One Single Yesterday
Sorry, things here at Josh o' Trades HQ have been crazy busy the past couple of days. Not much pertinent information to disclose. Still working on the spec-script outline. When the script breaks, you'll be the first to know.
Until then, or until I get out from under this pile of projects on my desk, I'll let you peruse this. It's the first chapter of a story I entered for NANO, a couple of years ago. It's about a group of summer camp counselors. It's called One Single Yesterday. I pulled the title from an old Joplin tune.
Hope you like it...
One Single Yesterday
"…and I’d trade all of my tomorrows for one single yesterday…"
--"Me & Bobby McGee" by Janis Joplin
"The first time you fall in love is the easiest thing in the world to do. It’s allowing the other person to fall in love, again, with someone else, that shows your true mettle."
--Andrew, Sr. Commander, Guardian Guild – Civilian Chapter
"Sail on, Silver Girl…"
-- "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon & Garfunkel
•••
Wake up, Silver Girl.
It was several long moments before Alyson Michaels realized what was happening. The loud thumping drum behind her ears wouldn’t stop its assault on her senses. She opened her eyes slowly and resolutely and found herself in a nightmare version of hell.
The car was in the river. The windshield was gone with the hood and roof crumpled and broken. Water was rushing in at a frightening pace. Alyson was hanging forward, held only by the seatbelt. Outside, the rain and hail were beating a kinetic rhythm on the roof. Inside, riverwater was rising up her calves.
Oh, God…
Cold terror griped her as she realized just where she was. The base of Cape Fear. Fifty yards down from the embankment on Anderson Road. In the middle of the worst hurricane in two years.
At the bottom of the cape!
What had happened? Her memory of the past hour was lost in white noise. She vaguely remembered something about a fight; the road was wet, and Jeremy had – Jeremy!
She looked around franticly.
Where is he?
He wasn’t in the car with her. She couldn’t tell if he was in the river. The storm outside made it impossible to see anything.
The car made a violent shutter and the passenger window dropped below the surface of the lake. Alyson screamed as cold water cascaded in around her.
"Jeremy!" she shouted, "where are you?"
The car lurched again and Alyson found herself in water up to her neck.
"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…no. Please…"
In a panic, she tried to unfasten the seatbelt. It wouldn’t budge. She was trapped. Her cry was cut off by a forced mouthful of water. Tears were running down her cheeks though she didn’t notice them. Her feet kicked involuntarily as she sank completely underwater.
She saw a thick red blob floating near her face. Shock overtook her as she realized that it was her blood. She opened her mouth to scream and swallowed more water. Her lungs started to burn and convulsions shook her in her seat.
Realization came with a sobering effect. She was going to drown. She was about to die.
All alone…
A small light flickered just outside her field of vision. She turned to look, but it was very small and soon faded. And then, the world grew dark around Alyson Michaels.
•••
Wednesday, May 31, 1995
Teal sundress with white sports bra
Tan sandals
172 3/4 lbs. (More or less…)
Ugh! Nine hours on a Greyhound Bus is not how I wanted to spend my first day of summer. Alas, that’s how it was spent nonetheless.
Ok. I’m keeping this journal so I can keep track of my first real job. Mom says I should keep it because my memory isn’t so hot and, this way I’ll have something to show my kids. Whatever. Not having kids anytime soon, Mum, so there. Dad says to keep it because he wants proof that I’m actually working this summer and not just getting a tan and hooking up with cute lifeguards on his dime. Ha! As if, Daddy-O. B and I have only been apart a couple of months. (Ok, seven. But who’s counting?) I’m so not in the mood for another guy. Ever. Well…maybe not ever, but certainly not for a while. Life’s too
short and I have a job to do now. No guys this summer. Period.
Anyhoo, back to beautiful Southport, North Carolina. Beautiful is not the word. Lush green trees, golden sands and endless blue sea. Not unlike KH, but…I dunno…different, somehow. Can’t quite put my finger on it. Déjà vu perhaps? I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Promise.
Cape Fear is breathtaking. Saw it from the window on the way into town. (Opposite window, of course. Michaels’ Luck strikes again!) Blue/black waves breaking against the coast with reckless dismay, even in early summer.
Well, just pulled into station. Gotta run. When next I write, it will be from within the cabins of Boyett Bay. Wish me luck…
I closed my laptop and slipped it back into my Jansport. I stretched and winced as my neck refused to pop. Several hours on a bus did nothing for my poor back (not to mention the nagging hunch that TOM was making his visit a few days early.)
The past few weeks had started to take their toil. Though, nothing would prepare me for what lay ahead. But, as always, I’m getting ahead of myself…
It’s the last day of May, 1995, and I’ve just traveled some 300 miles from Kitty Hawk to Southport, North Carolina, to become the newest counselor at the prestigious Boyett Bay Summer & Boating Camp for Youngsters. Four months of fun in the sun off the coast of Cape Fear.
My name is Alyson Michaels; I’m eighteen years old and ready to make my mark.
The bus station was nothing much to write home about. Just a large green and white terminal identical to those found just about anywhere else. The only difference between this one and the one back home was that my folks were not two blocks away. The urge to shout a victory cheer was almost impossible to suppress.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder, waited for the guys to unload my bags (only three – I was impressed!), and walked into the terminal proper. I checked my watch and saw that we had actually arrived ten minutes ahead of schedule. Whatever. I could’ve walked here in half the time. I swear the driver was going at least fifteen miles under the speed limit!
There were only a few people milling around inside – ones I’d seen on the bus - so I guessed my ride hadn’t made it yet. Which was alright. The thought of getting back in a car for even a few minutes made my head hurt. (Not to mention my butt!) I made my way over to a vending machine on the far wall in search for chocolate and quick stop by the ladies (I never use bathrooms on buses or airplanes. The thought of someone else walking in makes me too nervous to pee.)
My fears were confirmed, TOM was indeed early. Curse my luck, the first week was my lifeguard certification drills. Oh, well. I’ve swam with cramps before. Nothing new there. Just a problem I’d just as well not had this early into it.
The face in the mirror was not one I expected to see. Florescent lights should be illegal! The dark circles under my eyes were a sharp contrast to the pale skin. I really could use that tan, I thought to myself. I pulled out my hair-band and ran my hand through the oily mop of brown tangles.
I washed my face and slicked my hair back. It wasn’t long enough for a ponytail yet, so I re-adjusted the headband and took another long look at the girl-not-quite-a-woman staring back at me. Only her green eyes looked familiar to me.
Oh, well. I have four months to get to know her…
When I came out I saw two very tan people in white Boyett Bay t-shirts sitting near my bags. The girl had beautiful dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was about my height and had the darkest blue eyes I had ever seen. They were almost navy!
The blonde guy was wearing expensive sunglasses and had a tattered paperback tucked under his arm. He was holding a small cardboard sign that read: MICHAELS, in black marker.
I grinned and walked over.
"You Alyson Michaels?" the girl asked.
"One and the same," I replied.
She smiled at me, held out her hand and said, "I’m LC Larkin."
I hesitated. "Elsie?"
Her right eyebrow twitched. "LC. Short for Linda Carroll. But, nobody calls me Linda Carroll, got it?"
"Oh, yes," I stammered, but took her hand. "Sorry. LC it is."
"Alright then."
I was so going to like her.
She smiled back. "He’s Greg Williams, but we all just call him the Professor."
I turned to Greg. "The Professor?" It was hard not to sneer.
He sighed and shook his head. He turned toward LC and bit his lip.
Damn. Bryan did the same thing whenever he was embarrassed. Will I never get over the man?
LC nudged him in the ribs and laughed. "Greg here always has his head buried in a book. Been that way all his life. Grigs always said that the boy’s going to be an English professor someday. The nickname stuck. It’s sad if you ask me. A little boy thing. Him and Grigs and Tin-Man. They’ve all been going or working at Boyett for the past ten years. Can’t use real names or anything"
You’re one to talk, LC, I started to say, but thought better.
I raised my hand. "Uh, Grigs and Tin Man?"
She shook her head. "You’ll meet them in due time. And, if they like you, you’ll get a nickname too. It’s a good thing…I think." She laughed. So did I, though I had my doubts.
"Come on," the Professor said, "let’s get rolling." He glanced at my feet. "Are those all the bags you have?"
I looked down and nodded.
"I’m impressed," he grinned.
"Wait ‘till you try to pick them up," I smirked.
"Oh, they can’t be that – Lord! What’ve ya got in here? Bricks?"
LC and I laughed. "Only the barest essentials I could not afford to give up for four months," I stated in my defense.
"Come on you two," LC replied, picking up the smallest of my suitcases, "we’re running late."
The parking lot was nearly empty save for an old Honda that looked like it hadn’t moved since the first Reagan administration. That and a faded gray Jeep with huge tires.
"Don’t scratch the paint," the Professor grunted as he hoisted one of my bags into the rear of the Jeep.
LC turned to me and pointed to the several scrapes and dings along the side fender. "Like he’d ever notice."
"Hey," he shouted, "I heard that!"
We laughed and climbed in and were soon on the main road heading toward Boyett Bay.
Ok. A little back history…
In the spring of 1946, Rear Admiral JR Boyett retired from active duty from the United States Navy. Upon the request of his loving wife of forty-three years, JR set about moving back to his beloved Tar-Heel state to spend their retirement years running a summer camp for kids.
By the summer of 1947, the Boyett Bay Summer & Boating Camp for Youngsters was born. Alva and JR ran the camp as smooth as an aircraft carrier until 1978, when JR passed away. Boyett Bay was turned over to JR’s son, JR the second, and had been one of the leading camps along the Carolina coast for over fifty years.
At least until 1992, when JR II suffered a major coronary and left the camp in the not so capable hands of JR III, or JR Jr.
I first heard about Boyett from my pool manager last September when I was working as a lifeguard at the Kitty Hawk Municipal Aquatic Club. Teresa "Tag" Griffis called me into her office one day after the last of the kids was out of the pool.
I love Tag’s office. Every wall was covered with pictures and awards from Swim Team’s past. There was a large print of the ‘93-’94 Swim Team over her desk with a sash declaring "National Champs" over it.
I caught a glimpse of the sixteen-and-a-half-year-old version of myself; all braces and dimples and innocence. What a difference a year makes.
Tag put down her coffee mug and stared at me with those gray eyes of hers. Some of the kids were scared of that stare. It had a way of looking straight through the nonsense and getting right to the point.
I always preferred it to her "Heat Vision" stare, though…
"So, Aly, where are you thinking of applying to work while you’re in school next year?"
