What It Was Like

by Peter Seth

  ≁

  I wanted to talk to her after dinner about what Dale said, but I couldn’t. Jerry pulled me away at the beginning of Free Play to go with Stanley Marshak to talk to some big-shot doctor from Boonesville who went to Columbia a zillion years ago. Mooncliff liked to maintain good relations with the locals. After all, most of the kitchen and grounds staff came from Boonesville and the surrounding white-trash towns. Sorry to be so blunt, but that’s what they were.

  I talked – or rather this old Boonie doctor talked – almost all Free Play about his good old days at Columbia (the College and Physicians and Surgeons) and taking a course with Lionel Trilling (which is what everybody at Columbia says) while I stood by and nodded politely, occasionally chuckling at one of his bad jokes. Stanley Marshak was there next to me, grinning with fake pride, rocking back and forth in his shoes and patting down the wiry ends of his moustache nervously. All I wanted to do was get away from them and see Rachel.

  That afternoon, all during a long, humid, gnat-attracting nature hike, I thought about her and her plans for us. I had little patience for the Doggies who were screwing around as Stewie and I herded them along the forest trail, trying to keep things orderly for Norm the Bug Guy, Mooncliff’s elderly and revered nature counselor who was at the head of the line. The Doggies were in an especially rambunctious mood. They were in the middle of this week-long laughing mania over the word “groin.” (“Hello, Mr. Groin!” . . . “Stop looking at my groin!” . . . “Would you like some groin on your salad?” . . . and calling Stewie and me “The Groinmaster” and “Assistant Groinmaster” respectively.) For a while, it was funny. After a couple of days, I and especially Stewie wanted to strangle them.

  “There is no such thing as a private life in places like this,” Stewie lectured me as we walked behind the last and slowest of the hikers. “Everybody knows everything about everybody, and what they don’t know, they make up.”

  “Great,” I said. “People don’t know everything or anything about me. People are, for the most part, ridiculous.”

  “You’re just finding this out?” Stewie said.

  “No,” I said. “But when they start to affect your life –”

  “What are you gonna do?” said Stewie. “They have you. You’re an employee.”

  “Yes, I’m an employee,” I said. “But they don’t own me. I’m still a free human being.”

  “Now who’s being ridiculous?” said Stewie.

  I didn’t like to think that Stewie was right, but, in this case, he had a point.

  ≁

  As it turned out, I never found Rachel during Free Play. I took as hasty an exit as I could from the chat with the doctor from Boonesville and Stanley, but I never tracked her down. I did catch up to her later that night after Evening Activity (the Lads and Lassies assassinated The King And I.) As everyone was going back to their bunks, with kids rushing everywhere and clouds of moths all around the floodlights outside the Rec Hall I went looking for her. Instead, she found me.

  “I can’t believe it!” she said, pulling me aside. “First, they force me to help with the make-up before the show so that I can’t see you. And now they want me to sit O.D. tonight!”

  “But C.I.T.s aren’t supposed to sit O.D.,” I said. Which was the truth.

  “Harriet said it would be good ‘counselor training’ for me,” she said, her mouth twisting sarcastically on the offensive words.

  “But I thought you were such a terrible person, with wrong priorities,” I said. “Now they want you to sit O.D.?”

  “They say they want to give me more responsibility,” she said. “Of course, there’ll be another counselor there with me, so it’s all completely a farce. But there was . . .something else.”

  “What?” I asked. I could tell it was something that embarrassed her.

  “… I slapped one of my kids,” she said.

  “And you got in trouble for it?” I exclaimed, thinking how the boy counselors regularly abused their campers, if only to keep them in line.

  “Well,” she admitted. “It was across the face.”

  “Oh, that’s not good, I guess,” I muttered.

  “Hey,” she shrugged. “I’ve been slapped across the face plenty of times. The girl was completely out of line.”

  I let that pass, but I didn’t like to think of Rachel being slapped across the face, or the fact that she was so casual about it.

  “Are they gonna make any of the other C.I.T.s sit O.D.?” I asked.

