by Beth Goobie
“Tomorrow is Canada Day, a day we have set aside to honor our country and celebrate the fact that we live in a place of freedom and dignity.” Adrien was surprised. She had forgotten her aunt could speak in long sentences. “This flag represents what we feel about our country and about ourselves. It stands for everything we believe in—freedom of speech, freedom to worship ...”
Five girls stepped forward and stood around the flagpole in a small group. It was early morning, the horizon lit with first light. At the top of the flagpole flew a single pair of girl’s panties.
“I told Mom!” wailed Roberta. “They stole all of them. That’s the only pair I have left and they stuck it up there.” She stood, hands on hips, looking very pleased as she watched her pink panties flutter.
“Bet you they’re wearing the rest of them,” observed Sherry.
“No way!” gawked a girl with a long tumble of brown hair who was standing beside her.
“You don’t want them back, Roberta,” advised Nat. “They’ll be stretched way out of shape.” She made a lewd gesture and the girls burst into fidgety laughter.
“What’m I gonna wear?” demanded Roberta.
“Nothing,” grinned Nat. “None of us will, for the whole week. But don’t tell Erin, okay? Only us’ll know.”
“No underwear?” The fifth girl looked shocked.
“C’mon, Cath, this is your big chance to dump those bloomers your mother makes you wear.” Quickly Nat unzipped her shorts, stepped out of them, removed her panties and pulled her shorts back on. “Hooey!” she cried, waving her panties over her head. “Everyone do it!”
“Someone’ll see,” protested Cath, looking around.
“Everyone’s asleep. Erin’s snoring and you know why.” Nat began to dance around the flagpole.
“I dunno,” said Cath, but the other girls were following suit, sitting down to tug off their jeans.
“My bum’s wet from the dew,” laughed Roberta as she scrambled to her feet.
“You’ve got a bug on it,” Sherry observed.
Delicately, Roberta removed the mayfly, then pulled her jeans back on. “Yahoo!” Waving her panties over her head, she joined Nat in the dance around the flagpole. Soon the others joined in, giggling and snorting through a wobbly version of “O Canada”. Finally Sherry stopped dancing and stood staring upward. Her face held a look of awe.
“Let’s put them all up there,” she whispered fiercely.
Adrien watched the bright red maple leaf descend in small jerks, sagging as it came out of the wind. Then Aunt Erin and her nine-year-old fan were folding the flag and putting it into its overnight box. Serious faces began singing “O Canada” as a V of geese flew across the lake. Adrien mouthed the words, but their meaning escaped her. She couldn’t believe what she had just seen. Every summer she had stood in line, morning and evening, listening to her aunt’s speeches, watching the red leaf and believing in its holiness. Now for one vivid moment, she saw six pairs of pink and white panties flying wildly at the top of the flagpole, catching the light as the morning sun rose over the lake.
She would never be the same again.
nine
She was jerked roughly out of sleep, into the glare of a flashlight. Once again, her blankets were pulled off the bed. This time she backed into the wall, shielding her eyes.
“You’ve broken a long tradition, Grouch.” Connor was speaking in a deep unfamiliar voice, but she recognized him. What made him think he could pretend to be a different person at night? And why did everyone else pretend along with him? Even Darcie stood in the shadows, ready to jump at his slightest command.
“I don’t like your traditions,” she said. “No one made them the law.”
“They’re the law here.” He pulled her hand from her face. She blinked and tried to turn her head. “Bad girls have to be punished, you know.”
“What’re you, a bunch of Nazis?”
He snapped his fingers and two guys leaned toward her—the waterfront assistant and one of the riding instructors. They grabbed her arms and pulled her off the bed.
“C’mon,” said Connor, leaving the room. She was pushed toward the door, then forced along the hall. As they emerged outside, she started to yell, and a hand was clamped over her mouth. The flashlight was so close, she could feel its heat on her face.
“Make another sound and it’ll get worse,” Connor said quietly.