"Dunno, Tag," I said, taking a much needed seat after a long day in the sun. "Haven’t given it much thought. Maybe KH Community? Was really thinking of coming back here. Why?"
"Well, I have a friend down in Cape Fear that needs a life-guard slash counselor this summer. Ever hear of a camp called Boyett Bay?"
I shook my head. "Doesn’t ring any bells. Should I have?"
She crinkled her nose. "No, I suppose not. Hasn’t been a big deal in a few years.
Doesn’t matter. Experience like this looks good on college applications. Junior needs to fill this slot in a hurry. Would you be interested?"
"Let me think about first. Talk it over with the folks, you know? Cape Fear is a pretty good ways from here. Don’t know if they’ll let the ‘baby’ go too far on her own yet."
Tag smiled. "I know what you’re thinking. And, yeah, your Dad’s gonna blow a gasket, but let me talk to them. Junior Boyett has a top-notch facility down there and he’s a good guy. Plus, your Mom and I went to school with him."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Come to think about it, your Mom and Junior may have even gone out a couple of times."
"Shut up!"
"Hand ta God."
An involuntary shudder ran down my spine.
I picked up my gym bag and rummaged around inside it until I found my comb. "I’ll think about it, ok?"
"That’s my girl. Now," she motioned to the parking lot, "get outta here, I have work to do."
I smiled and left. Tag called the folks the next night after dinner and by the end of the week, my application had been submitted and accepted. I was going to be Boyett Bay’s newest employee.
Boyett Bay was located about fifteen miles northeast of Southport, right in the middle of one hundred and fifty aces of the most beautiful country I’d ever seen.
As the Professor’s Jeep bounced its way down the gravel and dirt driveway, the feeling of going back in time overwhelmed me. The camp itself was set back off the main drive another three hundred yards. For the longest time, I could see nothing but Longleaf Pines and Sweet Birch trees. But then, we broke into the clearing and the view took my breath away.
A dozen small cabins surrounded a large amphitheater. Facing us was a huge wooden arch with "Boyett Bay" spelled out in blue and white paint. A stone walkway led to an old blockhouse and assembly hall about eighty yards behind the arch.
To the east, was one of the Boiling Spring Lakes, complete with dock, boathouse and several canoes and rafts. The west was lost to innumerable Oaks, Willows and Dogwoods. To the south, I could just make out the twin lighthouses of Bald Head and Oak Island.
All in all, it was amazing! I couldn’t wait to spend my summer here.
LC and I (with the Professor in tow) carried my bags up to one of the cabins on the west side. Due to the layout of the grounds, Cabin Five was the furthest back from the main camp. And the most private, LC explained, so of course, it was the natural hang out for all the counselors.
"Welcome home." LC smiled as she pushed open the door with her left foot. "Just drop your things, Junior wanted to see you first thing."
Ah, yes. JR Boyett, Jr. I’d heard a few things about him from Mom and Tag. But, he had hired me flat out with no interview or probation or anything. So, either Tag had talked me up pretty good, or the man was just plain desperate. I hoped it wasn’t the latter.
"Not a problem," I answered as I dropped the largest bag onto the right-hand bed. "Is this where I’ll be bunking?"
"Yep," LC said. "You, me, Tessa Archer and Nat Kendrick."
The Professor looked up at that. "Nat’s back this year?"
"Yeah. She and Tin-Man are down at Red’s. They’ll be back here Sunday for the softball game."
The Professor squinted and pursed his lips. "I didn’t think they were still together."
"They’re not. Just don’t tell Nat that." LC groaned. "I just said "Nat that’, didn’t I?"
I nodded and clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. "’Fraid so."
She shook her head and grinned. "I’m glad you’re here, Aly. I think we’re gonna have fun."
I smiled. "I hope so."
"Come on," the Professor stated. "Junior’s waiting."
The three of us made our way back to the blockhouse. A short guy wearing only swimming trunks and a ballcap ran up to us. He had a deep tan and pale green eyes. He was soaked and I assumed he had just returned from a late afternoon swim.
"Hey, Kids. This the latest victim?"
LC smirked. "Alyson Michaels, meet Charley Grigsbey."
He took my hand. "It’s a pleasure, Allycat. And, please, call me Grigs. Everyone else does." He looked at the others. "You heading over to the office?"
Professor nodded.
"Good. Tell Junior I got the leak in the catamaran under control." He looked back toward the dock. "For now, anyway."
"Will do, Grigs." She looked him over. "Now, go get yourself cleaned up."
Grigs grinned and snapped a mock salute. "Yes, Ma’am. You going to ‘Nick’s tonight?"
LC turned hesitantly in my direction. "Thinking about it." Something in her voice made me nervous.
"Hey, it’s tradition." Grigs smiled in my direction. "All newbies have to be initiated over at ‘Nick’s."
I didn’t like the sound of this. "Um…what kind of initiation?"
"Nothing to be concerned about," LC said as she took my arm. "Come on. See you around eight-thirty, Grigs."
"Trust me, Allycat. It’s nothing painful. At least not too painful." His lop-sided grin made him look ten years old. He bowed to me and started to run toward the cabins. "Later, Kids."
As I watched him go, I wondered, not for the first time, just what I had gotten myself into.
Junior Boyett’s office was located on the second floor of the blockhouse. The room smelled of wet wood, stale cigarettes and old coffee. The desk – I believe it was oak, but I couldn’t be sure – was covered with pile after uneven pile of papers and folders.
Half-eaten fast-food containers and empty candy wrappers littered the side cabinets and the floor around the antique swivel chair, which housed the boss. An overflowing ashtray was resting not quite evenly on the edge of the desk.
The man himself was the picture of discomfort. He was easily fifty pounds overweight. His skin was pale and blotchy. There were dark circles under his eyes that his bifocals couldn’t quite hide. His once dark hair was starting to fade to a dull gray and the few thin strands that remained on top were combed hap-hazzardly over his bald pate.
The man was a caricature of the stereotypical overworked underpaid boss who was in way over his head. It broke my heart.
Junior stood up as we entered. He extended a fleshy paw with fingers the size of sausages. His fingernails were stained yellow from years of smoking. I expected his palms to be sweaty, and wasn’t let down.
"Alyson," he boomed with an oily smile. "Welcome to Boyett Bay. Tag Griffis had nothing but good things to say about you."
Then, almost as an afterthought. "How’s your mother?"
The idea of Mom and this…man almost made me ill. I could see no redeeming qualities in the guy. Not a one.
"Pleasure," I said. I’m not convinced I was able to keep the contempt out of my voice. If I wasn’t, Junior seamed not to notice. "Thank you for the opportunity to work here, Mr. Boyett."
The used-car salesman smile returned. "Call me Junior." He motioned to one of the armchairs along the wall. "Have a seat. You must be exhausted from your drive in."
The chair was covered in even more papers and folders. I picked up an armload, but wasn’t sure where to place them. I looked questionably to LC. She smirked and nodded to the floor. I dropped the stack, which kicked up a layer of dust that would have sent my mother into hersterics.
I pulled the chair out and took a seat. LC and the Professor did the same. Junior plopped back down into his chair.
"First of all. This is your first time working as a counselor, correct?"
I nodded.
He looked to LC then back to me. "You should know that not everyone is cut out for this job. LC and Greg here can vouch for that."
I started to ask who "Greg" was when I remembered that it was the Professor’s real name. It was a little scary how quickly I was settling in here.
Junior resumed. "By the end of your first week, you’ll understand. Now, not to worry, I have no doubt that you’re gonna do just fine here." He pointed to the two people beside me. "You’ll be surrounded by the best staff this camp has had in fifty years."
LC and the Professor rolled their eyes. I could tell this was an old story. Junior probably told it to all the new recruits.
"But," he interjected, "don’t think that it’ll be all fun and games. It takes a lot of hard work to run a camp of this size. Tag says that you’re a workhorse, and I’m gonna see if she’s right.
"We run a tight ship here. And, while we cut up and joke around, never forget that we’re here for the kids. For the next twelve weeks, the kids in your charge are your life. You have no other priorities. No other obligations. Got it?"
"Yes, sir." I was a little shocked that he thought I wasn’t here to work. But, Tag had mentioned that the turnover rate here was higher than usual.
A more grandfatherly grin appeared on his full face. "Good. Good. Like I said, I expect no problems out of you."
His attention returned to his desk. "Now, you kids get out of here. I have a lot of paperwork to do."
We got up to leave. The Professor placed a hand on my shoulder, smiled and shook his head.
LC spoke up. "Oh, Junior?"
"Yeah?"
"Grigs wanted you to know that the catamaran is water tight again."
"Glad to hear it. Maybe we’ll have everything operational by the time we open."
The Professor rolled his eyes. "First time for everything, I suppose."
"Get out of my office, Williams."
The anger in Junior’s voice startled me for a moment, but then I caught the slight smile on the large man’s face. These three were old friends. The banter was second nature to them. I hoped that I would get that comfortable with them in time.
We were walking out when Junior called my name.
"Yes?"
"One last rule. Almost forgot. Under no circumstances are you to date anyone in this camp. You read me?"
I tried to find any of the levity that he and the Professor had just shared, but found none. The man was completely serious.
"Not a problem, Junior. I just got out of a long relationship. I don’t plan on dating anyone for a long time."
Ah, if only it were that simple.
By the time LC and I made it back to Cabin Five, the long day was catching up with me. I collapsed onto the bed and fought the urge to lie there for the next four months.
"Don’t get too comfortable in there," LC called from the bathroom. "We’re still heading over to ‘Nick’s tonight."
‘Nick’s. I was getting more than a little upset about the vagueness of this guy. "Ok, that’s it," I snapped. "Just who is this ‘Nick,’ and why are going to his place tonight. And what’s this initiation I keep hearing about?"
LC walked into the room, a toothbrush in her mouth, her blue eyes large. "Relax," she said around the brush. "‘Beat-Nick’s’ is a little coffee bar over on Bald Head Island. Our friend, Nick Singleton owns it. It’s been the camp staff’s biggest hangout for the past five years or so."
"A coffee bar?"
"Yeah, you know, like that new show on NBC, Friends?"
Bryan and I had watched it a few times. It had its moments, but nothing to really write home about. It had managed to make it a full season, but I doubted it last much longer.
"Yeah, ok. Sounds cool. Just as long as we’re not out too late. I’m whipped."
"I promise. Not too late." Her smile was warm and contagious. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and reached under me to kneed my poor spine.
Had I had looked in the mirror, I would have seen the crossed fingers behind her back.
