Into the Woods

14 Reality Is for Losers

14

REALITY IS FOR LOSERS

Gretchen

I woke up to the sound of a piano. I was confused at first, thinking I’d fallen asleep in Teddy’s cabin. But then last night came rushing in. The swimming, the shampoo, the dancing. “Moon River.” My huckleberry friend.

My camp boyfriend.

It was still dark. And dawn came early here, so I could be fairly confident it was still night.

I let my eyes adjust. There he was, sitting at the keyboard in my cabin. He was playing—

Oh my God, he was playing “Lemon Tree.”

I sat up, but then I froze. I wasn’t sure if he wanted an audience. But I also didn’t want him to stop.

This was a big deal. This song that had been haunting him all month, this song he said he could never seem to make himself play. But here it was, now, the music at least. It felt like he was doing some kind of ritual. An exorcism, maybe.

He turned and made eye contact with me. I expected him to stop playing, or to look away at least, but he didn’t do either. He had to break with my gaze occasionally to look down at the keys, but he always found it again.

As the song neared its end, instead of winding down, he segued into starting over, and this time he sang. “When I was just a lad of ten…” He made a face like, Can you believe this?

I nodded vigorously. I hoped he understood what that nod meant. Yes. I believe it. I believe in you.

It was a funny song to be serenaded with, because it was very much not a love song. It was, as I’d thought the first time I’d heard it, the opposite of a love song.

Of course, he wasn’t serenading me. I just happened to be here. He was doing his ritual. And I was a crone in training, right? Rituals should be right up my alley. Before I could overthink it, I joined in on the next chorus.

The smile he gave me was a blow to the chest. I was no singer—I didn’t know how to harmonize, and I had to trail off on the verses because I didn’t know the words, but it didn’t matter. We were singing together.

The second time the song ended, he stopped. Left his hands on the keyboard and just looked at me.

I didn’t know what to do. Usually this was the point at which I’d get up and leave—I had been careful all summer about not overstaying my welcome with Teddy or doing anything that could be considered too coupley—but we were in my cabin.

He stood. He was dressed. I wanted to tell him not to go yet. I wanted him to stay until morning.

But those were not things I could have. And really, they weren’t things I wanted . They were like craving another drink when you’d already had one too many.

I reminded myself that I’d gotten exactly what I wanted from Teddy. I’d gotten my last hurrah—boy, had I ever.

I was trying to think what to say when he shot me a crooked, fond smile and said, “See you, Miller.”

The minimalist approach. I liked it. I did have to swallow a lump in my throat, though, in order to say, “See you, Knight.”

I wouldn’t have thought it possible to fall asleep after Teddy left, but a couple hours later, I awakened to the beeping of my alarm. I lay there staring at the pine ceiling, “Moon River” and “Lemon Tree” zipping around inside me.

I was seized with more of that nostalgia in advance. I felt it in my chest, a physical ache. I was missing camp while I was still here. I was missing my camp boyfriend.

I couldn’t have Teddy, not for real. I didn’t want him, not for real. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to miss him.

Eventually I got up and, in preparation for reentering the real world, turned on my phone. Rory was going to text when she was close.

It felt strange in my hand. Alien. As it found a signal, notifications started rolling in. I felt ill.

It was good to see Rory, though, when she arrived that afternoon. It hit me how much I’d missed her. She wasn’t my camp friend; she was my real friend. We’d been through some shit together. I hugged her, and she was solid. Real.

And so very pregnant. “You look amazing!”

“I look huge is what you mean.”

“You look amazing,” I reiterated. “Feeling OK?”

“Pretty much. A bit of swelling at the end of the day, and it’s getting hard to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but I’m hanging in there.”

“Let me give you a tour. Unless you want to just go chill in my cabin until the show?”

“How about a minitour followed by chilling? I brought you a treat that I may need to eat ninety percent of myself.” She produced a bag of Cheetos from her purse.

Which made me think of the last time I’d had Cheetos—as a side dish with cold pack cheese food grilled cheese. Made by Teddy last week, or a lifetime ago, one or the other.

The show was a hit.

Everyone did great. There was a gallery of visual art that everyone perused at the start of the evening, the kids standing by to answer questions about their paintings and sculptures and pots while Maiv and Danny hovered like proud parents.

The performance part of the show started with readings from Jack’s writer kids. As with the paintings and pots, a couple stood out from the crowd—a poem from a small, quiet boy who never looked up while he read, and a viciously funny short story from a goth girl.

The drama kids went next, performing a one-act play set in a British air-raid shelter during World War II. I only caught the first ten minutes or so because we were up next, but they did a great job.

The girls gathered backstage in their costumes. They seemed to be looking to me for words of wisdom. “I guess I’m supposed to give a pep talk here?” I was unprepared. “I don’t know what to say except I know this is going to be great. We’ve immersed ourselves in these stories, these themes. There’s no way it can go wrong.”

When I got a few skeptical looks, I fell back on Miss Miller’s Morals. “And even if it does go wrong, it’s just dancing. Dancing is supposed to be fun.”