She fell silent. They weren’t really hurting her—if she didn’t struggle, they held her quite loosely. The procession wound its way through the trees, past the dining hall and the office, then on toward the corrals until it reached the Petting Zoo, a small fenced-in enclosure that housed two sheep, one goat and several rabbits. Every day, the youngest campers came here to feed and pet the animals. As Connor vaulted the fence, the sheep bleated sleepily and backed away.
“Pass her over,” he said.
The fence was no more than a meter high. She kicked and struggled, but was easily lifted into his waiting arms. His breath stank of beer and his chin stubble rubbed her cheek, but when she pushed against his chest, he tightened his grip. He carried her effortlessly. Several more figures leapt into the enclosure.
“Darcie, get your ass in here,” Connor ordered.
With assistance, Darcie climbed the fence.
“Open it up,” Connor said.
As Darcie took out a key, someone trained the flashlight on the small cage in one corner of the pen that housed the animals’ feed. With a start, Adrien remembered that one of her roommate’s additional duties was the Petting Zoo’s early morning feeding.
“I don’t really think we should—” Darcie began, but Connor cut her off.
“Maybe we’ll put you in instead?”
Darcie unlocked the cage. “It’s too full,” she said. “Grouch won’t fit.”
“So pull out a bale,” said Connor.
Hands pulled out the closest bale of hay.
“Great,” said Connor. “Lots of room. In you go, Grouch. Sit in the cage where all the bad animals belong.”
She tried to hang onto the doorframe, but they pressed her arms to her sides and shoved her through. The small door closed, the padlock clicked shut, and the staff moved in to circle the cage. She counted eleven shapes shifting nervously in the dark.
“Erin Wood,” Connor said, and everyone stomped and grunted. Adrien crouched in the cage and waited. “So, little Wood,” Connor sneered. “How d’you like your new home?”
She couldn’t believe the snickers. They had to be completely drunk, too drunk to see her shaking. “Oh, I’m really scared,” she said. “The sheep might tear the cage apart and eat me alive. In the morning, my aunt’ll find me and you’ll be fired.”
“Then maybe we’d better make sure no one finds you.” Connor crouched by the cage and flicked a lighter. The small flame cast flickering shadows across the bales.
“What’re you doing?” gasped Darcie.
“Shut up.” Connor held the flame under several wisps of hay sticking through the wire mesh. “You gonna tell your auntie, Grouch?”
“I didn’t say I was going to tell,” Adrien said nervously. “I said she’d find me in the morning if you left me here all night.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t do that,” Connor said soothingly. “Not all night, Grouch.”
The hay caught fire and flames shot inward.
“No!” Darcie shoved Connor aside and began stomping the flames with her shoe. As quickly as the fire had flared, it died. “What d’you think you’re doing?” she hissed.
“Just testing your loyalties.”
“You can’t kill people,” Darcie cried. “That’s not part of any camp tradition.”
“No one was going to kill her.” Connor spoke calmly. “And you interfered.”
“But—” Darcie stammered.
“We’re finished for tonight,” said Connor. “Beddy-bye for all good staffies. C’mon, Darcie.” He took her by the shoulders and pushed her toward the fence. Then h
e and the others vaulted it, leaving her standing alone, staring at the wire mesh. Connor played the flashlight over her face. Everyone watched her take a deep breath, as if coming awake.
“This is stupid,” Darcie said. “I’ve got the key.” She walked to the pen’s main gate, unlocked it and stepped out. “See ya later, Grouch,” she whispered, then joined the others as they headed toward their cabins. The rustling of leaves faded. There was the distant snapping of a twig, then enormous silence. Adrien’s heart beat bright stars across the sky.
“This shit only works if everyone believes it,” she yelled into the looming dark, then slumped against the cage door. She couldn’t believe they were actually leaving her here.
“On Canada Day,” she muttered. “Country of freedom and dignity. Freedom of expression and all that.”
The goat was nibbling her hair. Adrien twisted the loose strands into a tight braid and tucked it into her collar. She was dressed for bed in her usual T-shirt and panties, and the mosquitoes were swarming. Bales crowded her into the door, and the top of her head pushed against the mesh roof. More mesh pressed against her back and bare feet. How could Darcie do this? Tears stung Adrien’s eyes and throat. Some friend. Some Spartan. Darcie was just like everyone else, kissing Connor’s ass. Roberta would never have gone along with this shit. Sherry wouldn’t have believed in it. Nat would have told Connor to kiss his own ass. Adrien smiled a little. Or hers.