I changed into a tee shirt, jeans and a pair of Keds, and traded in my scratchy contacts for my glasses. LC and I met up with the Professor and Grigs. We all piled into his Jeep and were off.
It was only a short drive to the ferry, but I enjoyed it. Southport at twilight was quite gorgeous. The setting sun washed our surroundings in a coppery red hue that reinforced that sense of timelessness. Everything looked like a sepia-tone photograph.
Grigs was talking to the Professor about getting all the boats ready for the opening in a week and a half. LC and I were in the back. The wind was blowing through our hair and it felt great. It was one of those moments that stay with you for years to come.
A truly perfect moment in time.
Bald Head Island is really only known for two things: It’s view of Cape Fear, and the lighthouse. "Old Baldy" could be seen for miles around. Built in the early eighteen hundreds, the octagonal tower stood over one hundred feet above the mouth of the Cape Fear River. According to LC, it’s the oldest standing lighthouse in North Carolina.
The ferry trip was quick, but I was surprised that we didn’t take the Jeep with us. When I asked, Grigs explained that cars were not allowed on the island. Golf carts and bicycles were the only forms of transportation. And walking, of course.
If nothing else, this job was going to keep me in shape.
There was a guy at the terminal renting golf carts that seemed to know the others. I was introduced to Logan Greenwood. He had been a former Boyett counselor as well. He looked young and I suspected that he wasn’t too happy with his station in life at the moment.
He wished me luck and I waved goodbye. He was cute in that unkept way most guys my age were. He had dark hair and dark eyes. He was taller than me, which was always a good thing, and he had a nice smile. Suddenly the idea that I’d never get over Bryan began to waver ever so slightly.
LC caught our little eye contact. Nothing much escaped her attention, I would soon find out.
"Best to stay away from that one for now, Aly," she purred in my ear. "Boy’s nice, but has some baggage issues to overcome first."
"Don’t worry about me, LC, that’s the last thing I need right now."
But was it? I wasn’t so sure anymore.
She grinned at me. "Still, it’s nice to see you have good taste."
She grabbed my hand and we ran over to where the guys were waiting with the golf cart.
In less than five minutes, the Professor pulled up in front of a little wood and stone building. The plaque on the front wall declared it to be "Beat-Nick’s." It didn’t look like much from the outside, but then, the best hangouts rarely did.
Inside was a different story. The hardwood floors were polished to a golden shine and the deep red and green throw rugs gave the place a very comfy feel. There was a huge stone fireplace that I bet was the best place to sit during a winter storm. Large leather armchairs sat in a semi-circle around the hearth complete with footrests.
Four-person canoes hung from the rafters and assorted sports paraphernalia were strewn here and there. Hundreds of photographs of parties large and small adorned the walls. I saw the three people with me in more than a few of them. Interspersed with the pictures were stapled one-dollar bills with quotes and signatures scribbled on them.
Overhead speakers quietly played a nice mix of oldies rock and 80’s and 90’s contemporary music. I saw a digital jukebox on the wall between the bathroom doors.
On the far side of the main room was a long oak bar with brass and chrome piping. There was a very large man behind it, wiping it down. A floor to ceiling mirror ran the entire length of the back wall. There was a side room that held various pool tables and dart boards and card and chess tables. TV’s were mounted to the corners, each tuned to a different sports channel.
I was quickly beginning to see why the Boyett staff liked this place.
LC and the boys made their way up to the bar. I sank into a recliner near the fireplace. It felt just as good as it looked. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I closed my eyes. The urge to fall asleep was quite hard to resist.
The old Lennon / McCartney tune, Rocky Raccoon, filled the room. Damn, damn, and damn some more. It was the song playing when Bryan and I first kissed.
Alright! I wanted to scream. I get it! I’m not going to be over him anytime soon! I’m not going to find anyone better than him.
Fine. Fine. I accept that. But I wasn’t ready for marriage. Not last year and not two (seven) months ago. And, I was too tired to keep defending myself to myself. Yes, I was the one to break it off. Yes, he didn’t see it coming. Yes, it hurt him way more than it hurt me.
But, I have the right to lie my life the way I want to. Right? That’s what I used to think.
The hand on my arm almost produced a scream. Almost. It did cause me to jump, though. Which, in turn, caused LC to jump and drop the two coffee mugs she was holding to the floor.
I looked up at her, my face full of embarrassment. "Oh! LC, I’m so sorry."
She grinned. "No worries, Aly." She looked down. "No permanent damage done. You ok?"
"Yeah."
A new voice entered the room. "Everything alright over there?"
LC turned to me. "Aly Michaels, meet Nick Singleton. Owner and proprietor of ‘Beat-Nick’s’"
"Pleased to meet ya, Little Lady. Friends call me Nick."
The man holding out his hand was in his mid-thirties, with short brown hair. He was even taller up close and had the biggest forearms I’d ever seen. The thick drawl held hints of either an Oklahoma or Texas ancestry.
"Sorry ya don’t approve of the coffee. Ya could’ve just returned it."
"Oh! I’m really sorry, I-"
But Nick was laughing. "Aww, that’s alright. Just a couple of mugs. Easily replaced." He regarded the floor. "And hardwood’s the easiest thing to clean. You shore you’re alright?"
I could feel my cheeks get flush. "Yes, sir."
A frown formed on his face. "Now look here." He pointed a large finger at me. "Let’s get this straight. I’m Nick. Just Nick. No sir’s. No mister’s. Nick. Got it?"
"Y-yes, s-…Nick," I stammered.
The big man roared with laughter again. "Calm down, Aly. It’s ok. Really. Can I get ya anything?"
I took a deep breath. "Sure, Nick. How about some hot chocolate?"
A warm infectious smile lit up his face. "Can do. How about a slice of cheesecake as well? It’s pretty fresh."
My stomach awoke to those words. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. Somewhere near Jacksonville. About eighty years ago. "Um…you wouldn’t happen to have a burger or two hiding back there, would you?"
Nick grinned. "I’ll see what I can find." He turned to Grigs and the Professor. "Come on, Boys. I need your help changing out the tap."
Grigs was protesting. "How come you always have to change out the tap whenever we show up?"
Nick placed a large hand on his shoulder. "Just lucky, I guess."
When the guys were gone, LC sat down beside me. "You sure you’re ok?"
I closed my eyes and sighed. "Yeah, LC. I’m fine. Just tired is all."
I looked back at the bar. "So, what’s the story with Nick? I take it he’s not a local."
She laughed. "Yeah. Nick migrated here form a little town in East Texas a few years ago. He really is a teddy bear. All roar, no bite. Unless there’s trouble, of course. You saw his arms, right?"
"Did I? Man looks like he could punch holes in concrete."
A small grin pulled at the corners of LC’s mouth. "He can. And has. This one time, he and Tin-Man…well, it’s not important. Let’s just say I’m never worried about being here after dark."
Now, that got me curious, but I could see in her expression that that story was for another time. It did, however, bring up another question I’d been wondering about.
"Hey, LC?"
"Yeah?"
"If it’s forbidden for staffers to date, what about Nat and…uh, Tin-Man? Who is this guy, anyway? Sounds like an urban legend"
She did laugh this time. She pointed to a picture on the wall to my right. "First of all, Tin-Man is actually Jeremy Hart. That’s him."
The photo showed a guy in his mid-twenties with long brown bangs and a Robert Redford smile. Dirt on his face and Band-Aids on his fingers. He was standing at the top of a cliff with a breathtaking view of the North Carolina mountainside behind him.
It was like when I see someone I only know from the radio. I’ve never been good at visualizing what people look like. I don’t think anyone really is. But, really, not at all what I was expecting. This was the mighty Tin-Man? Kind of disappointing, in a way.
Still, he looked smart (not to mention a little dangerous), but cute nonetheless. I couldn’t help it. There’s just something about a guy with an adventurous side that gets my blood pumping.
"Anyway," LC stated, breaking off my wandering thoughts, that small grin returning to her lips. "He’s senior staff, so he gets special treatment. But, it’s not like that.
"Boy doesn’t date. Not really. No, he and Nat are old friends, from elementary school and up. Every summer, a few of us drive down to Florida. His mom has a house down there. Red’s cool. You’ll like her. Nat’s just visiting, that’s all."
I was looking through the rest of the pictures. There were several shots of the Boyett gang at different events. In most of them, Tin-Man was in the center. However, while the rest of the group was looking at the camera, I noticed that LC was looking at Tin-Man.
It was a look I’d seen before. One I’d seen in the mirror after I’d just meet Bryan. One I knew all too well. I turned back to face her. "You like him, don’t you?"
For a long time I didn’t think she’d answer. Then, she said softly. "It doesn’t matter."
About that time, Nick and the boys came back carrying plates of burgers and baskets of fries. Hunger took over all other thought.
If it hadn’t, I would have seen LC wipe a tear from her eye.
I had just finished my burger and second slice of cheesecake (homemade by the way, by Nick, no less) when the door opened and several people dressed in Boyett Bay polo shirts walked in. Nick let out a yell and kicked the volume on the jukebox up.
I’d like to say that I remember everyone I met that night, but…no. Mom’s right, my memory is pretty rotten, and I didn’t have my journal to write the names down.
I do remember one in particular due to the fact that I spent the rest of my summer with her no less than ten feet away. Tessa Archer, the Kiwi.
Again with the nicknames. Why? Why, I ask you? We’re adults for crying out loud. Ah, well, nobody asked me, right? Right. Moving right along then.
Tessa (I refuse to call her Kiwi) was a really nice girl from New Zealand. The girl had one of the most beautiful accents I’d ever heard. And, she was a good two inches taller than me even, and I’m no slouch at five-foot, ten and three quarter inches.
Her long arms and legs were covered with a tan darker than I’d ever have in two lifetimes of lying out and her strawberry-blonde hair reached her mid-back.
I wasn’t aware how much pure hate one person could feel for another. I bet she never had a single pimple her whole life. It’s just not fair. People like her are just not natural, and shouldn’t be allowed to live.
But, she was sweet and we bonded right from the start. Together with LC, we were a force not to be reckoned with. We were girls, hear us roar.
Ugh! Sorry about that. I need to sleep more.
Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that Tes and I hit it off pretty well that night. That, and Grigs gives the best back rubs in the history of the planet.
Sorry, got ahead of myself. Will try not to let that happen again.
At some point of the night, I complained to Tes and LC about my back. When I was twelve, I was in gymnastics. It wasn’t my idea by any means. Dad had a love of the Olympics and dreamed of seeing his little girl flying through the air on her way to a gold medal.