Some of the artists had opened their sections of the show with introductory remarks. I skipped that. I felt the work should speak for itself. And it did: my girls stormed out for the ball scene set to Beyoncé, and it was great . I’d run around and was watching from the back of the audience, which erupted into cheers when Meg and Jo broke out of the formal quadrille and started a modern duet. And I hadn’t been wrong about the Jo/Lori chemistry. The audience was feeling it, too—everyone grew quiet and attentive, and I could feel the crackling tension in the air.

Obviously the audience was biased, but when at the end they leaped to their feet and hooted and hollered as my girls, beaming, took their bows, I had to wipe away a tear. On paper this wasn’t that different from the recitals I ran twice a year at my studio, yet it was. I knew what had gone into this. Well, I knew what went into my recitals, too. I guess the difference was that more had gone into this. The recitals were fun. I taught the steps, the dancers danced them, and the parents clapped and cheered. But there was no story, no overarching narrative. There was no meaning.

As the applause went on, I saw a few girls wipe away tears through their smiles as they bowed. I was so proud, I about melted into a pile of goo. When they called me onstage and group-hugged me, I think my soul left my body momentarily.

It was the greatest moment of my professional life, as overwrought as that sounds.

The music kids closed out the show. As with the other groups, some kids were better than others. Until Teddy’s music prodigy kid, who went last, blew us away. She played an original on banjo that had the breezy but brutal wordplay of Taylor Swift, the twang of the Chicks, and a delicate, high soprano that reminded me of Billie Eilish. It was really something. I sneaked a look at Teddy, who was standing off to the side, his hands folded under his chin in a really intense way. When she was done, his face lit up like a Christmas tree, and when she looked over at him, he punched the air. Then he got onstage and joined the music kids and counselors for a rousing version of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” By the end, we were all singing along. It was transcendent.

Rory turned to me after the final curtain call. “Wow. Just… wow.”

“Pretty great, isn’t it?”

I was so glad she’d made me come here, and I started to say as much but was interrupted, pulled away by girls wanting me to meet their parents, and later by Brianna and Grace, who had duties yet this evening—they had to supervise the moving-out process—which was for the best because it made our goodbyes less emotional than they otherwise might have been. “I’ve learned so much from you both,” I said into our group hug.

“Are you kidding?” Grace said. “ I’ve learned so much from you . And not just about dance, but about, I don’t know, leadership.” Brianna echoed Grace’s sentiment, and I was on the verge of tears again.

Eventually the kids and parents were herded outside by the counselors, who were leading everyone back to the cabins to get their stuff, which left Rory and me with the artists and Marion. I introduced her to everyone, congratulating myself when my voice came out normally during the Teddy Knight intro.

“Usually I make this speech at the end of the second session, but since Gretchen is leaving us, you’ll get it early,” Marion said as we stood in a loose circle at the back of the auditorium. “I’ve stayed out of your way, but now you’re going to get some unsolicited advice—from someone who’s never made a painting or written a song in her life.”

Everyone smiled. Marion was a good egg.

“It’s been easy here. Not literally, perhaps. In one sense, you’ve been roughing it without air-conditioning or the comforts of home. And some of you got literally lost in the woods.” She winked at me. “But you’ve had very few demands on you. That’s a gift. I’m not trying to pat myself on the back; it’s just a fact. I think most of you have used this time either to nurture a burst of creativity or to rest and recharge. Both are valid, and important.

“But neither is going to be easy to do when you go back to your lives, where you may have day jobs, teaching commitments, shows, exhibitions, and so on. Not to mention families and friends.”

I didn’t have those things. Well, of course I had my mom and sister, but we didn’t see each other that often. My personal life was pretty much limited to hanging with Rory and her family, and they were getting ready to turn inward when the new baby arrived. Which left work. The hustle. The thing that was going to ramp up big-time when I got home. The thing that had always felt so central to my identity.

“My hope for you,” Marion went on, “is that you hang on to some of what being here gave you, whether it’s a sense of creative expansion or merely permission to rest. I hope you can find a way to get some of that in your real life.”

Rest. I should prioritize that when I got home. Have phoneless days.

Maybe I should plant a garden. Put up a hammock. Yes. Both those ideas appealed.

I felt better having made that plan.

Marion approached. “I have to go oversee the tangle that is the parking lot.” She gave me a firm hug. “Between you and me, I wish you were staying. I’m sure Irina Petrov”—Marion had gotten a dancer from the Joffrey Ballet for session two—“will be great, but you really had a way with the kids. You’re a natural teacher.”

I was chuffed by the praise. “Thanks. I’ve had such a wonderful month, but it’s time for me to get back to that—teaching.”

Why wasn’t I more excited?

I was excited about the hammock, I reminded myself, and about my future garden.

“Well,” I said to the assembled artists. “I guess it’s back to reality for me.”

“Reality is overrated,” Caleb said jokingly, and at that moment I couldn’t say I disagreed.

“Yeah,” Danny said, “Reality is for losers. Stay!”

“I can’t. My reality involves closing on a new building next month, and I have a ton to do.”

“Yeah, I know,” Danny said, “you’re our resident entrepreneur.”

Resident entrepreneur.

