Chapter 9 #2
“Tell me about camp.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I was checking out the website. It actually looks fun.”
“I mean, it isn’t the kind of place I would’ve chosen for myself, but it has a certain appeal.”
“Are there any Trekkies there?”
“Not that I know of, but maybe I haven’t met them yet.” I tell her about the Star-Warlord and Chewy.
Her face lights up. “Do you have a photo?”
“No, but I can send you one.”
“Please. It’ll make my day.” She leans the side of her head against the doorjamb. “I’m a little jealous. I wish they would’ve sent me with you. Camp sounds like a dream. Do you roast marshmallows at night and sing songs?”
“There’s a bonfire and apparently singing in the shower. There’s karaoke too.”
Jeannie claps her hands. “What will you sing?”
“Nothing. I’ll wear my earbuds and clap politely.”
She narrows her eyes. “That’s not very community-minded of you.”
“I’m not very community minded.”
“Nonsense. I watch you buy Girl Scout cookies every year.”
“Because their cookies are delicious.”
“You can get delicious gourmet cookies from the firm cafeteria for free any day you want. You go out of your way to support the Philadelphia troop and buy cookies from them specifically.”
I look up and realize Jeannie is staring at me. “What?”
“That’s the third time you’ve checked your watch since we started talking. Is there another appointment I should know about?”
“No, I’m wondering whether I’ll make it back to camp in time for combat archery. They’ve been hyping it up so much, I’d hate to miss out.”
“If you leave now, you should bypass the worst of the traffic.”
My gaze lingers on my desk. “What about Matt?”
“That piece of garbage in human form? Don’t worry about him. He’s not the one at camp. You are. Go back and shoot some arrows or whatever combat archery involves.”
I crack a grateful smile. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”
The drive back to camp is a Mad Max: Thunderdome exercise and I can’t wait to park my car and leave traffic behind for another week. It takes an extra ten minutes to get here, and my body feels every second of it. As soon as I exit the vehicle and hear the birdsong, my muscles relax.
My phone pings with a message from Elizabeth. There’s no text, only a photo of an empty pickle jar.
You owe me , I reply.
I’ll replenish your supply when I get back from Florida.
Good luck, not that you need it.
Thanks, big bro. xxx
On the way to my cabin, I cross paths with Ben. “Hey, Charlie. You’re headed in the wrong direction. The big game is this way.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder.
“I just got back from a long drive. I should probably hit the bathroom before I head out to the field. Sounds like it’ll be a long afternoon.”
He slaps an arm across my shoulders. “Listen here, young man. If this seventy-five-year-old prostate can handle a couple hours, so can yours.” Before I can object, he steers me toward the field. “You’re gonna love this event. Combat archery is one of my favorites.”
“What do you like about it?”
“It’s dodgeball, paintball, and archery rolled into one. What’s not to like?”
The teams are in the process of being formed when we arrive at the battlefield. I’m the last to join Adam’s team. Cricket manages to look both sporty and sexy in a white tank top and jean shorts. The white frames of her glasses are shaped like hearts.
We all don protective face masks, including Adam, who swaps his helmet. The bows are real, but the arrows have foam tips. Nothing sharp.
Cricket holds up a whistle as she addresses the gathered players. “When I blow this, you run.”
I survey the field. “Run where?”
“It’s like Hunger Games .”
I stare at her blankly.
Frustrated, she smacks her forehead. “The arrows are in a pile in the center of the field, and you all run for them at once.”
“This is where the dodgeball part comes in,” Ben explains. “The players run to grab as many arrows as they can, but you run the risk of being shot by someone faster than you.”
“So you want to grab your weapons and then seek coverage,” Hunter adds. “But if I catch your arrow, which I probably will because I excel at this game, then I can choose to bring an eliminated teammate back into the game.”
“Last player standing’s team wins,” Ben says.
It quickly becomes clear that Hunter and Olivia are the team to beat. Hunter is faster than I anticipate; I can tell he has experience aiming and shooting. I try not to think about what’s normally at the other end of his sharp eye.
Wendy and Esther are eliminated first. I’m fairly certain they get hit on purpose, and my suspicions are confirmed when they disappear. I hear Cricket say something about plushies.
I hit Bradley next, and he paces the sidelines calling for Hunter and Olivia to catch an arrow so he can reenter the game.
It doesn’t happen.
Hunter shoots both Gloria and Angela. Olivia shoots her grandfather in an epic showdown.
Eventually only four of us are left. A golden opportunity presents itself when Hunter stumbles over a tree root and drops his arrow. I don’t have a clean shot, but Adam does.
“Come on, Adam!”
The warlord lets his arrow fly. It sails over Hunter’s head, giving our opponent time to reclaim his weapon.
I cry out in exasperation. “That was a straight shot! How could you miss?” The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Adam crumples like I’ve humiliated him in the presence of Yoda and Luke Skywalker. “I’m sorry, buddy,” I say quickly. “Heat of the moment. I didn’t mean it.”
“These games are only for fun,” Cricket reminds me gently. “The winners are those who play.”