Fate had other ideas.
I wasn’t as graceful as most, but my long limbs made me pretty versatile in the beam and bar events. I had a strong upper body and with enough coaxing, I could make it bend the way I wanted it to. And, it was fun, those days filled with cartwheeling and flipping on big blue mats.
I’d always been athletic and figured that when placed within my already weekly cycle of swimming and tennis, it would be a great way to stay in shape. Mom was worried, as always, but Dad just beamed. A genuine smile form the old man was rare to come by in those days, so I took every chance I got.
It was the last event of some little regional meet that was really nothing more than excuse for coaches to get together to see the competition without putting their name on the line. It was well past nine and pouring rain outside. Mom and Dad were in the bleachers somewhere and I was getting nervous.
It had been an off night for our team. Peggy Moreland had slipped from the parallel bars not once, not twice, but three times. The parent running the music for April Dodson’s floor exercise had played the wrong song, which threw off her timing. And, Wendy Hampton had been in the bathroom all night driving the porcelain bus due to an unscheduled Mexican lunch.
All in all, not our best night.
Mom hadn’t washed my favorite uniform, the red one, so I was stuck with last years green one. Coach Brasher was in one of his moods. The rest of the team was done and ready to leave.
I really had to pee.
I was supposed to run up to the horse, bounce off the springboard and do a summersault with a twist, and stick the landing. Nothing to it. Done it a thousand times. You can almost see what’s coming, can’t you?
I hit the springboard dead center. Perfect bounce, everything one-hundred percent--by the numbers--green lights across the board. Halfway through the summersault, I realized something was wrong. Either I hadn’t pushed off the horse hard enough, or I had timed my rotation too slowly. In any case, the floor was a lot closer than it should have been.
And, I was still upside down.
I really don’t remember much after that. I remember looking up and seeing Coach Brasher and the other girls. I could see their lips moving, but couldn’t hear any sound. I remember seeing rain hitting the little back windows of the ambulance. I remember waking up in the hospital the next day with a plastic ring around my neck, a tube in the back of my hand and what
felt like an icepick lodged between my shoulderblades.
I looked at Mom. I couldn’t read anything from her tears. She cried at television commercials, so she was no help. It was the look on Dad’s face that told me everything. That frown spoke volumes.
I had impacted my neck and shoulders and had broken a vertebrae in my mid-back. I was in traction for eight weeks. It took another two months before I could walk without a cane. And my father never smiled again.
It’s been a few years now, but I still can’t take long car rides or sit in one position for too long. The ride down here had been murder. If I didn’t lie down soon, I was going to regret it the next morning.
Anyway, I was complaining about my back when Tes called Grigs over. He had me sit on one of the footstools and placed his hands on my shoulders.
Oh. My. God. The boy has magic fingers. My body turned instantly to play-dough under his touch. He pressed and rubbed hard into the muscles of my back with a strength that even my physical therapist had lacked.
In less than two minutes, he had loosened my entire back. Nine hours worth of tension! In two minutes! The boy ain’t human. And then, he…he did this thing with his fingers. I can’t describe it. It was like he was popping them, but, no, that’s not quite it. You just have to experience it for yourself.
It wasn’t just great. It was pure heaven. I would have done anything he asked me to right then. Anything.
"It’s a good thing he only uses his powers for good, huh?" LC said, but I barely heard her.
Though, I did try to answer. My neck didn’t work anymore as I think my entire backbone had turned to rubber. Under different circumstances, the moan that escaped my lips would have caused me enough embarrassment to pack up and move to the other side of the country. By that point, however, I hadn’t a care in the world.
I heard the Professor’s voice. "Don’t knock her out yet, Grigs. Nick, I think it’s time for the initiation." Cheers went up all around me. I knew I should have been a little worried, but Grigs had lulled me into a state of nirvana.
I should have known better.
I found myself on top of a wooden chair surrounded by everyone. Grigs, the Professor, LC, and Nick were closest to me and I wasn’t too keen on the smirks I saw on their faces.
The "initiation", it turned out, was for me to stand up in front of everyone and sing the Boyett Bay theme song.
Ok. Two things wrong with this picture. One: I didn’t exactly know the Boyett Bay theme song. Two: Hmm. How do I put this? Yeah. Singing and me? Not on the best of terms. I mean, there’s a reason I was asked to retire from the school chorus. No. I’m not kidding. And, no, I don’t want to talk about it.
Now, you have to keep in mind that I had been up for nearly twenty hours by that point. Not really the best time to ask me to do something I rarely do in front of close personal friends. Let alone a room full of strangers that I’d just met a handful of hours before.
But, there was also the fact that Grigs had loosened the remaining strands of logic I had left with those magic fingers of his. Oh, and just to add more fuel to the fire? Yeah. I noticed that the really cute guy from the rental station had joined our little band of merry men.
Those brown eyes looked up at me from underneath his sable bangs and I just wanted to know for certain what toothpaste he used. I mean, I could’ve spent the next three years staring at the boy.
Without a doubt. I’m just saying.
Anyway, back to the chair of impending doom.
LC handed me a very worn card that looked as if it had lived the better part of a century under one of Nick’s tap refills. On it were printed the verses of the camp theme song.
I looked down at her with what must have been an expression of pure terror.
"What?" she asked. "It’s tradition." She grinned wickedly and waved her hand around the circle. "We all had to do this our first night." Cheers and nodding approvals followed. I couldn’t help but see Grigs smirk.
So I turned back to Logan. What? The boy knew how to smile. I’m just saying.
"Fine," I muttered. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat.
"Boyett Bay, we’ll always love you. Hold your honor high."
This was humiliating.
"We will cherish every memory, Of your dear old name."
My voice cracked on name and I heard Tessa laugh.
"Higher yet we hold your banner, Wave it far and wide."
Will this never end?
"Now we pledge anew to Boyett, Dear old Boyett Bay."
Thunderous applause and encouragement greeted me. I felt my face turn about eighteen shades of red before I was allowed to step down. And, just for the record, it was one Logan Greenwood, he of the dark hair and dark eyes, that offered a hand to help me down.
LC pulled me away and hauled me back toward the door. Her fingers sank into my upper arms with a strength I wasn’t expecting. "What did I tell you about Logan?"
I looked back over my shoulder. "I know, I know." I sighed and turned back to LC.
"I think I’m in trouble."
She laughed and shook her head. "No doubt, sister."
Alright. I guess there’s something you should know. Something I’m not too proud of. Might as well get it out of the way…
I started dating Bryan Jamison during the summer before my junior year of high school. He was captain of the boys swim team. He was tall and tan and had a look about him in the water that screamed competitor.
His dad taught eleventh grade English and his mom worked at the bank. He had two brothers and one sister, his twin. Julie and I had been friends since elementary school. So, I had grown up knowing him. He and his brothers used to tease Julie and me relentlessly. For years, just the sound of his voice used to make me tense up.
And then, something changed. It was like a light inside of me was suddenly switched on.
We were on the team bus on our way back home from some swim-meet that I can’t even remember right now. The girls and I had been beaten thoroughly and I was in no mood for the songs and hijinks usually associated with trips home.
Sometime during that long drive, Bryan ended up beside me. He didn’t say a word. He just took my hand in his and looked at me. His eyes asked the question and my mouth answered by finding his.
And that was all it took.
For the next year, you couldn’t tear us apart. We did all the things couples do. We went to movies and biked in the park. We went on hikes and exchanged gifts on birthdays and at Christmas.
We trained together side by side in the pool and talked for hours about our hopes and dreams. We were voted "Best Couple" our Senior year and got invited to the best parties.
Sure, we had our ups and downs. Every couple does. Trust me. If your relationship never argues or fights, then there’s something wrong.
Our main issue was the whole "physical" thing. Just how far is too far? And just because you cross one line once, does that mean that you can never go back to that line?
It was hard. I’m a very physical person. That’s how I showed my affection. I liked holding hands. I liked hanging all over somebody. I loved back rubs and falling asleep on the couch after a couple hours of heavy breathing.
But, there was a point I didn’t want to cross. I’m not saying I was going to "save" myself for marriage. Now, I’m not condemning that either. It works for some people, and more power to them. I’m just not that strong. You know? All I’m saying is that when that when the time came, I wanted to be sure.
There was also a large matter of respect. The further I went with Bryan, the more I felt less and less special and attractive in his eyes. And that hurt.
It came to a point when I was the only one who was saying stop. Don’t get me wrong. I really wanted to give Bryan everything I could. I loved him. As much as I could love anyone then. I loved the attention, and – let’s face it – the boy knew how to make out.
That was the problem. He knew what buttons to push and which emotions to play. Now, don’t start thinking him a jerk. He really wasn’t. I don’t think he had some agenda of getting me into bed. He wasn’t like that. He was a really nice guy. In the beginning, he had wanted to back off as much as I did. Sometimes more.
But, he was an eighteen year old male. And some urges are hard to turn off once they start rolling. Others are impossible.
The night Tag told me about Boyett was our one year anniversary. We had a nice dinner in town and went back to his house to watch movies. His parents were out of town for the week on a cruise. His brothers were off at school. Julie (the two of us had drifted apart once Bryan and I started dating. I was really sorry about that) had found somewhere else to be that night.
I had no intention of seeing Cary Elwes portray Robin Hood. I couldn’t bear to see him in any role that couldn’t live up to Wesley.
"As you wish." Heh.
And I wasn’t about to watch Andrew McCarthy and Jonathan Silverman drag a dead man around through yet another film. I mean one whole movie was bad enough. But a sequel? Who exactly was beating down the studio door for a part two of that? No, really. Who?
But as much as I tried to make him watch Meg Ryan stalk Tom Hanks across the country, Bryan would have no part of it. So I was truly surprised that he agreed on another Tom Hanks headliner. Of course, we didn’t even get to the part where he meets Denzel before we were…um…otherwise occupied.
I can still feel him placing my anniversary present on me. A breathtakingly beautiful opal and diamond necklace. His hands were warm against my skin. His breath tickled my earlobe. The lingering taste of dinner was still on his lips.
Before I knew it, most of our clothes were on the floor. For one brief moment, he stopped and looked at me, his eyes wide, brows raised.
No words were exchanged. None were needed.
I closed my eyes and nodded yes.
•••
It was well past midnight before Tessa, LC and I made it back to Cabin Five, and I could barely see, let alone walk. The girls dragged my weary butt into the cabin and deposited me roughly onto a nearby bunk.
If the others did anything else that night, I’ll never know. I’m pretty sure I died well before my head hid the pillow.