  “No!” she said. “I asked Harriet about just that, and she said that I –”

  “Rayyy-chllll!”

  Her kids called her, and Serious Sara was standing right there with an impatient look on her face, so I had to let her go.

  “You should go,” I said.

  “This is completely unfair!” she said.

  “I know,” I comforted her.

  She moved closer to me and whispered with a wicked smile, “You want to come visit me?”

  Her look excited me, I admit, and from that close I caught a whiff of her fresh, perfume-y self, but I said, “Uhhhh . . . I better not. You know they’ll be watching you, waiting for you to screw up.”

  “You’re right,” she said glumly. “You’re being good. Ugh.”

  “I want to keep us out of trouble as much as possible. That’s what a good boyfriend does, right?” I said.

  “I guess so,” she murmured adorably.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” I tried to sound positive and upbeat, which I think she appreciated. But even though she knew that people were watching, she kissed me firmly on the lips before she ran away through the crowd toward her waiting campers and Serious Sara.

  She didn’t look back, so there was nothing left for me to do but herd the Doggies back to the bunk with Stewie and get them into bed, all the while making alternative plans for the rest of the evening. Stewie offered to give me a ride in the Super-Coupe into Bailey’s, but he was going with Marcy, and I didn’t want to be a third wheel. Instead, I did what most of the counselors who didn’t go into town did: went and hung out at the Snack Shak in the bottom of the Rec Hall.

  There was a jukebox there, and a ping-pong table, and you could get food from the canteen. There was usually a poker game going, small stakes only. Occasionally, the ping-pong games, especially among the guys, could get a little heated. Stewie almost got into a fistfight with Billy something, one of the Southern guys. In any case, it was a place to unwind after a day of brat-watching/counseloring.

  When I walked into the Snack Shak, I could smell the greasy hot dogs being grilled and hear the Young Rascals’ “You Better Run” pounding out of the jukebox. If this were a normal night, I’d be walking in and I’d see Rachel there – either at a table with some of her friends, or by the jukebox – waiting for me. And I’d go straight over to her, and that was that. But it wasn’t like that tonight. I was alone-alone and didn’t particularly like it.

  “What’s with you?” said Eddie from the Bronx, who was at the counter, waiting for his jumbo dog and lime Rickey. “What are you doing here?”

  “Rachel’s got O.D.,” I said simply.

  He looked at me for a moment, then guffawed like a donkey for a couple of moments. I just stood there and endured it.

  “Wait a second,” he said. “Isn’t she a C.I. – ?”

  “Forget what you’re gonna say,” I cut him off. “You know rules are different for different people around here.” I drummed on the counter, deciding if I wanted to waste my money on some junk food.

  “Wow,” he said. “Heavy.” Nodding in agreement and turning to look up and down at the back of Edwina, the chubby Boonie in charge of Snack Shak who was preparing his food.

  “Who is that, Harriet?” he asked, guessing who had changed the rules. “Bitch.”

  Which made me snicker. Everyone – or, let’s
say, a lot of people – hated Harriet. Rachel and I weren’t the only ones.

  “So why aren’t you in town?” I asked him as we walked over to a little table and sat down. I decided not to get anything to eat. All they had was junk there: any candy I wanted I could always take from the Fat or Very Fat Doggies. They had plenty, and I was doing them a favor.

  “And spend all my paycheck before I even get it?” he said scornfully. “Halfa the guys’ve already been drawing on their paychecks, just so they can go into Bailey’s and spend it getting drunk. I want there to be something left at the end of August.”

  “Square business!” I concurred with him. I hadn’t completely forgotten that the whole point of this summer was to walk away with a nice chunk of money for college, which was only a few weeks away now. The summer was flying by. And now I had an even greater motivation to save money – to be able to afford rich Rachel Prince in the fall.

  As I sat there, all my uncertainties about the fall were coming together: Who knew what was waiting for me at home? Starting college and keeping Rachel? Could I do both? I would do both! But what would be the cost? . . . And the competition?

