Chapter 15 #2
Hazel’s eyes were brimming with tears while Zelda’s looked panicked. In my anger I hadn’t given any thought to how my kids would react.
“I had a huge fight with Jack, and I don’t want to work for him anymore.”
“Who’s Jack?” Hazel asked.
“The camp director.”
They both had blank looks.
“I don’t know him,” Hazel said.
It was absurd how he was always up my ass but had no connection with my kids, the campers he supposedly kept so happy. Come to think of it, I’d never seen him or Marilyn at any activities.
Hazel broke the silence. “But I don’t want to go home.” She could barely get the words out.
“Neither do I. You can go. You said camp was where we’d learn independence. We don’t need you here,” Zelda said.
Depleted, I sat on the unmade bed. It was true, I wanted my children to become self-reliant, but her words stung.
Hazel threw her arms around me, nuzzling my neck. “I don’t want to go home, and I like having you here. Please don’t go and please let us stay.”
I could tell by Zelda’s out-of-focus expression that she was building her case. Not only did her facial features resemble her father’s, she thought and acted like him as well. I missed the days when my children had hung on my every word.
Zelda stood with her hands on her hips, ready to lecture me exactly like her father would.
A ray of sunshine fell across her face, accentuating her freckles.
Her hair was tied in a ponytail, frizzy strands forming a halo.
Even though she looked angelic, I braced myself for the tirade that was about to begin.
“I don’t understand. First you gave a big speech about how you wanted to send me and Hazel to camp to become confident and responsible—your words.
And then you change your mind and tell us that if you don’t go to camp, then me and Hazel can’t go to camp.
So here we are, together at camp, and now, right in the middle of the best summer ever, you want us to leave just because you don’t like this Jack guy? It makes no sense.”
Hazel looked upset. “Why do you always have to yell at Mom? Can’t we talk about this calmly?” Hazel turned toward me. “Mom, I want you to stay but if you can’t, why do we have to leave? I love it here,” Hazel said.
I hadn’t thought this through. As campers they got to play with their friends all day without a care in the world while I dealt with the behind-the-scenes bullshit. From the campers’ point of view, Woodlands was a fabulous place.
“But we need to support each other.” As soon as I said that, I could hear how absurd I sounded.
Zelda crossed her arms. “If you want to leave, I absolutely support that. I don’t need you here.”
I winced.
“Zelda,” Hazel said, “that was just plain mean. I think what Zelda was trying to say was that the only time we even see each other is across the field at Flagpole. Zelda and I don’t spend any time together either. She even pretends not to know me when I wave to her.”
“Why do you snub your sister?”
“I don’t want to be the kid who gets treated differently because my mother works here or because everyone thinks my little sister’s cute.”
“Do I embarrass you?” I asked.
“Well, yeah, sorta.”
“First you tell me you don’t need me. On top of that, I embarrass you. Just when I thought my day couldn’t possibly get any worse.”
Hazel sat down next to me and put her hand on my thigh. “Mom, I love you, and I love that everyone knows you’re my mother, and you never embarrass me. But it’s impossible for me to leave right now.”
“Please tell me why it’s impossible to leave right now. I need a good reason to leave you here without me.”
“I have a singing part in the play, and I’m the only girl from my division who has one, and you’ve taught me that if I joined a team or a play, I have to see it through to the end. You said it’s inconsiderate and rude to let the other kids down.”
“I’m so close to getting my junior lifesaving certificate,” Zelda added. “I only need to dive to the bottom of the lake and retrieve a weight, and I’m learning how to sail and water ski. When I’m old enough, I want to come back and be a lifeguard at the waterfront.”
“Also, I made you a present in arts & crafts, and Maggie said she wasn’t going to fire the kiln until right before Visiting Day,” Hazel said.
“And I don’t want to miss color war and that’s at the very end of camp.” Zelda, hands on her hips, glared at me defiantly. “I’m not leaving until the very last day.”
We silently stared at each other. My children had made compelling arguments. At least they’d been listening. If I took them out of camp today, I would lose all credibility, and they’d never listen to me again.
I sighed. “Okay, you win. You can stay.”
They both looked astonished.
“Really?” Hazel asked.
“I asked you to convince me and you did.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Zelda said.
“Wait a second, what about you, are you staying?” Hazel asked.
I couldn’t walk out of camp and leave my children behind, with Jack in charge. “I’m not sure.”