And thus ended the first day. Only four more months to endure…
•••
-Jos
"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." ~Ray Bradbury
Until then, or until I get out from under this pile of projects on my desk, I'll let you peruse this. It's the first chapter of a story I entered for NANO, a couple of years ago. It's about a group of summer camp counselors. It's called One Single Yesterday. I pulled the title from an old Joplin tune.
Hope you like it...
One Single Yesterday
"…and I’d trade all of my tomorrows for one single yesterday…"
--"Me & Bobby McGee" by Janis Joplin
"The first time you fall in love is the easiest thing in the world to do. It’s allowing the other person to fall in love, again, with someone else, that shows your true mettle."
--Andrew, Sr. Commander, Guardian Guild – Civilian Chapter
"Sail on, Silver Girl…"
-- "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon & Garfunkel
•••
Wake up, Silver Girl.
It was several long moments before Alyson Michaels realized what was happening. The loud thumping drum behind her ears wouldn’t stop its assault on her senses. She opened her eyes slowly and resolutely and found herself in a nightmare version of hell.
The car was in the river. The windshield was gone with the hood and roof crumpled and broken. Water was rushing in at a frightening pace. Alyson was hanging forward, held only by the seatbelt. Outside, the rain and hail were beating a kinetic rhythm on the roof. Inside, riverwater was rising up her calves.
Oh, God…
Cold terror griped her as she realized just where she was. The base of Cape Fear. Fifty yards down from the embankment on Anderson Road. In the middle of the worst hurricane in two years.
At the bottom of the cape!
What had happened? Her memory of the past hour was lost in white noise. She vaguely remembered something about a fight; the road was wet, and Jeremy had – Jeremy!
She looked around franticly.
Where is he?
He wasn’t in the car with her. She couldn’t tell if he was in the river. The storm outside made it impossible to see anything.
The car made a violent shutter and the passenger window dropped below the surface of the lake. Alyson screamed as cold water cascaded in around her.
"Jeremy!" she shouted, "where are you?"
The car lurched again and Alyson found herself in water up to her neck.
"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…no. Please…"
In a panic, she tried to unfasten the seatbelt. It wouldn’t budge. She was trapped. Her cry was cut off by a forced mouthful of water. Tears were running down her cheeks though she didn’t notice them. Her feet kicked involuntarily as she sank completely underwater.
She saw a thick red blob floating near her face. Shock overtook her as she realized that it was her blood. She opened her mouth to scream and swallowed more water. Her lungs started to burn and convulsions shook her in her seat.
Realization came with a sobering effect. She was going to drown. She was about to die.
All alone…
A small light flickered just outside her field of vision. She turned to look, but it was very small and soon faded. And then, the world grew dark around Alyson Michaels.
•••
Wednesday, May 31, 1995
Teal sundress with white sports bra
Tan sandals
172 3/4 lbs. (More or less…)
Ugh! Nine hours on a Greyhound Bus is not how I wanted to spend my first day of summer. Alas, that’s how it was spent nonetheless.
Ok. I’m keeping this journal so I can keep track of my first real job. Mom says I should keep it because my memory isn’t so hot and, this way I’ll have something to show my kids. Whatever. Not having kids anytime soon, Mum, so there. Dad says to keep it because he wants proof that I’m actually working this summer and not just getting a tan and hooking up with cute lifeguards on his dime. Ha! As if, Daddy-O. B and I have only been apart a couple of months. (Ok, seven. But who’s counting?) I’m so not in the mood for another guy. Ever. Well…maybe not ever, but certainly not for a while. Life’s too
short and I have a job to do now. No guys this summer. Period.
Anyhoo, back to beautiful Southport, North Carolina. Beautiful is not the word. Lush green trees, golden sands and endless blue sea. Not unlike KH, but…I dunno…different, somehow. Can’t quite put my finger on it. Déjà vu perhaps? I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Promise.
Cape Fear is breathtaking. Saw it from the window on the way into town. (Opposite window, of course. Michaels’ Luck strikes again!) Blue/black waves breaking against the coast with reckless dismay, even in early summer.
Well, just pulled into station. Gotta run. When next I write, it will be from within the cabins of Boyett Bay. Wish me luck…
I closed my laptop and slipped it back into my Jansport. I stretched and winced as my neck refused to pop. Several hours on a bus did nothing for my poor back (not to mention the nagging hunch that TOM was making his visit a few days early.)
The past few weeks had started to take their toil. Though, nothing would prepare me for what lay ahead. But, as always, I’m getting ahead of myself…
It’s the last day of May, 1995, and I’ve just traveled some 300 miles from Kitty Hawk to Southport, North Carolina, to become the newest counselor at the prestigious Boyett Bay Summer & Boating Camp for Youngsters. Four months of fun in the sun off the coast of Cape Fear.
My name is Alyson Michaels; I’m eighteen years old and ready to make my mark.
The bus station was nothing much to write home about. Just a large green and white terminal identical to those found just about anywhere else. The only difference between this one and the one back home was that my folks were not two blocks away. The urge to shout a victory cheer was almost impossible to suppress.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder, waited for the guys to unload my bags (only three – I was impressed!), and walked into the terminal proper. I checked my watch and saw that we had actually arrived ten minutes ahead of schedule. Whatever. I could’ve walked here in half the time. I swear the driver was going at least fifteen miles under the speed limit!
There were only a few people milling around inside – ones I’d seen on the bus - so I guessed my ride hadn’t made it yet. Which was alright. The thought of getting back in a car for even a few minutes made my head hurt. (Not to mention my butt!) I made my way over to a vending machine on the far wall in search for chocolate and quick stop by the ladies (I never use bathrooms on buses or airplanes. The thought of someone else walking in makes me too nervous to pee.)
My fears were confirmed, TOM was indeed early. Curse my luck, the first week was my lifeguard certification drills. Oh, well. I’ve swam with cramps before. Nothing new there. Just a problem I’d just as well not had this early into it.
The face in the mirror was not one I expected to see. Florescent lights should be illegal! The dark circles under my eyes were a sharp contrast to the pale skin. I really could use that tan, I thought to myself. I pulled out my hair-band and ran my hand through the oily mop of brown tangles.
I washed my face and slicked my hair back. It wasn’t long enough for a ponytail yet, so I re-adjusted the headband and took another long look at the girl-not-quite-a-woman staring back at me. Only her green eyes looked familiar to me.
Oh, well. I have four months to get to know her…
When I came out I saw two very tan people in white Boyett Bay t-shirts sitting near my bags. The girl had beautiful dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was about my height and had the darkest blue eyes I had ever seen. They were almost navy!
The blonde guy was wearing expensive sunglasses and had a tattered paperback tucked under his arm. He was holding a small cardboard sign that read: MICHAELS, in black marker.
I grinned and walked over.
"You Alyson Michaels?" the girl asked.
"One and the same," I replied.
She smiled at me, held out her hand and said, "I’m LC Larkin."
I hesitated. "Elsie?"
Her right eyebrow twitched. "LC. Short for Linda Carroll. But, nobody calls me Linda Carroll, got it?"
"Oh, yes," I stammered, but took her hand. "Sorry. LC it is."
"Alright then."
I was so going to like her.
She smiled back. "He’s Greg Williams, but we all just call him the Professor."
I turned to Greg. "The Professor?" It was hard not to sneer.
He sighed and shook his head. He turned toward LC and bit his lip.
Damn. Bryan did the same thing whenever he was embarrassed. Will I never get over the man?
LC nudged him in the ribs and laughed. "Greg here always has his head buried in a book. Been that way all his life. Grigs always said that the boy’s going to be an English professor someday. The nickname stuck. It’s sad if you ask me. A little boy thing. Him and Grigs and Tin-Man. They’ve all been going or working at Boyett for the past ten years. Can’t use real names or anything"
You’re one to talk, LC, I started to say, but thought better.
I raised my hand. "Uh, Grigs and Tin Man?"
She shook her head. "You’ll meet them in due time. And, if they like you, you’ll get a nickname too. It’s a good thing…I think." She laughed. So did I, though I had my doubts.
"Come on," the Professor said, "let’s get rolling." He glanced at my feet. "Are those all the bags you have?"
I looked down and nodded.
"I’m impressed," he grinned.
"Wait ‘till you try to pick them up," I smirked.
"Oh, they can’t be that – Lord! What’ve ya got in here? Bricks?"
LC and I laughed. "Only the barest essentials I could not afford to give up for four months," I stated in my defense.
"Come on you two," LC replied, picking up the smallest of my suitcases, "we’re running late."
The parking lot was nearly empty save for an old Honda that looked like it hadn’t moved since the first Reagan administration. That and a faded gray Jeep with huge tires.
"Don’t scratch the paint," the Professor grunted as he hoisted one of my bags into the rear of the Jeep.
LC turned to me and pointed to the several scrapes and dings along the side fender. "Like he’d ever notice."
"Hey," he shouted, "I heard that!"
We laughed and climbed in and were soon on the main road heading toward Boyett Bay.
Ok. A little back history…
In the spring of 1946, Rear Admiral JR Boyett retired from active duty from the United States Navy. Upon the request of his loving wife of forty-three years, JR set about moving back to his beloved Tar-Heel state to spend their retirement years running a summer camp for kids.
By the summer of 1947, the Boyett Bay Summer & Boating Camp for Youngsters was born. Alva and JR ran the camp as smooth as an aircraft carrier until 1978, when JR passed away. Boyett Bay was turned over to JR’s son, JR the second, and had been one of the leading camps along the Carolina coast for over fifty years.
At least until 1992, when JR II suffered a major coronary and left the camp in the not so capable hands of JR III, or JR Jr.
I first heard about Boyett from my pool manager last September when I was working as a lifeguard at the Kitty Hawk Municipal Aquatic Club. Teresa "Tag" Griffis called me into her office one day after the last of the kids was out of the pool.
I love Tag’s office. Every wall was covered with pictures and awards from Swim Team’s past. There was a large print of the ‘93-’94 Swim Team over her desk with a sash declaring "National Champs" over it.
I caught a glimpse of the sixteen-and-a-half-year-old version of myself; all braces and dimples and innocence. What a difference a year makes.
Tag put down her coffee mug and stared at me with those gray eyes of hers. Some of the kids were scared of that stare. It had a way of looking straight through the nonsense and getting right to the point.
I always preferred it to her "Heat Vision" stare, though…
"So, Aly, where are you thinking of applying to work while you’re in school next year?"
"Dunno, Tag," I said, taking a much needed seat after a long day in the sun. "Haven’t given it much thought. Maybe KH Community? Was really thinking of coming back here. Why?"
