What It Was Like

by Peter Seth

  With Rachel gone, I also got a new level of teasing from people.

  “So, how’s the horny bachelor life?” said Eddie from the Bronx as he threw an arm around me roughly on the way up to Evening Line-Up.

  “It sucks,” I said.

  He laughed, but I didn’t think it was all that funny. I especially didn’t like it when Jerry, passing on the way into dinner, cracked, “Feeling lonely, hero?” He walked away before I could think of a fast comeback that didn’t have a curse word attached. Something to take the buzz off the Crew Cut. It was probably best that I kept my mouth shut. He was still my boss, and it was only a few days until the end of camp. I could hang on and hold my tongue that long. But what I especially didn’t like was that Jerry started punishing the Doggies as a way to get at me, giving them extra chores like “policing the grounds” around the Mess Hall or his Shak (which meant picking up cigarette butts and any little scraps of paper or trash on the ground). It was one thing to go after Rachel and me; it was quite another thing – completely unnecessary and unfair – to penalize the Doggies.

  I spent two hours being talked to by Norm the Bug Guy about the cutthroat faculty politics at the Bronx High School of Science and why I should become a botany major at Columbia. Sheesh!

  The only thing that made the Five Days Without Rachel somewhat bearable was that, a couple of times, I was approached by some of the prettier girl counselors. I guess the fact that I was Rachel’s boyfriend gave me some kind of stamp of approval. (If Rachel chose me, I must have something to offer.) When Rachel was around, she monopolized my time. But now that she was gone, if only temporarily, I was free to be approached by other girls – something Rachel would not have exactly appreciated. She would have been jealous, and I take that as a compliment.

  It was on the fourth endless afternoon. I was laying on the sidelines, watching the sweaty Doggies stumble around the burnt August grass, attempting to play soccer, when up stepped Sharon Spitzer, the blonde, unapproachable swimming goddess. Towering over me, she shaded her eyes with both hands, looking down.

  “Hi,” she said softly. “I’m Sharon.”

  For most guys, that would be enough for them to declare their ever-lasting love. Instead, I just said, “Hi yourself.”

  She was wearing white short shorts and a little halter top. Her skin was brown and her hair was golden. She swayed over me, trying various angles to see in the bright sun.

  “You belong to Rachel, don’t you,” she said, as both a statement and a question.

  “You could say that,” I replied, squinting up at her. “You could also say that she belongs to me.”

  Sharon gave a little snort of a laugh then sat down suddenly, right next to me in the grass, cross-legged. She was wearing silver sandals and her toenails were painted pink.

  “Y’know, I know Rachel pretty well,” she purred. “I live near the Princes, and my parents and her parents belong to the same beach club.”

  “Aren’t you all lucky?” I said.

  She snort-laughed again cautiously, judging me.

  “Rachel is a sweet girl,” she said in a way that made it sound like an insult. Sharon was a few years older than me, probably a junior or senior in college, and obviously enjoyed talking down to people. I didn’t mind; I just looked at her pretty face and perfect form, and let her condescend to me as long she wanted, so long as I could enjoy the view. A girl this pretty would never have talked to me at home, unless to ask me some kind of favor like help with homework or the answers to a test. I confess that I liked the person that I had become at Mooncliff, even if it was a big front. I really had no business being with beautiful girls.

  “I agree,” I said.

  “I’ve watched her grow up,” she continued. “Here, and at home.”

  “Good for you,” I said, playing with her.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” she asked, as if she knew some nasty little secret. She had a little gold chain around her neck that caressed her throat just so. I told myself that I should get one of those for Rachel.

  “Does anybody?” I answered back, not giving an inch.

  Sharon tossed her head, freeing some strands of blonde hair that were sticking to her brow. It was a beautiful move, similar to Rachel’s head toss.

  “Have you met the Princes?” she asked.

  “No,” I said measuredly.

