19. 7 Years Ago #2
“Callie? Holy crap! Long time no see! How are you?” I opened my arms and folded the girl—woman, really—into a firm hug. Callie was different but the same, having traded a lifeguard-red one piece for the maternal softness of a pair of khaki shorts and a baggy green staff shirt.
“I’m good! Everyone’s good. The girls are getting big—three years old already.” She pointed at a framed photo of her twin girls resting on the rusty metal desk, their curly fire-colored hair and big smiles mirroring Callie’s features.
“They’re adorable! I love all the pictures you post.”
“Thanks. And look at you! You haven’t aged a day.”
“Stop,” I replied. “You look great. Motherhood definitely agrees with you.”
“You’re sweet. I’ll say this: enjoy your youth while you can. I’ve aged more in the last three years than in my entire life.”
“Well, in fairness, you do have twins,” I noted, taking in the wood-framed cabin mailboxes lining the wall behind Callie. It’s like being frozen in time. Nothing changes here.
Callie smiled. “I think they’ve worn everyone out. Can you believe it’s Dad’s last summer?”
“I honestly can’t. He’s a Sound Hollow fixture.
I still remember my first summer, when my parents couldn’t make it to Visitors Sunday and your dad let me work the grill with him.
He gave me a foreign coin that he found in the cash box and told me it was real Navajo money.
I still have it somewhere. I couldn’t have been more than like six years old. ”
“Yeah, this is actually his fortieth year working here. I can’t imagine the place without him.” She shook her head and shrugged, summoning her cheerful side before allowing any dust to settle on the sad reality of aging. “But tell me! How are things? What have you been up to?”
“Things are good,” I said. “I just finished my master’s. Like literally, today. I drove here straight from graduation.”
“Waste no time, huh?”
I laughed.
“That’s great, though. Dad can’t wait to see you! And, oh my God, you know who else is here this summer, right?”
I shook my head.
Callie lowered her chin to her chest and looked up at me with a mischievous grin. “Shut up. Tell me you really don’t know.”
“Who? I have no idea.”
“Matt Thompson!”
My insides clenched. “You’re kidding, right?”
Callie drew an X over her heart and nodded solemnly, grinning like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.
Thoughts swirled in my mind like a tornado. I tried to control my breathing, fearful that I might have a panic attack. “What brought him back?”
“Same thing that brings us all back. Real life isn’t working out how we want it to. Or, in my case, Dad needs the help. Although I love the reprieve. This place is so special.”
I nodded, my mind spinning with memories of Matt.
I hadn’t thought about him much during the Prozac years.
(I called them the Dark Ages.) I couldn’t stop thinking about him recently, starting about four months ago when I applied for this job.
I searched his name on Google and couldn’t find anything at all, other than an old article from the Bethpage Herald about his three-sport MVP win at his senior awards dinner in high school.
“What job does he do?” Is he working on the farm? I wondered.
“He’s the facilities manager. He started last month.”
“Really?”
“I can’t believe you didn’t know! What a fun surprise.” Callie grinned and clapped her hands once, pulling them into her chest.
I shook my head, trying to comprehend the magnitude of this piece of information.
“He knew you were coming, if that helps at all. Seriously? You look like a total deer in the headlights right now.”
“He knew?”
“Of course! It’s a tight crew here in pre-camp.”
“And, did he seem…” My voice trailed off.
“Happy, Taylor,” she assured me. “He seemed very happy. I can’t believe you didn’t know,” she said again.
I took a breath, my chest pounding. I needed to get back outside, back to the safety of my car.
Matt Thompson could walk into the office at any second, and I needed space to mentally prepare.
“Well, camp belongs to all of us, right?” I unconvincingly tried to laugh it off.
“It’ll be nice to have an old friend here.
” If I can get my heart to stop racing before I give myself a coronary. “So, where am I staying?”
“You’ll be in Green Pines. You know where that is, right?”
“Yup. Girls’ side. By the beach stairs. They’re still using that cabin? I heard everything over there was closed up.”
“Only Green Pines and the Gate House. It’s really sad, actually. The cabins look awful. They just had no choice but to shut it down with so few kids coming here the past few years. I honestly think that’s part of why my dad’s retiring. It’s too depressing.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Yeah. You’ll see when you head over there.”