"Well, I have a friend down in Cape Fear that needs a life-guard slash counselor this summer. Ever hear of a camp called Boyett Bay?"
I shook my head. "Doesn’t ring any bells. Should I have?"
She crinkled her nose. "No, I suppose not. Hasn’t been a big deal in a few years.
Doesn’t matter. Experience like this looks good on college applications. Junior needs to fill this slot in a hurry. Would you be interested?"
"Let me think about first. Talk it over with the folks, you know? Cape Fear is a pretty good ways from here. Don’t know if they’ll let the ‘baby’ go too far on her own yet."
Tag smiled. "I know what you’re thinking. And, yeah, your Dad’s gonna blow a gasket, but let me talk to them. Junior Boyett has a top-notch facility down there and he’s a good guy. Plus, your Mom and I went to school with him."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Come to think about it, your Mom and Junior may have even gone out a couple of times."
"Shut up!"
"Hand ta God."
An involuntary shudder ran down my spine.
I picked up my gym bag and rummaged around inside it until I found my comb. "I’ll think about it, ok?"
"That’s my girl. Now," she motioned to the parking lot, "get outta here, I have work to do."
I smiled and left. Tag called the folks the next night after dinner and by the end of the week, my application had been submitted and accepted. I was going to be Boyett Bay’s newest employee.
Boyett Bay was located about fifteen miles northeast of Southport, right in the middle of one hundred and fifty aces of the most beautiful country I’d ever seen.
As the Professor’s Jeep bounced its way down the gravel and dirt driveway, the feeling of going back in time overwhelmed me. The camp itself was set back off the main drive another three hundred yards. For the longest time, I could see nothing but Longleaf Pines and Sweet Birch trees. But then, we broke into the clearing and the view took my breath away.
A dozen small cabins surrounded a large amphitheater. Facing us was a huge wooden arch with "Boyett Bay" spelled out in blue and white paint. A stone walkway led to an old blockhouse and assembly hall about eighty yards behind the arch.
To the east, was one of the Boiling Spring Lakes, complete with dock, boathouse and several canoes and rafts. The west was lost to innumerable Oaks, Willows and Dogwoods. To the south, I could just make out the twin lighthouses of Bald Head and Oak Island.
All in all, it was amazing! I couldn’t wait to spend my summer here.
LC and I (with the Professor in tow) carried my bags up to one of the cabins on the west side. Due to the layout of the grounds, Cabin Five was the furthest back from the main camp. And the most private, LC explained, so of course, it was the natural hang out for all the counselors.
"Welcome home." LC smiled as she pushed open the door with her left foot. "Just drop your things, Junior wanted to see you first thing."
Ah, yes. JR Boyett, Jr. I’d heard a few things about him from Mom and Tag. But, he had hired me flat out with no interview or probation or anything. So, either Tag had talked me up pretty good, or the man was just plain desperate. I hoped it wasn’t the latter.
"Not a problem," I answered as I dropped the largest bag onto the right-hand bed. "Is this where I’ll be bunking?"
"Yep," LC said. "You, me, Tessa Archer and Nat Kendrick."
The Professor looked up at that. "Nat’s back this year?"
"Yeah. She and Tin-Man are down at Red’s. They’ll be back here Sunday for the softball game."
The Professor squinted and pursed his lips. "I didn’t think they were still together."
"They’re not. Just don’t tell Nat that." LC groaned. "I just said "Nat that’, didn’t I?"
I nodded and clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. "’Fraid so."
She shook her head and grinned. "I’m glad you’re here, Aly. I think we’re gonna have fun."
I smiled. "I hope so."
"Come on," the Professor stated. "Junior’s waiting."
The three of us made our way back to the blockhouse. A short guy wearing only swimming trunks and a ballcap ran up to us. He had a deep tan and pale green eyes. He was soaked and I assumed he had just returned from a late afternoon swim.
"Hey, Kids. This the latest victim?"
LC smirked. "Alyson Michaels, meet Charley Grigsbey."
He took my hand. "It’s a pleasure, Allycat. And, please, call me Grigs. Everyone else does." He looked at the others. "You heading over to the office?"
Professor nodded.
"Good. Tell Junior I got the leak in the catamaran under control." He looked back toward the dock. "For now, anyway."
"Will do, Grigs." She looked him over. "Now, go get yourself cleaned up."
Grigs grinned and snapped a mock salute. "Yes, Ma’am. You going to ‘Nick’s tonight?"
LC turned hesitantly in my direction. "Thinking about it." Something in her voice made me nervous.
"Hey, it’s tradition." Grigs smiled in my direction. "All newbies have to be initiated over at ‘Nick’s."
I didn’t like the sound of this. "Um…what kind of initiation?"
"Nothing to be concerned about," LC said as she took my arm. "Come on. See you around eight-thirty, Grigs."
"Trust me, Allycat. It’s nothing painful. At least not too painful." His lop-sided grin made him look ten years old. He bowed to me and started to run toward the cabins. "Later, Kids."
As I watched him go, I wondered, not for the first time, just what I had gotten myself into.
Junior Boyett’s office was located on the second floor of the blockhouse. The room smelled of wet wood, stale cigarettes and old coffee. The desk – I believe it was oak, but I couldn’t be sure – was covered with pile after uneven pile of papers and folders.
Half-eaten fast-food containers and empty candy wrappers littered the side cabinets and the floor around the antique swivel chair, which housed the boss. An overflowing ashtray was resting not quite evenly on the edge of the desk.
The man himself was the picture of discomfort. He was easily fifty pounds overweight. His skin was pale and blotchy. There were dark circles under his eyes that his bifocals couldn’t quite hide. His once dark hair was starting to fade to a dull gray and the few thin strands that remained on top were combed hap-hazzardly over his bald pate.
The man was a caricature of the stereotypical overworked underpaid boss who was in way over his head. It broke my heart.
Junior stood up as we entered. He extended a fleshy paw with fingers the size of sausages. His fingernails were stained yellow from years of smoking. I expected his palms to be sweaty, and wasn’t let down.
"Alyson," he boomed with an oily smile. "Welcome to Boyett Bay. Tag Griffis had nothing but good things to say about you."
Then, almost as an afterthought. "How’s your mother?"
The idea of Mom and this…man almost made me ill. I could see no redeeming qualities in the guy. Not a one.
"Pleasure," I said. I’m not convinced I was able to keep the contempt out of my voice. If I wasn’t, Junior seamed not to notice. "Thank you for the opportunity to work here, Mr. Boyett."
The used-car salesman smile returned. "Call me Junior." He motioned to one of the armchairs along the wall. "Have a seat. You must be exhausted from your drive in."
The chair was covered in even more papers and folders. I picked up an armload, but wasn’t sure where to place them. I looked questionably to LC. She smirked and nodded to the floor. I dropped the stack, which kicked up a layer of dust that would have sent my mother into hersterics.
I pulled the chair out and took a seat. LC and the Professor did the same. Junior plopped back down into his chair.
"First of all. This is your first time working as a counselor, correct?"
I nodded.
He looked to LC then back to me. "You should know that not everyone is cut out for this job. LC and Greg here can vouch for that."
I started to ask who "Greg" was when I remembered that it was the Professor’s real name. It was a little scary how quickly I was settling in here.
Junior resumed. "By the end of your first week, you’ll understand. Now, not to worry, I have no doubt that you’re gonna do just fine here." He pointed to the two people beside me. "You’ll be surrounded by the best staff this camp has had in fifty years."
LC and the Professor rolled their eyes. I could tell this was an old story. Junior probably told it to all the new recruits.
"But," he interjected, "don’t think that it’ll be all fun and games. It takes a lot of hard work to run a camp of this size. Tag says that you’re a workhorse, and I’m gonna see if she’s right.
"We run a tight ship here. And, while we cut up and joke around, never forget that we’re here for the kids. For the next twelve weeks, the kids in your charge are your life. You have no other priorities. No other obligations. Got it?"
"Yes, sir." I was a little shocked that he thought I wasn’t here to work. But, Tag had mentioned that the turnover rate here was higher than usual.
A more grandfatherly grin appeared on his full face. "Good. Good. Like I said, I expect no problems out of you."
His attention returned to his desk. "Now, you kids get out of here. I have a lot of paperwork to do."
We got up to leave. The Professor placed a hand on my shoulder, smiled and shook his head.
LC spoke up. "Oh, Junior?"
"Yeah?"
"Grigs wanted you to know that the catamaran is water tight again."
"Glad to hear it. Maybe we’ll have everything operational by the time we open."
The Professor rolled his eyes. "First time for everything, I suppose."
"Get out of my office, Williams."
The anger in Junior’s voice startled me for a moment, but then I caught the slight smile on the large man’s face. These three were old friends. The banter was second nature to them. I hoped that I would get that comfortable with them in time.
We were walking out when Junior called my name.
"Yes?"
"One last rule. Almost forgot. Under no circumstances are you to date anyone in this camp. You read me?"
I tried to find any of the levity that he and the Professor had just shared, but found none. The man was completely serious.
"Not a problem, Junior. I just got out of a long relationship. I don’t plan on dating anyone for a long time."
Ah, if only it were that simple.
By the time LC and I made it back to Cabin Five, the long day was catching up with me. I collapsed onto the bed and fought the urge to lie there for the next four months.
"Don’t get too comfortable in there," LC called from the bathroom. "We’re still heading over to ‘Nick’s tonight."
‘Nick’s. I was getting more than a little upset about the vagueness of this guy. "Ok, that’s it," I snapped. "Just who is this ‘Nick,’ and why are going to his place tonight. And what’s this initiation I keep hearing about?"
LC walked into the room, a toothbrush in her mouth, her blue eyes large. "Relax," she said around the brush. "‘Beat-Nick’s’ is a little coffee bar over on Bald Head Island. Our friend, Nick Singleton owns it. It’s been the camp staff’s biggest hangout for the past five years or so."
"A coffee bar?"
"Yeah, you know, like that new show on NBC, Friends?"
Bryan and I had watched it a few times. It had its moments, but nothing to really write home about. It had managed to make it a full season, but I doubted it last much longer.
"Yeah, ok. Sounds cool. Just as long as we’re not out too late. I’m whipped."
"I promise. Not too late." Her smile was warm and contagious. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and reached under me to kneed my poor spine.
Had I had looked in the mirror, I would have seen the crossed fingers behind her back.
I changed into a tee shirt, jeans and a pair of Keds, and traded in my scratchy contacts for my glasses. LC and I met up with the Professor and Grigs. We all piled into his Jeep and were off.
