.

  “I just had some face time with Zoe. She’s my rock. I can’t look at her face and not feel better. She gets me.”

  “That’s an awesome feeling.”

  “The best.” She sits on the bench beside me.

  “I’m sorry we haven’t been the best of friends out here,” I say.

  She shrugs, smiles. “Nah. Don’t worry about it, Shania. We all landed here pissed off. Well, except for Troy, maybe. And your Diego. But we all have baggage. They probably expected us not to get along anyway. You know what they say about girls.”

  “True. Bitchy, don’t get along, kill our own. I hear you. But then, other times they say we got each other’s backs, protect each other, and gang up. Can’t have it both ways. I should have tried to make friendly, though.”

  “Three more days of walking,” Claire says. “Still lots of time to bond, right?”

  I smile. There’s only one thing on my mind, though. What she’s gone through. I can’t find a way to bring it up. Every sentence I try to string together comes out wrong according to my internal editor. At least Diego would be proud that I’m consulting my editor. I usually speak first and think later. Maybe the Camino is slowing me down that way.

  “I sometimes feel like a ghost in my own life. If it weren’t for my brother, Dillon, and my dog, Flibber, I’d be hopeless. My parents, they each have these lives where every second of every day is mapped out. They actually get nervous if they find themselves at home, accidentally short on scheduled chaos. So I sometimes feel like nobody cares. Like, if I disappeared they wouldn’t even notice. I know it’s bad when I start talking out loud to the dog.”

  “Ha, ha. I’ve been there. They know our greatest secrets. Shit, my dog… she should probably have an honorary degree in psychology by now. She’s gotten me through so many rough patches. I think—”

  “What did they do to you, Claire?” I interrupt, because I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been biting my tongue for over twenty-four hours.

  “It’s okay, Shania,” she says, like she’s the one who has to placate me. “I’m fine. Zoe is the most amazing girlfriend. I’d be a wreck without her support. Ha, like I’m not one already. It’s just, those people had this way of getting in my head. They blamed my parents, my upbringing, my babysitter, my teachers, everyone, for me being gay. They had me believing at one point that I wasn’t born this way. That’s the scariest part.

  “The thing is, I’m not even sure my parents knew some of the shady stuff they pulled on me at that little program they signed me up for. Mom and Dad just needed the gay to be taken out of their daughter by any means possible. My mother goes faint when she hears the word lesbian. She can’t even deal with that.

  “I came home that first weekend kicking and screaming, but I soon realized it wasn’t gonna stop until I got some kind of clean bill of health. So eventually I started to lie, to tell them how I was feeling better.” She air-quotes these last two words. “It worked for a bit, or at least I thought it did. Then my parents were convinced I needed to complete the program before they could be guaranteed it would fully take in the long term.”

  “Whoa,” I say. “That’s insane.” The light in the sky has changed and the noise from the albergue grows as resting peregrinos come to life. People make their way from the sleeping quarters to the dining hall.

  “How do you think I made my way to the Camino? I couldn’t take the bullshit. I snapped on the program. I snapped on my parents. Nobody within a hundred miles of my life was safe. The camp—as they liked to call the place—had me on break and enter, mischief, and destruction of property. I only destroyed property because the assholes weren’t there at the time. It probably would have been murder charges if they had been.”

  I stand and offer her a hand up. Claire takes it and stands up. I hug her and she allows me to do so.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you. It’s so messed up; I don’t even know what to say. I didn’t know they still tried shit like this, Claire. For real.”

  “Yeah, well.” She shrugs, and we make our way back up to the albergue. “If they can disguise it as some kind of religious camp and get away with it, they do.”

  We’re practically the last ones to enter the dining hall, but naturally my knight in shining armor has saved seats for both of us.

  As we sit down, Claire says, “I could eat a horse.”

  “Too bad we left that one-horse town behind us, Claire bear,” Gil says. “Otherwise, I could have hooked you up.”

  “Ha ha,” she says, totally deadpan. But then she laughs. Not because it’s particularly funny, but because it’s kind of what you do with friends. “You’re pretty funny, Gil. Not.”

  “Eat your soup.”
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  “Yes, sir.”

  I can’t believe I’m going to be saying goodbye to these people in just a few more days. It doesn’t seem possible. Time means nothing on the Camino, because I swear I’ve known all of them forever.

  Chapter 36 — Troy Sinclair

  Today we arrived in Castenada. One of the best moments possibly in the history of the Camino happened today. We stopped in Melide for lunch. The town is famous for their pulpo, or octopus. We’d been hearing about it since our journey began. Yours truly, I should add, did not partake of the delicacy. Ew.

  Anyway, Greg—smartass that he is—thought it would be a good idea to scare the hell out of Shania with some octopus tentacles. When he stood behind her and dangled them in her face, though, it wasn’t Shania who lost her mind.

  Unfortunately for Greg, Manny was sitting beside Shania. And the second those tentacles fell into his field of vision, he went ballistic. He snapped and jumped out of his chair. The chair went flying back and hit Greg right in his junk. He went down like a bag of bones, tentacles and all, clutching himself.

  Manny runs screaming like he’s still not far enough away from the tentacles to be safe. His arms flail like he’s walking through cobwebs. Meanwhile, Greg’s on the floor shouting about his nuts, and Shania’s still sitting there eating her French fries like nothing happened. Completely deadpan. That girl.

  The best part is, Diego was sitting across from Shania pretending to take her picture, just waiting for Greg to strike. So Diego has a bunch of pictures of the chaos. Brilliant.