I guess that was right. Despite my late-in-the-game burst of choreographic creativity, I was going back to my small business. My soon-to-be-larger small business. There would be no leaping out of holes for me. I mean, I had thought about it, but where would I even do it?

I had thought about that , too, and for a moment I thought, Hey, I just decided I should start gardening. What is gardening but digging holes in the ground?

But I gave myself a reality check. Sure, I could work on the piece, but to what end? It wasn’t ever going to get mounted anywhere, even if I didn’t have a full-time job—a more-than-full-time job—sucking up all my time and energy.

It didn’t even seem real, all those hours I’d spent mucking around behind the shower building. From this vantage point, it was starting to feel like a dream I’d woken from and could only remember in fragmented flashes.

Maiv kicked off the rest of the goodbyes by throwing her arms around me. She didn’t say anything, but she was teary, which made me teary, too. We were going to stay in touch, we had already decided, so it wasn’t really goodbye. Caleb reiterated his invitation for us to work on something together, and I deflected. I could see Rory gearing up to ask questions, so I moved on to Danny, who gave me a beautiful vase. Its dark-blue glaze was the same color as the lake at afternoon swim time.

Next up was Jack, who shook my hand and said, “Be good.”

I smiled at him—genuinely. “Good luck with the book. Or are you not supposed to say that? Is it like with plays, where you’re supposed to say, ‘Break a leg’?”

“I’ll take it. I need all the luck I can get.”

“Nah, you don’t need luck. You’ve got what it takes.” Look at me, complimenting Jack Branksome. Maybe I’d even follow in Teddy’s footsteps and read his book when I got home.

And then there was only Teddy left.

“Am I allowed to say that I’m going to miss you?” he asked.

“Of course. I’m going to miss you, too.”

We hugged, but it was awkward—we both moved to the same side and ended up doing a little dance, but not the swaying-in-the-moonlight kind. How was it we’d had the ease of longtime lovers last night, but here we couldn’t make our limbs cooperate?

It was akin to the way my phone had felt strange in my hand that morning—a relic I wasn’t familiar with. Suddenly Teddy was the human version of that.

Which was good, in a way. It would make my departure easier.

“We’re not going to stay in touch, are we?” he whispered in my ear, his breath making me shiver.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said as I pulled away. Just like the hole dance didn’t fit into my real life, neither did my rock star camp boyfriend.

“What’s not a good idea?” Rory asked.

“Right,” Teddy said. “You’ll be busy with your empire. And your crone duties.”

“Your what duties?” Rory said.

“Bye, Miller,” Teddy said, stepping back from me and lifting a palm.

“Bye, Knight.”

And that was it.

How could something that felt so monumental end with so little fuss?

It hadn’t been monumental, though, I reminded myself. That had been the whole point. It had been convenient, and now it wasn’t anymore.

Last hurrah: I could check that off my list.

To my surprise, Rory didn’t get on my case as we pulled away from camp. We talked about the show, and she filled me in on the happenings at the studio: someone’s check for the fall session had bounced, Keira—a little shit I was this close to ejecting from the studio—had written on the wall under Miss Miller’s Morals, the phone bill was due tomorrow and Rory hadn’t known how to pay it.

I was being bombarded by the minutiae of my empire. Of my life.

I didn’t care about any of it at the moment, but I was happy to let it wash over me, because it meant Rory was keeping her mouth shut on all matters camp.

Until we hit Hinckley, where we stopped at Tobies for their iconic caramel rolls. I had let my guard down, because when she said, “You have something going on with that Teddy guy, don’t you?” I spilled my coffee.

I bought time by grabbing some napkins and cleaning up the mess. I considered lying, but what would be the point? I wasn’t going to see Teddy again. He had served his purpose in my life, as had I, I hoped, in his. We’d had some spectacular sex, and as a bonus, I felt like he’d worked out some of his mental junk. Not that I took credit for that exactly, but I liked to think I’d helped.

Not bad, as far as last hurrahs went.

It was weird that I hadn’t told Rory about Teddy. She and I told each other everything. I could blame the fact that I hadn’t on having ditched my phone. Now, though, I was back in the real world, and in the real world, I didn’t keep secrets from Rory.

More importantly, there was no reason to keep Teddy a secret. Yes, I’d skulked around camp trying to be incognito, but that had to do with not wanting to be the subject of gossip, with not wanting people all up in my business.

“I did have something going on with him, past tense.” I waggled my eyebrows. “We had a camp-friends-with-benefits thing going.”

She slapped the table. “I knew it! Tell me everything!”

“There’s not much to tell. We got lost in the woods together, and one thing led to another.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

“I wasn’t using my phone.”

“Yeah, but you were getting it on with a famous rock star! You didn’t think that merited telling me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“I didn’t tell you about Mike to begin with.”

That was true. She’d kept her dealings with her now husband on the down-low for a long time. But I didn’t see what that had to do with anything. “So?”

“I didn’t tell you because I was afraid of how real it felt. I thought if I told you, you’d make me face up to it.”

“Calm down. That’s not what’s happening here.”

“It’s not?”

“There’s nothing to face up to! We had some fun.” I did the eyebrow waggling thing again, but it felt like I was performing.