It was only a short drive to the ferry, but I enjoyed it. Southport at twilight was quite gorgeous. The setting sun washed our surroundings in a coppery red hue that reinforced that sense of timelessness. Everything looked like a sepia-tone photograph.
Grigs was talking to the Professor about getting all the boats ready for the opening in a week and a half. LC and I were in the back. The wind was blowing through our hair and it felt great. It was one of those moments that stay with you for years to come.
A truly perfect moment in time.
Bald Head Island is really only known for two things: It’s view of Cape Fear, and the lighthouse. "Old Baldy" could be seen for miles around. Built in the early eighteen hundreds, the octagonal tower stood over one hundred feet above the mouth of the Cape Fear River. According to LC, it’s the oldest standing lighthouse in North Carolina.
The ferry trip was quick, but I was surprised that we didn’t take the Jeep with us. When I asked, Grigs explained that cars were not allowed on the island. Golf carts and bicycles were the only forms of transportation. And walking, of course.
If nothing else, this job was going to keep me in shape.
There was a guy at the terminal renting golf carts that seemed to know the others. I was introduced to Logan Greenwood. He had been a former Boyett counselor as well. He looked young and I suspected that he wasn’t too happy with his station in life at the moment.
He wished me luck and I waved goodbye. He was cute in that unkept way most guys my age were. He had dark hair and dark eyes. He was taller than me, which was always a good thing, and he had a nice smile. Suddenly the idea that I’d never get over Bryan began to waver ever so slightly.
LC caught our little eye contact. Nothing much escaped her attention, I would soon find out.
"Best to stay away from that one for now, Aly," she purred in my ear. "Boy’s nice, but has some baggage issues to overcome first."
"Don’t worry about me, LC, that’s the last thing I need right now."
But was it? I wasn’t so sure anymore.
She grinned at me. "Still, it’s nice to see you have good taste."
She grabbed my hand and we ran over to where the guys were waiting with the golf cart.
In less than five minutes, the Professor pulled up in front of a little wood and stone building. The plaque on the front wall declared it to be "Beat-Nick’s." It didn’t look like much from the outside, but then, the best hangouts rarely did.
Inside was a different story. The hardwood floors were polished to a golden shine and the deep red and green throw rugs gave the place a very comfy feel. There was a huge stone fireplace that I bet was the best place to sit during a winter storm. Large leather armchairs sat in a semi-circle around the hearth complete with footrests.
Four-person canoes hung from the rafters and assorted sports paraphernalia were strewn here and there. Hundreds of photographs of parties large and small adorned the walls. I saw the three people with me in more than a few of them. Interspersed with the pictures were stapled one-dollar bills with quotes and signatures scribbled on them.
Overhead speakers quietly played a nice mix of oldies rock and 80’s and 90’s contemporary music. I saw a digital jukebox on the wall between the bathroom doors.
On the far side of the main room was a long oak bar with brass and chrome piping. There was a very large man behind it, wiping it down. A floor to ceiling mirror ran the entire length of the back wall. There was a side room that held various pool tables and dart boards and card and chess tables. TV’s were mounted to the corners, each tuned to a different sports channel.
I was quickly beginning to see why the Boyett staff liked this place.
LC and the boys made their way up to the bar. I sank into a recliner near the fireplace. It felt just as good as it looked. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I closed my eyes. The urge to fall asleep was quite hard to resist.
The old Lennon / McCartney tune, Rocky Raccoon, filled the room. Damn, damn, and damn some more. It was the song playing when Bryan and I first kissed.
Alright! I wanted to scream. I get it! I’m not going to be over him anytime soon! I’m not going to find anyone better than him.
Fine. Fine. I accept that. But I wasn’t ready for marriage. Not last year and not two (seven) months ago. And, I was too tired to keep defending myself to myself. Yes, I was the one to break it off. Yes, he didn’t see it coming. Yes, it hurt him way more than it hurt me.
But, I have the right to lie my life the way I want to. Right? That’s what I used to think.
The hand on my arm almost produced a scream. Almost. It did cause me to jump, though. Which, in turn, caused LC to jump and drop the two coffee mugs she was holding to the floor.
I looked up at her, my face full of embarrassment. "Oh! LC, I’m so sorry."
She grinned. "No worries, Aly." She looked down. "No permanent damage done. You ok?"
"Yeah."
A new voice entered the room. "Everything alright over there?"
LC turned to me. "Aly Michaels, meet Nick Singleton. Owner and proprietor of ‘Beat-Nick’s’"
"Pleased to meet ya, Little Lady. Friends call me Nick."
The man holding out his hand was in his mid-thirties, with short brown hair. He was even taller up close and had the biggest forearms I’d ever seen. The thick drawl held hints of either an Oklahoma or Texas ancestry.
"Sorry ya don’t approve of the coffee. Ya could’ve just returned it."
"Oh! I’m really sorry, I-"
But Nick was laughing. "Aww, that’s alright. Just a couple of mugs. Easily replaced." He regarded the floor. "And hardwood’s the easiest thing to clean. You shore you’re alright?"
I could feel my cheeks get flush. "Yes, sir."
A frown formed on his face. "Now look here." He pointed a large finger at me. "Let’s get this straight. I’m Nick. Just Nick. No sir’s. No mister’s. Nick. Got it?"
"Y-yes, s-…Nick," I stammered.
The big man roared with laughter again. "Calm down, Aly. It’s ok. Really. Can I get ya anything?"
I took a deep breath. "Sure, Nick. How about some hot chocolate?"
A warm infectious smile lit up his face. "Can do. How about a slice of cheesecake as well? It’s pretty fresh."
My stomach awoke to those words. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. Somewhere near Jacksonville. About eighty years ago. "Um…you wouldn’t happen to have a burger or two hiding back there, would you?"
Nick grinned. "I’ll see what I can find." He turned to Grigs and the Professor. "Come on, Boys. I need your help changing out the tap."
Grigs was protesting. "How come you always have to change out the tap whenever we show up?"
Nick placed a large hand on his shoulder. "Just lucky, I guess."
When the guys were gone, LC sat down beside me. "You sure you’re ok?"
I closed my eyes and sighed. "Yeah, LC. I’m fine. Just tired is all."
I looked back at the bar. "So, what’s the story with Nick? I take it he’s not a local."
She laughed. "Yeah. Nick migrated here form a little town in East Texas a few years ago. He really is a teddy bear. All roar, no bite. Unless there’s trouble, of course. You saw his arms, right?"
"Did I? Man looks like he could punch holes in concrete."
A small grin pulled at the corners of LC’s mouth. "He can. And has. This one time, he and Tin-Man…well, it’s not important. Let’s just say I’m never worried about being here after dark."
Now, that got me curious, but I could see in her expression that that story was for another time. It did, however, bring up another question I’d been wondering about.
"Hey, LC?"
"Yeah?"
"If it’s forbidden for staffers to date, what about Nat and…uh, Tin-Man? Who is this guy, anyway? Sounds like an urban legend"
She did laugh this time. She pointed to a picture on the wall to my right. "First of all, Tin-Man is actually Jeremy Hart. That’s him."
The photo showed a guy in his mid-twenties with long brown bangs and a Robert Redford smile. Dirt on his face and Band-Aids on his fingers. He was standing at the top of a cliff with a breathtaking view of the North Carolina mountainside behind him.
It was like when I see someone I only know from the radio. I’ve never been good at visualizing what people look like. I don’t think anyone really is. But, really, not at all what I was expecting. This was the mighty Tin-Man? Kind of disappointing, in a way.
Still, he looked smart (not to mention a little dangerous), but cute nonetheless. I couldn’t help it. There’s just something about a guy with an adventurous side that gets my blood pumping.
"Anyway," LC stated, breaking off my wandering thoughts, that small grin returning to her lips. "He’s senior staff, so he gets special treatment. But, it’s not like that.
"Boy doesn’t date. Not really. No, he and Nat are old friends, from elementary school and up. Every summer, a few of us drive down to Florida. His mom has a house down there. Red’s cool. You’ll like her. Nat’s just visiting, that’s all."
I was looking through the rest of the pictures. There were several shots of the Boyett gang at different events. In most of them, Tin-Man was in the center. However, while the rest of the group was looking at the camera, I noticed that LC was looking at Tin-Man.
It was a look I’d seen before. One I’d seen in the mirror after I’d just meet Bryan. One I knew all too well. I turned back to face her. "You like him, don’t you?"
For a long time I didn’t think she’d answer. Then, she said softly. "It doesn’t matter."
About that time, Nick and the boys came back carrying plates of burgers and baskets of fries. Hunger took over all other thought.
If it hadn’t, I would have seen LC wipe a tear from her eye.
I had just finished my burger and second slice of cheesecake (homemade by the way, by Nick, no less) when the door opened and several people dressed in Boyett Bay polo shirts walked in. Nick let out a yell and kicked the volume on the jukebox up.
I’d like to say that I remember everyone I met that night, but…no. Mom’s right, my memory is pretty rotten, and I didn’t have my journal to write the names down.
I do remember one in particular due to the fact that I spent the rest of my summer with her no less than ten feet away. Tessa Archer, the Kiwi.
Again with the nicknames. Why? Why, I ask you? We’re adults for crying out loud. Ah, well, nobody asked me, right? Right. Moving right along then.
Tessa (I refuse to call her Kiwi) was a really nice girl from New Zealand. The girl had one of the most beautiful accents I’d ever heard. And, she was a good two inches taller than me even, and I’m no slouch at five-foot, ten and three quarter inches.
Her long arms and legs were covered with a tan darker than I’d ever have in two lifetimes of lying out and her strawberry-blonde hair reached her mid-back.
I wasn’t aware how much pure hate one person could feel for another. I bet she never had a single pimple her whole life. It’s just not fair. People like her are just not natural, and shouldn’t be allowed to live.
But, she was sweet and we bonded right from the start. Together with LC, we were a force not to be reckoned with. We were girls, hear us roar.
Ugh! Sorry about that. I need to sleep more.
Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that Tes and I hit it off pretty well that night. That, and Grigs gives the best back rubs in the history of the planet.
Sorry, got ahead of myself. Will try not to let that happen again.
At some point of the night, I complained to Tes and LC about my back. When I was twelve, I was in gymnastics. It wasn’t my idea by any means. Dad had a love of the Olympics and dreamed of seeing his little girl flying through the air on her way to a gold medal.
Fate had other ideas.