  She laughed again, a long ripple of rich-girl’s laughter. She finally provoked me enough so that I had to defend myself, at least a little.

  “I’m not in love with her parents,” I said, sitting up higher.

  “‘Love’?” she repeated, a note of mockery in her voice. “Are you ‘in love’ with Rachel?”

  I hesitated. It was none of her business.

  “It’s none of your business,” I said. “But the answer is . . . yes.” I was proud of being in love with Rachel: Why be ashamed of it?

  Sharon snickered and sat back, hugging her long, smooth legs into her body. She looked me over, unabashedly evaluating me.

  “She’s had a lot of boyfriends before you,” she said.

  “Eric?” I snapped right back, knowingly. “I know about the past. I care about the future.”

  I sounded more confident than I felt, but Sharon seemed somewhat convinced.

  “Rachel’s lucky,” she said. “Rachel Prince has always been a fairly lucky girl. But” – she stopped for suspense –”I think you’re the one who’s going to need some luck.”

  She rose as quickly as she’d sat down. I didn’t move. Her legs went all the way up to those tiny white shorts.

  “Thanks for the wisdom,” I said, shielding my eyes. “…Sharrrron.” I liked saying her name, drawn out like that.

  “On second thought,” she said, backing away from me. “If I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much. Summer things never last.”

  She smiled, turned, and walked away, satisfied with our encounter, knowing that she got in the last zinger. She knew that I was watching as she walked away; I could tell by the bounce in her step and that perfect sway of her perfect . . . everything. She was not a nice person and yet I was still flattered by her attention. Such is the power of pretty girls. She had that in common with Rachel, that power. I was glad that Rachel used her power for me, and not against me. And even if what Sharon said about “summer things” had some objective truth, it didn’t necessarily apply to Rachel and me. We could be the exception to the rule.

  ≁

  The day that the Seniors were coming back was the worst. The Doggies knew that I missed Rachel and had teased me for the first four days. I didn’t let it bother me too much, but on the fifth day, it really got on my nerves.

  I was walking the Doggies back from basketball, a game that they had lost to Bunk 7 – kids younger than they were. Dale awarded Bunk 7 free canteen at the Snack Shak while we got to walk back to the bunk across the hot campus in the scorching sun, across grass so burnt it smelled like hay.

  “You blew three lay-ups, you fat can o’ crap,” the Doggy Bully gave the Fat Doggy a push.

  “Oh, yeah?” answered the Fat Doggy, “Then why couldn’t you guard Anton? He kept running past you like you were, you were –”

  “Sue Storm, the Invisible Girl!” cracked the Smart Doggy. Which made everyone except the Doggy Bully laugh hard.

  “Shut up, jerkwad!” said the Doggy Bully as he reached out to grab the Smart Doggy, who dodged his paw and ran for cover behind me.

  “Shut up, the lot of you!” I said. “You all played terribly, losing to those babies! It was a total and complete group effort!”

  That bit of truth quieted them down until we got back to the bunk, but then the Doggy Bully made the mistake of opening his mouth again.

  “And you’re not much of a coach either,” he muttered. The Doggies giggled at that.

  I was not in the m
ood for his backtalk and made clear, “You think my coaching taught you to dribble the ball off your feet three times in the second half? You think my coaching let Anton practically walk to the basket whenever he gave you a feint? You think my coaching taught you guys to miss twelve out of sixteen foul shots as a team? Don’t all of you be stupid together!”

  I was harsh with them, but they deserved it.

  After a few sullen moments, the Fat Doggy mumbled, “He just misses Rachel.”

  The Doggies snickered and I let it go, but then the Smart Doggy added, “He just misses Rachel’s cuppies.”

  I flashed with anger at that and grabbed the Smart Doggy by the back of his neck.

  “What did you say, smart mouth? What did you say??” I shouted at him, bending him over, squeezing maybe a little too hard.