And suddenly I understand the point of participation trophies.
If you know you have zero chance of ever winning, why would you ever try?
You’d sit out every game and miss the chance to enjoy yourself for the sake of it.
Miss the chance to bond with your teammates and, sometimes, even your competitors.
My father’s skin would crawl if he could hear my thoughts right now. In his mind, participation trophies are the equivalent of athletic pacifiers. If you’re not good enough to win, you deserve to leave empty-handed.
Needless to say, my dad is a dick, and for a brief moment, I was too.
The game continues with everyone in good spirits.
My arrow hits Hunter behind the knee. He goes down, arms and legs splayed like a starfish.
Olivia seizes the moment and uses Hunter’s fallen body as a springboard.
She leaps into the air with not one but two arrows.
She tries to take us out in quick succession, first Adam, then me, but I loose another arrow at the last second.
Our arrows collide in midair. We both race forward to grab our respective weapons and throw them at each other.
My arrow makes contact, hitting Olivia’s thigh.
Hers pegs me in the forehead. It all happens so fast, I’m not clear on which one hit first.
I drop to my knees, simultaneously laughing and gasping for air. “Did I win?”
“Who cares?” Ben says, not unkindly.
I peer up at him. “Isn’t that the point?”
“No, kid. The point is to have a grand old time, which we did.” He offers me a hand and helps me to my feet. I’m careful not to grip him too tightly. He’s built like a reed. One overzealous tug and he’d be sprawled on top of me.
“It’s been a long time since anyone’s referred to me as a kid.”
“You’re what? Thirty?”
“Thirty-five.”
He examines my face. “Once you hit the ages of twenty-five to sixty-five, I find it hard to tell. As far as I’m concerned, anybody under the age of forty is a kid.”
I chuckle. “That’s a long childhood.”
“Meh. We could all use a longer childhood, don’t you think? I started working my first job when I was fourteen and didn’t stop until last year. That’s a lot of hours devoted to work.”
“Do you regret it?”
He shrugs. “How can I? Didn’t have a choice.
If I wanted to earn a living, enough to pay bills and take a vacation once a year, then I had to dig in.
” He draws a deep breath. “And now I get to spend part of the summer here every year until I die. Couldn’t imagine a better place to cap the end of my days. ”
Threads of guilt form a knot in my stomach. “You love it here that much?”
“How can you not? As far as I’m concerned, this place is paradise on Earth.”
Cricket blows the whistle. “Dinnertime!”
Everyone plows ahead like the stampeding dinosaurs in Jurassic Park . Angela pushes through us. “Excuse me. Future wife coming through.” She surges ahead, a heat-seeking missile that has identified an unknown target.
When I reach the cafeteria, Cricket is lingering outside. “Did you have fun?”
“I did. It was more exercise than I expected.” I gesture to my sweaty skin. “Hence the well-moisturized body.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Every year I think we’ll try something new, but the campers threaten to revolt.”
“Wouldn’t want that, now that I’ve seen them on a battlefield.”
She gives my arm a gentle smack. “Hey, before I forget. I just want to say that I appreciated your apology to Adam earlier.”
I squirm a little, uncomfortable that she’s opted to draw attention to my brief moment of assholery instead of sweeping it under the proverbial rug.
She appears to notice my discomfort. “Did I say something wrong?” Her face relaxes. “Oh.”
Her ‘oh’ grabs me by the balls. “What?”
“You’re embarrassed that I mentioned it.”
She’s right. I am.
Her hand flutters to her chest. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make a big deal out of it.”
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “It’s okay. I’m not used to it, that’s all. People usually only comment when I do something wrong.”
“That’s terrible.”
I shrug. “My parents were all about the stick and not the carrot. I can’t say my law firm is much different.”
“It makes sense if that’s how you grew up, that’s what you’d gravitate to. It became your comfort zone. It probably feels strange when somebody compliments you.”
“Or I wonder what they want from me.”
She cocks her head. “Is that what you thought about me? That I only said it because I have an ulterior motive?”
“No,” I say in a tone of finality. “Not you. Giving out compliments seems natural for you. I’m more like a dragon. I hoard them like rare treasure.”
“It costs nothing to be kind,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Then why do people find it so difficult?”
“Because they view it as a sacrifice instead of an offering.”
I frown. “Is that a line from a movie? Because if it isn’t, it should be.”
She breaks into an engaging smile. “See, Charlie? Seems like you’re capable of doling out compliments after all. Oh hey, don’t forget to bring something for swag swap later,” she calls after me, as I enter the cafeteria in search of Bernie’s famous chili with a side of cornbread.
I spin around. “What’s swag swap?”
“Everybody brings an item they’re willing to exchange for something else.”
“We trade our possessions?”
“You give something a new lease on life by giving it a new home.”
“Or you could toss it if you don’t want it anymore.”
She shrugs. “One person’s trash is a trash panda’s treasure.”
“That’s not how the saying goes.”
“Just bring a belonging you’re ready to part with, Charlie. Don’t overthink it.”