  Record of Events #9 - entered Saturday, 7:16 P.M.

  ≁

  She wasn’t at Line-Up the next morning, which was disappointing. I always liked to see what she was wearing each morning and try to catch her eye for a long-distance smile. But this morning it looked like one of her girls was missing, too, so Rachel could have still been back at the bunk, taking care of her. I didn’t see her after breakfast either since I had to cover my bunk and Bunk 8 (a favor I owed Big Alby) before I could find out from Rachel’s girls where she was. I knew that her bunk had swim instruction that morning, so I sent the Smart Doggy from our Arts and Crafts session down to the Girls’ waterfront to check. He came back with the information that Rachel had a “personal emergency.”

  “That’s it?” I quizzed him. “A ‘personal emergency’? Nothing else? No details?”

  “Very sorry, Assistant Groinmaster, sir! That is all they said, sir!” he reported, standing at attention, with a straight face, the little wiseguy.

  “You’re worthless,” I said, dismissing him. “Go back there and grout.”

  I didn’t see her at lunch either because, amazingly enough, the Doggies had won Inspection that week. I think that the inspector that week, Sal the head of Boys’ waterfront, pitied them; we were the only Inter bunk that hadn’t won a single week all summer. It was truly a miracle that they won at all. A couple of the Doggies could simply never master the technique of the hospital corner. One inspector actually found M&Ms concealed in one of the Fat Doggy’s hospital corners. Later, the humiliated Doggy actually defended his actions, saying, “Well, they didn’t melt, did they, numbnuts?”

  The Doggies were rewarded with a trip into Boonesville for lunch and a movie. This was a big deal for Mooncliff kids: lunch at the Kandy Kitchen and a real movie, in a real movie house, in the middle of the afternoon. The burgers were thick and fairly good, the famous Atomic Brittle was tooth-rottingly sweet, and the movie was (and I swear this is true) “The Shakiest Gun in the West” with Don Knotts. I liked him better as Barney Fife. And I missed Opie and Aunt Bee too. All through the movie, I wondered what kind of personal emergency Rachel could be having. I wondered if it was something with her health, or some kind of accident. But they would have said that. Maybe it was a female-type thing, and they were too embarrassed to tell that to the Smart Doggy. Maybe it was something with her parents, like another call from her impossible mother. I sat in the dark, my arms chilled, in the minty air-conditioned movie house air, turning these thoughts over and over in my mind, just waiting to get back to the Moon-shak to find out what was going on.

  We got back late. Our little bus broke down – you know, those short yellow buses – and Stewie had to walk to find a phone at a local farmhouse and call for help. By the time we got another ride back to camp it was late and hot, and the Doggies were cranky and tired. When we finally rolled in, Dale gave us the happy option of doing a quick swim just for the Doggies, even though it was close to dinnertime, as long as Stewie and I were on the docks with our bamboo poles, to make sure the kids were super safe. Dale was good about that; he stuck to the routine unless there was a good reason not to. And in this case, there was. But, meanwhile, it kept me away from Evening Line-Up and finding out about Rachel.

  By the time we got the Doggies up to dinner, everyone else was halfway through their meal. When we walked in the Boys’ side door, I looked across the Mess Hall to Rachel’s bunk’s table, which was almost against the far wall. No Rachel. There was Serious Sara at the head of the table, but no Rachel.

  I tried to rush the Doggies through dinner, but it was Salisbury steak, their collective favorite.

  “It’s just regular hamburger,” Stewie teased them. “Turd, swimming in liquid crud!” Even as they kept insisting on the superiority of Salisbury steak over ordinary hamburger.

  “Mystery meat, in secret sauce! Would taste much better with cranberries!” he said in a funny voice that the Doggies loved. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. By the end of the meal, I had to pull the Very Fat Doggy, who wouldn’t believe that there weren’t any more cupcakes, out of the Mess Hall by one of his skin flaps.

  It took me a little while, in the chaos of Free Play, but I found Serious Sara on the good baseball diamond. She was a wicked softball pitcher, with a fast windmill-type motion, and I figured that she might be there.