  “Are you gonna shut your trap, or what? What?? You guys gonna say anything about Rachel anymore, everrrr???” I yelled, holding him there frozen until they all shut up, scared. I released the Smart Doggy from my grip, and he started to sniffle.

  “Now get on your beds and shut your mouths!” I shouted, and they instantly obeyed. I walked up and down the center aisle of the bunk, glowering, making sure that they knew I was really angry this time. It was pin-drop quiet. I could see the red marks from my fingers on the back of the Smart Doggy’s neck. To this day, I still feel bad about doing that. Sticks and stones, etc. I should never’ve put my hands on him. He was a good kid, curled up crying on his bed; he just said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Sometimes there are consequences when a person says the wrong thing at the wrong time.

  On the night of the fifth day, the buses from the Senior Trip were late getting back. They were supposed to get back at eight o’clock at night, but the Main Office got reports from the road that they were delayed. I was edgy all day. The Doggies asked me, “Aren’t you happy that Rachel’s coming back today?” I told them to shut up and mind their own business. I waited by the Main Office – in the rain, under an umbrella – until almost midnight, until the buses finally did pull in. I’d had hopes of seeing Rachel, but when it got so late, I knew that they would hustle the Seniors and everybody else back to their bunks. As it approached midnight, it seemed futile to wait much longer, but I did. Even under an umbrella, I was getting pretty wet. But I thought that even if I didn’t actually talk to her, I would make sure that she saw me waiting for her. And she would appreciate that. And that seemed to be enough reason to wait out in the rain.

  I didn’t talk to her until after breakfast the next day on the Mess Hall porch where I waited for her. She ran to me, smiling back tears of joy.

  “I missed you so much,” she said softly, into my neck. I felt her sweet breath.

  “You have no idea,” I murmured.

  We kissed just once, because there were people nearby, but it was better than nothing.

  “I saw you last night,” she said. “But they made us go straight to the –”

  “I know, I know,” I said, standing close to her.

  “I really don’t like to be apart from you,” she said very simply, as if she were reading my thoughts. And that was exactly what I thinking at that moment.

  “I bought you a present,” she continued.

  “You’re my present,” I said.

  “No, you’ll like it,” she teased.

  “All I want is you,” I insisted.

  She really liked when I said that.

  “When are you free?” she purred.

  “When we get our asses out of here,” I said, meaning all of Mooncliff.

  “No,” she giggled. “I mean today.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “This afternoon, if Sid shows up to take the Doggies to tennis.”

  “Well, that’s when you’ll get your present,” she said. “I mean your first present. Your real present is gonna have to wait until tonight.”

  It turned out that my first present was an “I Fell In Love at the Baseball Hall of Fame” T-shirt, with crossed baseball bats inside a big heart, and the second present was private . . . and fantastic.

  Record of Events #14 - entered Tuesday, 3:51 P.M.

  ≁

  The last days of the Mooncliff summer were like a roller coaster – intense, fun, and chaotic, all at the same time. You wanted desperately to get off and yet it all seemed to end too soon. Regular activities came to a halt as the schedule was filled with special events and the preparation for them: the Scavenger Hunt; the Awards Dinner; the Masked Ball; the Burning of the Lake. The campers’ empty trunks were delivered back to the bunks, and we had to start packing up the kids’ stuff to be shipped back to their homes. Some Doggies had Arts and Crafts projects to complete. The Doggy Bully and the Smart Doggy wanted to finish some Red Cross swimming badges. And not only did I have my Bunk 9 responsibilities, Dale started to lean on me for extra things to do. Eddie from the Bronx somehow got poison ivy in both his crotch and armpits and was laid up painfully in the infirmary for several days, so I wound up watching Bunk 7 at times when I should have been off. Dale also put me charge of the Inter section of the Scavenger Hunt.

  “I want you to do this for me. I want to beat Estelle, bad. The other guys are nice enough, but they’re, y’know, cretins,” he said. “That Dolin dude! Couldn’t find his own ass with two hands and a map! . . . OK?”