I wasn’t as graceful as most, but my long limbs made me pretty versatile in the beam and bar events. I had a strong upper body and with enough coaxing, I could make it bend the way I wanted it to. And, it was fun, those days filled with cartwheeling and flipping on big blue mats.
I’d always been athletic and figured that when placed within my already weekly cycle of swimming and tennis, it would be a great way to stay in shape. Mom was worried, as always, but Dad just beamed. A genuine smile form the old man was rare to come by in those days, so I took every chance I got.
It was the last event of some little regional meet that was really nothing more than excuse for coaches to get together to see the competition without putting their name on the line. It was well past nine and pouring rain outside. Mom and Dad were in the bleachers somewhere and I was getting nervous.
It had been an off night for our team. Peggy Moreland had slipped from the parallel bars not once, not twice, but three times. The parent running the music for April Dodson’s floor exercise had played the wrong song, which threw off her timing. And, Wendy Hampton had been in the bathroom all night driving the porcelain bus due to an unscheduled Mexican lunch.
All in all, not our best night.
Mom hadn’t washed my favorite uniform, the red one, so I was stuck with last years green one. Coach Brasher was in one of his moods. The rest of the team was done and ready to leave.
I really had to pee.
I was supposed to run up to the horse, bounce off the springboard and do a summersault with a twist, and stick the landing. Nothing to it. Done it a thousand times. You can almost see what’s coming, can’t you?
I hit the springboard dead center. Perfect bounce, everything one-hundred percent--by the numbers--green lights across the board. Halfway through the summersault, I realized something was wrong. Either I hadn’t pushed off the horse hard enough, or I had timed my rotation too slowly. In any case, the floor was a lot closer than it should have been.
And, I was still upside down.
I really don’t remember much after that. I remember looking up and seeing Coach Brasher and the other girls. I could see their lips moving, but couldn’t hear any sound. I remember seeing rain hitting the little back windows of the ambulance. I remember waking up in the hospital the next day with a plastic ring around my neck, a tube in the back of my hand and what
felt like an icepick lodged between my shoulderblades.
I looked at Mom. I couldn’t read anything from her tears. She cried at television commercials, so she was no help. It was the look on Dad’s face that told me everything. That frown spoke volumes.
I had impacted my neck and shoulders and had broken a vertebrae in my mid-back. I was in traction for eight weeks. It took another two months before I could walk without a cane. And my father never smiled again.
It’s been a few years now, but I still can’t take long car rides or sit in one position for too long. The ride down here had been murder. If I didn’t lie down soon, I was going to regret it the next morning.
Anyway, I was complaining about my back when Tes called Grigs over. He had me sit on one of the footstools and placed his hands on my shoulders.
Oh. My. God. The boy has magic fingers. My body turned instantly to play-dough under his touch. He pressed and rubbed hard into the muscles of my back with a strength that even my physical therapist had lacked.
In less than two minutes, he had loosened my entire back. Nine hours worth of tension! In two minutes! The boy ain’t human. And then, he…he did this thing with his fingers. I can’t describe it. It was like he was popping them, but, no, that’s not quite it. You just have to experience it for yourself.
It wasn’t just great. It was pure heaven. I would have done anything he asked me to right then. Anything.
"It’s a good thing he only uses his powers for good, huh?" LC said, but I barely heard her.
Though, I did try to answer. My neck didn’t work anymore as I think my entire backbone had turned to rubber. Under different circumstances, the moan that escaped my lips would have caused me enough embarrassment to pack up and move to the other side of the country. By that point, however, I hadn’t a care in the world.
I heard the Professor’s voice. "Don’t knock her out yet, Grigs. Nick, I think it’s time for the initiation." Cheers went up all around me. I knew I should have been a little worried, but Grigs had lulled me into a state of nirvana.
I should have known better.
I found myself on top of a wooden chair surrounded by everyone. Grigs, the Professor, LC, and Nick were closest to me and I wasn’t too keen on the smirks I saw on their faces.
The "initiation", it turned out, was for me to stand up in front of everyone and sing the Boyett Bay theme song.
Ok. Two things wrong with this picture. One: I didn’t exactly know the Boyett Bay theme song. Two: Hmm. How do I put this? Yeah. Singing and me? Not on the best of terms. I mean, there’s a reason I was asked to retire from the school chorus. No. I’m not kidding. And, no, I don’t want to talk about it.
Now, you have to keep in mind that I had been up for nearly twenty hours by that point. Not really the best time to ask me to do something I rarely do in front of close personal friends. Let alone a room full of strangers that I’d just met a handful of hours before.
But, there was also the fact that Grigs had loosened the remaining strands of logic I had left with those magic fingers of his. Oh, and just to add more fuel to the fire? Yeah. I noticed that the really cute guy from the rental station had joined our little band of merry men.
Those brown eyes looked up at me from underneath his sable bangs and I just wanted to know for certain what toothpaste he used. I mean, I could’ve spent the next three years staring at the boy.
Without a doubt. I’m just saying.
Anyway, back to the chair of impending doom.
LC handed me a very worn card that looked as if it had lived the better part of a century under one of Nick’s tap refills. On it were printed the verses of the camp theme song.
I looked down at her with what must have been an expression of pure terror.
"What?" she asked. "It’s tradition." She grinned wickedly and waved her hand around the circle. "We all had to do this our first night." Cheers and nodding approvals followed. I couldn’t help but see Grigs smirk.
So I turned back to Logan. What? The boy knew how to smile. I’m just saying.
"Fine," I muttered. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat.
"Boyett Bay, we’ll always love you. Hold your honor high."
This was humiliating.
"We will cherish every memory, Of your dear old name."
My voice cracked on name and I heard Tessa laugh.
"Higher yet we hold your banner, Wave it far and wide."
Will this never end?
"Now we pledge anew to Boyett, Dear old Boyett Bay."
Thunderous applause and encouragement greeted me. I felt my face turn about eighteen shades of red before I was allowed to step down. And, just for the record, it was one Logan Greenwood, he of the dark hair and dark eyes, that offered a hand to help me down.
LC pulled me away and hauled me back toward the door. Her fingers sank into my upper arms with a strength I wasn’t expecting. "What did I tell you about Logan?"
I looked back over my shoulder. "I know, I know." I sighed and turned back to LC.
"I think I’m in trouble."
She laughed and shook her head. "No doubt, sister."
Alright. I guess there’s something you should know. Something I’m not too proud of. Might as well get it out of the way…
I started dating Bryan Jamison during the summer before my junior year of high school. He was captain of the boys swim team. He was tall and tan and had a look about him in the water that screamed competitor.
His dad taught eleventh grade English and his mom worked at the bank. He had two brothers and one sister, his twin. Julie and I had been friends since elementary school. So, I had grown up knowing him. He and his brothers used to tease Julie and me relentlessly. For years, just the sound of his voice used to make me tense up.
And then, something changed. It was like a light inside of me was suddenly switched on.
We were on the team bus on our way back home from some swim-meet that I can’t even remember right now. The girls and I had been beaten thoroughly and I was in no mood for the songs and hijinks usually associated with trips home.
Sometime during that long drive, Bryan ended up beside me. He didn’t say a word. He just took my hand in his and looked at me. His eyes asked the question and my mouth answered by finding his.
And that was all it took.
For the next year, you couldn’t tear us apart. We did all the things couples do. We went to movies and biked in the park. We went on hikes and exchanged gifts on birthdays and at Christmas.
We trained together side by side in the pool and talked for hours about our hopes and dreams. We were voted "Best Couple" our Senior year and got invited to the best parties.
Sure, we had our ups and downs. Every couple does. Trust me. If your relationship never argues or fights, then there’s something wrong.
Our main issue was the whole "physical" thing. Just how far is too far? And just because you cross one line once, does that mean that you can never go back to that line?
It was hard. I’m a very physical person. That’s how I showed my affection. I liked holding hands. I liked hanging all over somebody. I loved back rubs and falling asleep on the couch after a couple hours of heavy breathing.
But, there was a point I didn’t want to cross. I’m not saying I was going to "save" myself for marriage. Now, I’m not condemning that either. It works for some people, and more power to them. I’m just not that strong. You know? All I’m saying is that when that when the time came, I wanted to be sure.
There was also a large matter of respect. The further I went with Bryan, the more I felt less and less special and attractive in his eyes. And that hurt.
It came to a point when I was the only one who was saying stop. Don’t get me wrong. I really wanted to give Bryan everything I could. I loved him. As much as I could love anyone then. I loved the attention, and – let’s face it – the boy knew how to make out.
That was the problem. He knew what buttons to push and which emotions to play. Now, don’t start thinking him a jerk. He really wasn’t. I don’t think he had some agenda of getting me into bed. He wasn’t like that. He was a really nice guy. In the beginning, he had wanted to back off as much as I did. Sometimes more.
But, he was an eighteen year old male. And some urges are hard to turn off once they start rolling. Others are impossible.
The night Tag told me about Boyett was our one year anniversary. We had a nice dinner in town and went back to his house to watch movies. His parents were out of town for the week on a cruise. His brothers were off at school. Julie (the two of us had drifted apart once Bryan and I started dating. I was really sorry about that) had found somewhere else to be that night.
I had no intention of seeing Cary Elwes portray Robin Hood. I couldn’t bear to see him in any role that couldn’t live up to Wesley.
"As you wish." Heh.
And I wasn’t about to watch Andrew McCarthy and Jonathan Silverman drag a dead man around through yet another film. I mean one whole movie was bad enough. But a sequel? Who exactly was beating down the studio door for a part two of that? No, really. Who?
But as much as I tried to make him watch Meg Ryan stalk Tom Hanks across the country, Bryan would have no part of it. So I was truly surprised that he agreed on another Tom Hanks headliner. Of course, we didn’t even get to the part where he meets Denzel before we were…um…otherwise occupied.
I can still feel him placing my anniversary present on me. A breathtakingly beautiful opal and diamond necklace. His hands were warm against my skin. His breath tickled my earlobe. The lingering taste of dinner was still on his lips.
Before I knew it, most of our clothes were on the floor. For one brief moment, he stopped and looked at me, his eyes wide, brows raised.
No words were exchanged. None were needed.
I closed my eyes and nodded yes.
•••
It was well past midnight before Tessa, LC and I made it back to Cabin Five, and I could barely see, let alone walk. The girls dragged my weary butt into the cabin and deposited me roughly onto a nearby bunk.
If the others did anything else that night, I’ll never know. I’m pretty sure I died well before my head hid the pillow.
And thus ended the first day. Only four more months to endure…
•••
-Jos
"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." ~Ray Bradbury
posted by Josh at
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