“What about the schedule? Do we have anything today?”
“There’s nothing until after dinner, which is at 6 p.m. here in the Lodge. Dottie’s making lasagna.”
“Dottie still works here?” I laughed nervously. “Wow. Some things never change.”
“She’s a lifer, just like my family. But yeah, go unpack your car, relax a bit, and then come back for dinner at six.
After that, Dad’s having a staff meeting.
I’m just finishing up the training manuals now,” Callie continued, gesturing at the stacks of paper she was collating and hole punching on the long, metal desk.
She grabbed an envelope, baking in a warm spot illuminated by the sun streaming in through dusty, thick, olive green curtains.
Inside the envelope was a single brass-colored key. “Here you go.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Cal. I’ll catch you at dinner, right?”
“Sure thing. Hey. It’s great to have you back, Taylor.”
“Thanks! It’s great to be here.” I smiled, leaving the office, being careful not to let the screen door slam behind me.
Something about the air, laden with the sweet richness of dirt, calmed my nerves as I got back in the car and drove out the main entrance to Sound Hollow Road, making a left at the gate leading to the girls’ side of camp.
The first house through that now lesser-used entrance was a yellow-shingled cottage commonly referred to as the Gate House.
It used to be inhabited by Larry Sawyer, the longtime maintenance guy, and I looked for his old red, rusty Ford pickup truck parked out front.
I knew it wouldn’t be there, though, having heard through the grapevine that he retired earlier in the year, trading in his work gloves for the sunny skies of Palm Beach, Florida.
Instead, a shiny black GMC Sierra that couldn’t be more than a few years old sat in the driveway alongside the house.
I peered past the truck, wondering if that was where Matt was staying now.
Continuing down the gravel road, a cloud of dust forming in my wake, I passed the camp rocks: 12 boulders lined up at the top of a small hill along the road, each painted green with white letters, reading SOUND HOLLOW with an unpainted rock between the two words.
I remembered the very first time I saw those rocks, riding into camp in a yellow school bus 18 summers ago.
They seemed huge back then. I had many fond memories of hanging out with friends after hours by the rocks as a teenager, and had more than a few photos with groups of girls and Matt posing on top of or in front of the rocks.
I was struck by the joy I felt at being back at this place, passing the horse stables, the home-ec center, rec hall, girls’ dining Lodge, and two dozen wood cabins, all painted brick red but with their shingle roofs sagging, covered in years of fallen and fermenting leaves.
Callie was right. This side of camp has definitely seen better days.
Finally, at the end of the road, alongside the entrance to the wood-planked beach stairs, I found my new summer home.
I parked my car on a bed of pine needles out front and stepped out, the brass key in my hand.
Sprigs of sassafras leaves climbed up the sides of the cabin, their green a few shades lighter than the color of the peeling paint.
I slid the key into the lock, turned it to the right, and gently pushed the door open.
Mildew and cedar filled my nostrils. I switched on the light and swiped at the cobwebs that served as a reminder that the little house had been uninhabited since last summer.
The living room was decorated in old, bland furnishings, including a dark wood bookcase, an oak-framed dormitory-style couch and a secondhand recliner.
A small, boxy old television with a DVD player hooked up to it via a tangled mess of wires and adapters sat atop an old coffee table in the corner.
The walls and floor were bare, both made of stained pine dating back to the 1970s.
The tiny kitchen consisted of only a sink, an apartment-sized refrigerator, and a very old electric range.
No microwave, no toaster, not even an old coffee pot.
Doesn’t matter, I thought. I’ll be eating in the Lodge anyway.
Just having a refrigerator of my own was a luxury.
I’d never had access to a fridge when I was a camper, and once I became a counselor in my late teens, the only fridges I could use were the giant walk-ins in the kitchen down at the Lodge.
Same deal in the bathroom, which was right off the kitchen.
It appeared that I'd traded communal bathing for a standard toilet and sink, both stained with an aqua blue ring around the drain, and my very own single stall shower, adorned with a bright yellow plastic shower curtain. A daddy long legs spider hung out under the toilet bowl. I laughed, grateful for the familiarity; I hadn’t seen one of those in a long time.