Ride to the Orgee Tradition

By the time I pulled the rusty F-250 into the circle in front of the office, the sun had disappeared behind the pines. Camp had become a ghost town again. No laughter. No volleyballs bouncing. No counselors wandering between cabins.

Just crickets and loons. The lake. And a porch light glowing above the office door.

Amanda stepped outside looking as perfect as ever. “There you are.”

“I brought your stuff.”

“I noticed.”

She walked to the truck bed and started lifting boxes before I could stop her.

“I’ve got those.”

“I’ve carried heavier.”

We worked in silence for a minute, passing file boxes, plastic tubs, and a rolled-up whiteboard into the office.

The last box was surprisingly light. Amanda looked at me sideways. “I hope you didn’t snoop through my underwear.”

Every coherent thought immediately abandoned me. “I… what… no…”

She watched me stumble through the sentence before laughing. “I’m kidding.” She nudged my shoulder with hers. “Thank you.”

The teasing vanished from her voice. “I really do appreciate it.”

“No problem.” I looked around the empty camp. “So…Where’d everybody go?”

She slid another box onto a desk. “Portland.”

“For supplies?”

She laughed. “No.”

“The annual Camp Orgee tradition.”

I waited.

“They get drunk.” Another pause. “And spend the night making questionable decisions.”

My eyebrows climbed. “…Oh.”

She caught the disappointment before I said anything. “You weren’t invited?”

“I don’t exactly have transportation.”

Amanda folded her arms, pretending to think.“I was going to make you help me unpack.”

“I can.”

She shook her head. “…Or.” She jingled the BMW keys. “I could drive you.”

My face answered before my mouth did.

She laughed. “I thought so.”

She pointed a finger at me. “Fair warning. They’ll have been drinking for hours. As the only sober person in the room, you’ll discover drunk people are much less entertaining than drunk people think they are.”

“I’ll risk it.”

“I figured you would.”

The BMW devoured highway. Windows down. Summer air poured through the cabin. Amanda drove with one hand resting lightly on the wheel. The speed limit became more of a suggestion than a rule. Pine trees blurred together beneath the moonlight.

I watched her for a while before speaking “So…”

She glanced over.

“…You ended your engagement last week?”

Silence.

The question lingered between us longer than I’d expected. Finally she sighed. “No.”

She kept her eyes on the road. “He ended it.”

Another mile passed. “The first time he cheated on me.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Unfortunately it took me a couple of years to figure that out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So was I.”

I hesitated. “How did you find out?”

Amanda’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel. “I got home early.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, as though she’d repeated the story enough times that the emotions had worn smooth.

“I’d just come back from a long business trip. They called me into the office. I thought it was another meeting. It was a layoff.”

She smiled without amusement. “Budget cuts.”

She looked out at the dark road. “I went back to the apartment. There was hairspray on the bathroom counter. Makeup that wasn’t mine.”

She swallowed. “Women’s jeans on the bedroom floor.”

She paused. “…With underwear still tucked inside.”

I stayed quiet.

“There was a camera on a tripod facing the bed. Handcuffs dangling from the bedposts.”

Another silence.

“I didn’t want to know. But I also couldn’t walk away.”

“So…”

She shook her head. “I watched it all.” Her voice nearly disappeared. “I wish I hadn’t.”

The engine filled the silence.

“When he finally came home…” She stared through the windshield. “…everything became my fault.”

“I worked too much. I wasn’t exciting enough. I cared more about my career than him.” She laughed bitterly. It was impressive, honestly. He somehow managed to explain why his cheating was evidence that I’d failed.”

She looked down briefly at her left hand. “I took the ring off. Tossed it onto the kitchen counter. Packed what I could fit in my car. My cousins said I could stay here for the summer.

“If they hadn’t…” She shrugged. “I would’ve been unemployed and homeless in the same week.”

We drove in silence for a while.

Finally I said the only honest thing I could think of. “You’ll get another job.”

She smiled faintly. “You always sound so certain.”

“And you’ll find somebody better.”

She laughed.B“A thirty-eight-year-old single consultant?” She looked over. “I better start shopping for cats.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“You deserve somebody who doesn’t make you question yourself.”

For a long moment she didn’t answer.

Then she quietly reached across the console.

Her hand found mine. She squeezed it once.

Neither of us spoke again for several miles.

The gesture said enough.

Maybe we were both running away from different versions of the same thing.

A life that hadn’t turned out the way we’d imagined.

The motel announced itself before we even saw the sign.

Pop music echoed across the parking lot. Laughter spilled from open doors.

Cars with plates from every state but Maine filled every available space.

Amanda smiled. “I think we found them.”

She parked.

The music was loud enough to rattle the windows.

Before I climbed out, she stopped me. “One more thing.”

I looked back.

“No one here knows how old I am.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Good.”

She pointed toward me. “And remember.”

“What?”

“Just because you have condoms now doesn’t mean common sense stops applying.”

I laughed. “I’ll try.”

“No.”

She smiled. “You’ll do.”

I closed the door.

For a second I almost asked if she’d rather drive back to camp.

Help unpack those boxes. Keep talking. Joke about her skimpy thongs.

Instead, a voice exploded across the parking lot.

A counselor in a bright bikini stood on the second-floor walkway, hands cupped around her mouth.

“ORGEE COUNSELORS!”

Heads appeared from every direction.

“ASSEMBLE!”

Cheers erupted. Doors flew open. Someone started another song. THE FINAL COUNTDOWN.

I looked back at the BMW. Amanda was already pulling away. Her taillights disappeared into the Maine night. For just a second, I hoped the drive back to camp felt a little less lonely than the one she’d described.