Campfire Tales

By evening there we were sitting in the dining hall after dinner.

The counselors. And Me.

The directors were standing in front of us with Amanda, “The Consultant” leaning in a wall off to the side. She looked bored to be involved.

Sal stood at the front of the room. He was a few thinning hair wisps taller than his short wife. Big beard. Birkenstocks. Camp logo’d polo. Shorts so short that it looked like he stole them from the Campers’ Lost & Found.

Beside him stood Lynn. Perky and mischievous. Her eyes always seeming to find mine while her husband spoke.

Sal clapped his hands.

“Welcome back, everybody.”

A few cheers.

“More staff will arrive tomorrow. Campers next week.” He looked around the room. “Before the fun starts, let’s cover the rules.”

Collective groan. Sal ignored it.

“No alcohol on camp property.”

Everyone nodded.

“None. Zero. Zip.”

He pointed toward the door. “If you want a drink, leave camp.”

Another nod. Yeah we got it.

“If I catch alcohol on camp grounds, you’re gone.” He made a slicing motion with his hand. “Terminated.”

Then Sal smiled. “Other than that, have fun. They’re plenty of condoms in the clinic.”

Lynn stepped forward. “We want this to be a great summer. Look out for each other. Be smart.”

She glanced around the room.

For half a second her eyes met mine.

I looked away. The idea of flirting with a married woman is fun until her husband is in the room and threatening to send you back to the hell you came from.

“Questions?”

Everyone sat in silence.

“Excellent,” Sal said. “Go enjoy yourselves.”

The directors came out into the group to talk to the counselors. Amanda immediately spun and left the building. I wanted to follow her. See how she thought that speech could’ve gone better. But I knew I had no chance with her. There was much younger and willing opportunity around me.

Within ten minutes, someone had an idea.

“We should have a campfire.”

“Where?”

“Across the lake.”

“Perfect.”

“Anybody bring wine?”

Several hands went up. Apparently everyone had anticipated this exact situation.

Since the lake technically wasn’t camp property, everyone agreed—campfire and wine to start the summer.

A little later we crossed to the opposite shore carrying blankets, flashlights, and a few bottles of wine. The campfire crackled. The lake reflected the moon. The pines whispered in the breeze. I couldn’t have imagined a prettier night.

The counselors sat in a circle. Even though I was part of it’d I found myself in the middle of it.

The only guy. The only eighteen-year-old. The only non-college student. The only person who still felt like he’d snuck into adulthood.

Emma poured wine.

“So,” she said.

Uh oh. “So?” I asked.

“Tell us about yourself.”

Everyone looked at me.

I suddenly felt like I’d been called to the principal’s office.

How much do I tell these women? Will honesty get me laid? I was too naive to lie.

I explained where I grew up. “A trailer a hundred yards from my grandparents’ house. Surrounded by feed corn or soybeans depending on the year.”

My parents. “My dad used religion to excuse every bad thing that he did. Jesus always forgives. My mom was too young and dumb to know better.”

Church. “Non-denominational Christian. Which means the pastor can interpret the Bible any way he wants and tell his flock that it’s the word of god, and that everything else means you’re going to hell. Imagine saying that the Pope is going to hell. That was a sermon.”

School. “Public because my mom couldn’t figure out the paperwork to homeschool.”

No dating. “Lust was sin.”

No parties. “Only God should be celebrated.”

No alcohol. “The communion was Welchers.”

No freedom. “Idle hands and such.”

Silence. “My dad got creative in what he could use to spank after the ping pong paddles snapped. He bought a paddle with Greek letters on it from Goodwill when I entered High School. It hasn’t cracked once.”

Brooke blinked. “You’re serious?”

I nodded.

Sierra laughed. “No way.”

“I’m serious.”

“You never went to parties?”

“No.”

Claire looked horrified. “You never snuck out?”

“I’m still alive, so no.”

Emma frowned. “No concerts?”

“My church did book a choir once, but cancelled it when they found out the gospel singers looked different than they expected.”

Tessa shook her head. “You’ve lived a very strange life.”

“I know.”

Maggie smiled into her cup. “I told y’all he was sweet.”

“I don’t know if sweet is the word,” Brooke said.

“Sheltered,” said Sierra.

“Fucked up,” said Emma, nodding like everything she believe was true, bouncing her dreadlocks.

I shrugged. They all stared at me like I was an archaeological discovery.

Finally Tessa raised her glass. “To your first proper summer.”

Everyone cheered. I raised my cup too. The wine made everything warm. The fire made everyone glow.

Their stories followed. Embarrassing college stories. Road trip stories. Terrible ex-boyfriend stories. White Girl Problems.

Stories that I wanted in my life. Stories with fun. Hope. Regret.

At some point I realized something. I liked all of them. Not because they were beautiful. Though they certainly were. I liked how alive they seemed. How easy everything was. How they laughed without worrying who might hear.

I wanted the life they lived. Carefree.

Eventually the fire burned low. Nobody seemed eager to leave.

Emma, the art counselor, stood first. She stretched and looked at me. “Have you ever painted underneath the moonlight?”

“No,” I responded, “paint what?”

She grinned, “Whatever we want.”

Brooke, the gymnastics counselor, stood next, “Come with me. I want to see how soft the crash pads are in the gym.”

Claire, the dance counselor, laughed. “Or we could put music on and dance. I could teach you a lot.”

Sierra, the swim counselor, pointed toward the lake. “I vote for swimming.”

“You vote for swimming every hour of every day,” Maggie said.

“Correct.”

Tessa smiled, not beating around the bush, “Let find someplace quiet and have a root.”

“Have a root?” I asked.

“Bury yourself in my garden,” she said in her foreign accent like it was the most normal phrase in existence.

Maggie stood last. She tucked her hands into her jacket. “I was just going to sit on the dock for a while. Stretch my legs.”

The fire popped.

Everyone looked at me.

I looked around the circle. Five different invitations. Five different possibilities. Five beautiful women.

I had never had one girl ask me to spend time with her. Now I had choices. Too many choices.

I stared into the fire.

Then back at them.

“I think,” I said slowly, “this may be the most difficult decision I’ve ever had to make.”

They all laughed.

The sound carried across the lake and into the dark Maine woods.

I stopped my smile from forming.

I was about to lose my virginity.