It was so quiet. Everyone was asleep. Were they planning to leave her here all night? What if The Big One hit? It would serve them right if they found her dead in the morning—explain that one to Aunt Erin. She lifted a bare foot and kicked against the mesh. It belled out but held firm. She kicked again, the mesh cutting into her skin. “Ouch.” She didn’t want to wreck the cage, but they had no right. Did they expect her to sit quietly until someone came to let her out? Roberta wouldn’t. Nat would tear the cage apart with her bare hands.
“I want out!” Adrien yelled, banging the mesh with her fist. Pain laced her skin, followed by a surge of anger, and she punched the mesh again. There was no way she was going to sit here waiting obediently for Connor’s return. “Let me out!” She got onto her knees, head pressed against the roof, fist pounding in a regular rhythm. Rage rose in her throat, filled her head, and raw words tore out of her. “I could die, don’t you know I could die? I’ve got a fuckedup brain. It could explode and I’d die out here all alone. It’s not my fault. I didn’t ask for a defective brain or weak blood vessels. I didn’t ask to eat dirt and shit my pants. I used to be like the rest of you and then my life fell apart. I hate being me. I hate me. Let me out.”
Darcie was suddenly there in the dark, fumbling with the key, unlocking the cage door and taking her arm. “All right, okay, take it easy, would ya? I was just waiting until they were gone. Shh, you’ll wake your aunt. Jesus, what’d you do to your hand?”
Adrien crawled out and stood shaking as her roommate shone a small flashlight over her puffy right hand. It was lacerated with small cuts. “Crap,” Darcie muttered. “I’m so sorry, Grouch. I’m so sorry.” Before Adrien could move, Darcie wrapped her in a bear hug. Soft and warm, it was full of beating hearts, something to bring her back from the end of the world, the end of herself. “Shh,” Darcie whispered. “Shh, shh.” Her hair grew soggy from Adrien’s tears. “That’s all right,” Darcie soothed. “That’s okay.”
The goat started chewing Adrien’s T-shirt. She kicked at it and the two girls pulled apart, wiping away tears. “Grouch,” Darcie asked hesitantly. “You were yelling something ... about your brain? Dying? What—?”
“I had a brain aneurysm,” Adrien gulped, staring off into the dark. “Two years ago. If it happens again, I’m gone. I was just lucky the first time.”
“Oh.” Darcie turned off the flashlight. “Your aunt didn’t tell me.”
“My aunt,” Adrien said scornfully, “pretends every-thing’s normal. It’s my attitude that’s the problem. She probably thinks my attitude caused the first one.”
“I doubt it.” The warmth of Darcie’s hand closed around Adrien’s good one. “C’mon, Grouch. Let’s go home.”
Adrien smiled a little. One week in a cabin and her roommate called it home. Everywhere Darcie went, home went too. Darcie was her own home. She dropped Adrien’s hand to unlock the outer gate, then took it again firmly, leading her into the trees like a child.
An image was growing in Adrien’s mind—cool, quiet, whispering with hidden meanings. A place moonlight touched the earth and rooted, going so deep it became darkness. Two halves that connected to form a whole. Her home. She turned, taking Darcie with her, leading her toward the lake.
“Where are we going?” Darcie asked. “I have to fix your hand. I’m tired, I want—”
“Shh.” They were almost at another clearing. Small pale shapes could be seen through the trees. Darcie took a quick breath, then went quiet. They crept closer and watched. It was one of the youngest cabins—the seven-year-olds. The girls wore sweatshirts and jackets over their nighties, and were clustered around their counselor in a small awed group, listening.
“It’s older than any of us, even me. It’s older than your grandma or your great-grandma. This tree is older than any of the animals or buildings here at Camp Lakeshore.”
“Older than the sea?” asked a girl, pointing in the direction of the lake.