  I couldn’t say no.

  But for Rachel and me, the last days meant the same thing: When would we get to see each other next? When would we get to be alone? And any delay, any obstacle started to cause some friction between us. Not to mention the fact that our days at Mooncliff were numbered, and who really knew what was going to happen after that.

  “I waited for you after lunch,” she said. “I got Sara to let me off, and you weren’t there!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I got roped into setting up the Mess Hall for the Awards Dinner tonight.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “I would have come and helped you.”

  “How was I gonna tell you?”

  “Send one of your kids!”

  “To Girls’ Campus??”

  “That’s not where I was waiting!”

  She could become angry quickly, and only more so in these last tense days.

  “Once we’re back home,” she said. “You’re going to abandon me. I know it.”

  “Are you serious?” I shot back. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “You’ll go off to college, to Columbia. You’ll be in the City and forget about me.”

  “And you’ll be home. You’ll go back to Eric.”

  That stopped her. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve brought it up, said his name, but I couldn’t help it. I was worried what would happen when Rachel was out of my sight, even in the future, and I couldn’t un-hear what that girl said: that Rachel still loved him.

  “What are you talking about? That’s ridiculous,” she said in amazement.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I have to ask you –”

  “Don’t you trust me?” she said, her eyes penetrating me. “I told you that is all over. It was a joke! Over a long time ago! I love you completely – with all my heart. I told you that. I’m telling you that right now! And if that’s not enough, I don’t know what else to say –”

  “OK, OK, OK,” I said, putting my arms around her. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

  And I silenced her with a kiss.

  “All I want is you,” I whispered. “I know what’s good . . . and we’re good. Right?”

  She nodded and nuzzled against my chest. I was good at calming her down. I think that was one of the reasons she liked me. She needed calming. On the one hand, she loved being headstrong and willful. She was a spoiled, rich, pretty girl; I knew that. But I could tell that she was also scared: Scared of what waited for her at home. Scared of how her
parents’ troubles might overwhelm her own life. Scared of fitting back into a high school that she didn’t like in the first place. And scared, I guess – I hope – of losing me.

  At the Awards Dinner, the Doggies won a couple of honors. The Smart Doggy won an All-Around Camper Award, the Doggy With Braces won a Most Improved Camper, and the Doggy Bully won a couple of sports awards. They gave me, along with several other people, a rousing Hero’s Hurrah for saving the Redheaded Doggy. (It really seemed to burn Jerry that I got such a nice ovation. I guess that some people in the Shak liked me.) But in the “gag” awards at the end of the evening, the Senior Girls who had cooked up that segment gave me – are you ready for this? I shouldn’t even say it – a copy of the Mann Act. It got a big laugh from the counselors and another slow burn from the Crew Cut, along with disapproving looks from Harriet, Estelle, and Stanley.

  “What’s the Mann Act?” asked Rachel when I saw her for just the briefest moment on the crowded porch after the dinner ended, way too late for the kids.

  “It’s a joke, and actually wrong,” I said, being bumped by somebody. “I never took you across state lines.”

  “Let’s move it, people!” sang out Jerry, clapping his hands. “Nighty-night!”

  “Nighty-night!” I said to her softly. She had two tired girls hanging on her, so I just let her go with a smile.

  “See you tomorrow,” she whispered.

  “No!” said one of the girls to Rachel. “You’re helping us pack, Rachel.”

  “All day!” said the other girl.

  Rachel looked stricken as they dragged her away. “Someday this will all end,” she joke-mourned.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said as the Doggies pulled me in the opposite direction.

  ≁

  The whole next day I spent helping the Doggies pack their trunks. What a pain. Everything annoyed me about the day, especially the incessant squabbling among the Doggies about who-belonged-to-what. At one point, I wound up tearing a big Archie annual comic book in half, Solomonically declaring, “I now pronounce you both Jugheads!”