Hazel sat on my lap, gave me a hug, and whispered in my ear, “I love you no matter what you decide.”
Zelda shrugged and said, “I hope you don’t expect me to put all that stuff away.”
It occurred to me while showering that I’d be sitting across the table from Marilyn at dinner.
That would be awkward. Attending meals was mandatory, but even if I could skip it, I wouldn’t—I was starving.
I wasn’t about to say anything to her about her husband.
I’d wait to see if she brought up our encounter.
I doubted she would, but you never knew.
Dinner wasn’t appealing—it was always some form of fried chicken and spaghetti—so I ate another boring salad. Marilyn barely looked at me, but to be honest, she rarely did.
That evening’s activity was Campfire. Thankfully, it required minimal assistance from me. I just had to make sure that the Cubs showed up wearing straw campfire hats and insect repellant.
The sun hadn’t set but you could already see the moon.
The Swans stood at the entrance to the campfire, singing a welcoming song and ushering the girls to the benches facing the fire.
Quite a few hats sported multicolored feathers that stuck out at odd angles.
I took inventory, counting forty-eight Cubs for at least the twentieth time that day.
Then I searched out Zelda and Hazel. It was difficult finding them under the straw-brimmed hats.
The Swans began teaching camp songs with hand motions while the rest of us followed along.
Everyone was smiling and singing loudly. Correction: everyone but me. This was my kind of activity, being with your girlfriends, sharing joy and camaraderie through song. I felt cheated that I couldn’t get into the spirit.
After the songs, the Swans explained what each feather represented. One by one, each Swan stood and told the group what she had done to earn her colors: taking part in a tournament, scoring a bullseye, being in the play, and numerous other accomplishments.
I noticed only a few hats had an oversized white feather with a bright green tip.
Mindy explained, “Ah, yes, the elusive green tip. It’s given to the camper of the week. There are only eight of those given each summer.”
“Did you ever get one?”
Mindy laughed. “I was way too naughty.”
Marilyn handed the DLs a bag of green feathers to distribute to their bunks.
“You literally get a feather in your cap just for showing up. Which is mandatory.” Mindy laughed and took my hat, ripping the rim so it would fray. “So, tell me, what’re you thinking?”
“How happy Zelda and Hazel are and wondering if I left them here, would they still be happy?”
“Probably, but I’m sure they have some comfort knowing that you’re here.”
She rolled the short sleeves of my white polo and turned my collar up in the same camp chic style she wore hers. She put her hands on her hips, appraising me. “Now you look like you belong here.”
“I wish I felt that way. If it weren’t for my kids, I would’ve left hours ago.”
“If it weren’t for them, you wouldn’t have been here in the first place.”
Sitting on a bunk in the middle of the cabin, I was surrounded by mosquito-bitten children.
“Everyone told me they had bug spray on—what happened?” I asked.
“I guess I missed my ankles.”
“My daddy says I’m so sweet that the bugs bite me anyway.”
“I don’t like the smell.”
I administered Afterbite to pretty much all the campers and a few counselors.
When I finally got all four cabins into pajamas and lights out, I headed straight to Mindy’s room feeling slap happy, my mind going over the day’s events.
I knew who was behind the door by their shoes: Timberlands, Sperrys, Nikes, and Adidas.
I also knew that the two guys weren’t there, no Tevas or Converse.
Kicking off my Pumas I entered quickly, making sure not to let any pesky bugs in.
Mindy sat at her desk, a glass of iced red wine in her hand.
Bethany teetered on the edge of the bed sipping a Prosecco.
Gilda sat opposite her, rocking in the shabby overstuffed chair, twirling her finger in her ice-filled plastic cup of jungle juice while Abby sat on the Ikea rug nibbling from a bowl of Chex Mix.
“Good evening, ladies,” I said as I handed Bethany my bunk reports.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
“Playing nurse to itchy girls takes time. I’m pretty sure some of them pretended to have mosquito bites. I finally get it, they’re in need of a mother’s attention.”
Bethany gave me a knowing smile. “I told you it would start to make sense.”
“What can I pour for you?” Mindy asked.
“I got her covered.” Gilda was already at the mini fridge pulling out the ice tray and tonic.
“We were talking about your crazy day today. I don’t know which part was worse, the bear or our ignoramus of a boss,” Mindy said.
“I would definitely say Jack. With a bear you pretty much know where you stand, while Jack’s—what’s the word I’m looking for—erratic,” Gilda said.