  “Rachel’s been up at Stanley’s house all day,” Sara said to me when she walked off the field. Sara had become a bit, shall we say, frostier to me. “Or, most of the day.”

  “Stanley’s house?” I asked her as she sat on the bench, throwing a ball repeatedly into her glove and not looking at me. “What happened?”

  “You’ll have to ask her,” she said. “It has something to do with her parents, I think.”

  I could tell that I wasn’t going to get any more information out of Sara.

  “OK, thanks,” I said. I decided to go directly to Stanley’s house behind the Main Office, figuring that she must still be there.

  I walked past the Main Office, where some people were waiting to use the pay phone on the wall outside. I made sure to stay wide of the line so that no one would talk to me. I didn’t feel like chatting with anyone.

  When I got around the Main Office, I saw Stanley’s house up on its little rise, all by itself. It was a small house – painted white with green shutters, of course – with a front porch that had white wicker chairs and a table and pretty flowers all around. It wasn’t all that big, but it was cool that Stanley had a whole house, with air-conditioning, to himself, all summer. I guess it’s good to be an owner.

  So that’s where Rachel was all day? All day? Something wasn’t right. I suppose that it was good that she was related to the Marshaks, so she could get this special treatment. On the other hand, I think that it was because she was related to the Marshaks that we were singled out, scrutinized, and ultimately persecuted.

  I stood there for a moment, wondering if she was still inside. Could she be peeking out one of those little lace-curtained windows, looking for me? She must know that I would be worried about what was going on with her. It felt right, to be concerned about her. This is how a real boyfriend should behave. I should be there. But what if it weren’t Rachel but Stanley who saw me out of one of those windows? I had already been warned by Dale to stay with my kids and not spend so much time with Rachel, at least during “work” hours. I knew that they were on my case.

  I stood there for one more moment, weighing the situation. I suddenly felt stupid: What was I doing, just standing there, where anybody could see me? Rachel would find me when she could; she would feel me calling to her. I didn’t need to be standing there. I realized that I had made a mistake, being there. I turned and quick-walked away from Stanley’s house. There was no pla
ce else to go but back to my kids.

  Evening Activity was an intercamp counselor basketball game against Camp Tioga. I didn’t even to try out for the counselor team. First of all, I wasn’t tall enough. But even if I were, it was very tough to get on the team. There were some serious jocks and seriously tall guys on the boys’ staff. Stewie, who was over six feet, didn’t even try out.

  “I’m saving my knees for football. I have a shot at the varsity in the fall if I stay healthy,” he said as we moved the Doggies into their row of seats; boys were on one side, girls on the other. I was glad to see that I wasn’t the only person who was already planning for the future.

  “I bet you’re a great football player, Stewie,” said the Doggy Bully as we sat down.

  “When I get into the open field with the ball,” Stewie said. “I am Lance Alworth.”

  “Cool!” said the Doggies.

  I had to stifle a laugh at that one; I guess everyone has delusions. I looked across the basketball court, through the forest of enormous Tioga counselors who were warming up with show-offy lay-up drills, to the girls’ side. Rachel’s bunk wasn’t there yet. I watched Harriet pacing around as if she were about to jump center herself. So the game began.

  There was a lot of noise – cheering and yelling and the players running up and down the court, blocking my view of the girls’ side. Right at the beginning, two kids got into a shoving match that required that I take them outside and yell at them. Kids can be so cruel. There was a kid in the next bunk who was born without one of his thumbs. Some kids used to call him “Niney” behind his back, and sometimes to his face.

  When I got back inside and sat the kids back down, Rachel’s bunk was there, across the Rec Hall floor in its proper row, with Serious Sara and the rest of their girls. But there was no Rachel. I was definitely surprised by that. I thought that, for sure, she’d be back with her bunk by now. I decided to tell Stewie to watch the Doggies so that I could check with Sara to find out what was going on. I figured that, with everyone so caught up in the game, I could walk outside the Rec Hall and around to the other side door, and no one would see me.