Separation

The dining hall sounded different with a full staff. Louder. Every table overflowed with conversations. Inside jokes. Laughter. The scrape of chairs against the wooden floor.

Yesterday it had felt like a gathering. Today it felt like I was back in high school with better scenery.

I grabbed my tray and scanned the room. Without realizing it, I’d already started looking for familiar faces. Emma sat with the arts counselors. Claire and Brooke were surrounded by other fit athletic instructors.

The waterfront staff occupied an entire corner, all sunburns and easy laughter. Sierra was animatedly telling a story to a cluster of lifeguards, two of whom looked like they’d stepped off a California beach. She caught my eye for half a second. Smiled politely. Then turned back to her conversation.

I kept looking. No empty seats. At least not any that looked welcoming.

“Over here.” Cass waved me toward a small table near the kitchen doors. Already seated there were two maintenance workers and the cook’s assistant.

I slid into the chair.

“Rough?” Cass asked.

“I suddenly forgot how to find a table.”

She followed my gaze across the room. “Ah.”

“What?”

“You’re noticing the invisible fence.”

I frowned. “What invisible fence?”

She stabbed a fork into her mashed potatoes. “The counselors stay with the counselors.”

She pointed toward our table. “We’re operations. We fix things. We clean things. We haul things. We’re local, we don’t sleep here: we’re Mainers. Except you.” She shrugged. “They don’t dislike us.”

“It feels a little like they do.”

“Nah.”

“They just…” She searched for the right word. “…don’t think about us during the day. Like they’ll invite you out for a date: try to go skinny dipping with you, but they don’t want to be seen with you.”

One of the maintenance guys snorted. “She’s being nice.”

Cass ignored him. “They’re busy building their little camp families.”

I looked around again.

Nobody seemed intentionally rude. Just…organized. Each department had naturally gathered into its own circle.

“So that’s it?”

She nodded, “At night everybody mixes.”

“But during the day?”

She shrugged. “They don’t want to be seen hanging around the maintenance crew. Hell they even ignored Maggie, because she’s a driver.”

I laughed. “That sounds ridiculous.”

“It is.”

She took another bite. “People are weird.”

I watched Sierra laugh at something one of the lifeguards said.

She didn’t look over once. Funny. Yesterday we’d spent an afternoon plowing her on the lake shore. Today I was just another Mainer to be ignored.

“You’ll get used to it,” Cass said.

“I don’t want to.”

“Nobody does.”

I looked around the room one more time. The counselors had become islands. The operations staff had become another.

Somewhere in between stood me. Not really belonging to either. Or at least that’s how I felt: an idiot who was trying to swim from one island to another.

I poked at my lunch. “This got harder overnight. Yesterday I was part of the group.”

Cass laughed. “Welcome to camp.”

After lunch I found Deb outside the office balancing two traveling coffee muges and somehow carrying on two conversations at once.

“Busy?”

She looked up. “Always.”

“I was wondering…”

She waited.

“Does anybody need help this afternoon?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You already have work. They are leaves to be raked.”

“I know. I was just thinking maybe…” I hesitated. “…something where I actually interact with people.”

Deb smiled knowingly, “Oh that’s what this is.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Oh yeah.” Unsure of what she had just assumed.

She softened, “You want some attractive ladies to hang out with.”

“Uh,” I stuttered, not sure how she knew exactly what I wanted.

She looked across camp. She glanced down at one of her clipboards. Then snapped her fingers. “I’ve got something.”

“What?”

“The outdoor program needs extra hands.”

“Doing what?”

“Setting up tonight’s bonfire.”

“Perfect.”

“They’re hauling wood, arranging benches, setting lanterns, checking the fire ring. And they’ll appreciate another set of hands. Ask for Megan. If you have one of your nude portraits, hand it to her, she might become your best friend.”

She laughed. My insecurities brought me afraid that she was laughing at my dick.

“Thanks,” I said and heading off to the big fire pit by the lake.

As I turned to leave, Deb called after me. “One piece of advice.”

I looked back.

“Stop trying so hard to figure out where you belong.”

“I wasn’t.”

She smiled. “Yes, you were. Just remember that you’re my sexy little gopher. You belong to me.”

Please God. Do not let that tiny woman get me killed by her tiny husband.