“Almost,” said the counselor. “This tree is very very old and it’s very very wise.”
“How’d it get so smart?” asked another girl. “
Cuz it got struck by lightning. Then you’re extra smart,” said a third.
“Then you’re extra dead,” said the first.
“Not this tree,” said the counselor. “This is the Wishing Tree and it lives just to hear the wishes of children. D’you think it’s going to let some dumb ol’ lightning come along and kill it?”
“No,” chorused the girls.
Adrien’s throat tightened and she blinked fiercely.
“The Wishing Tree is going to hear all your wishes tonight,” the counselor continued. “All you have to do is touch the tree and tell it your most secret wish.”
“Do I have to say it out loud?” asked a small voice.
“This tree is so wise, it can hear the softest thought whispered inside your head,” said the counselor. “It can hear what no one else can hear. When you’re ready, just put your hand on the trunk and wish like this.” She closed her eyes and stood for a long poised moment, one hand pressed against the white bark. Then she opened her eyes, smiled and stepped back.
“Did the Wishing Tree hear you?” asked a girl.
“Oh yes,” said the counselor.
“Good,” the girl said fervently. One by one, each child stepped forward and touched the tree, most of them imitating their counselor’s pose. One hugged the tree, another stooped to touch the fallen part. When they were finished, the counselor had them all join hands.
“Now the Wishing Tree knows your wish. Each leaf on these branches holds someone’s wish. The Wishing Tree never forgets a wish. Now your wish is up there among the leaves, blowing in the wind.” The girls stood open-mouthed, listening to the tree rustle until their counselor took the nearest girl’s hand and led them back to their cabin.
“That’s Tamai,” sighed Darcie. “Isn’t she neat? She missed staff training, but this is her fourth summer, so she doesn’t need it. She always counsels the youngest girls.”
“They need her,” Adrien said hoarsely. She stepped into the clearing and stood looking at the tree. The moon was partially covered, but the trunk still glowed, a shadowy light with a dark burn slash. Leaves on the fallen half were starting to brown. Part of its life was leaving. Adrien walked to the tree and placed both hands on the standing half. “C’mere, Spart.”
She needed to say this out loud, and she needed someone to hear it. Darcie stepped close, her sleeve brushing Adrien’s bare arm. For a moment, the Wishing Tree seemed to pause. Its leaves stopped rustlin
g and the air held silent, waiting.
“I want,” Adrien said softly, “to know about death. How long it takes for the heart to stop beating. When do you stop knowing? What happens when you lose yourself? Does all the light shooting through your brain go out quick like a bedroom light, or does it unravel slow, like a sweater, giving you time? Does the throat clutch up? Can you get out that last important word? How cold will my skin feel? Will I feel it turning cold, or will I already be gone? Will my eyes turn blue? How blue? Will I see only blue things then, only sky? I want to know if you rise up and blow with the wind, or if you sink down, far down into cold water, nothing closes over your face, nothing is all you are, all you ever were.”
She knelt and touched the dying half. “And I want to know about life. What it’s like to truly believe in it. Because life only works if you believe in it, right Spart?”
“Right,” whispered Darcie.
“So I want to believe in it,” said Adrien, waiting, and the cool green sensation came through her, washing her clean. She breathed deeply and stood. “That’s my wish—two wishes, but they’re the same wish. What’s yours?”
Darcie’s face was a mess of tears. “I want to be the best friend you’ve ever had.”
Adrien was suddenly very tired and needed her roommate’s hand to make it back to the cabin. The short walk seemed interminable. When they finally stumbled into the cabin, the rest of the staff were asleep. Darcie took out a first-aid kit and cleaned Adrien’s hand. “What’s your aunt going to say about this?” she sighed. “Every time you’re around me, you get bashed up. I’m so gutless. I never should’ve let them put you in that cage. I’m telling you something now, Grouch. I am not going to that campfire ever again. I’m staying in bed and getting a good night’s sleep. Connor’ll be mad, but it’s true what you said—shit only works if you believe in it. If you can stand up to him, so can I.” She looked grimly determined, as if her life stood in the balance.