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By Meredith Mead
Spring 2023 Writing Contest Winner
The scent of musty hay and July heat engulfs me as I lean back against the hay bales, sheltered in the safe darkness of the warm barn. Evening sunlight filters in through the few open stalls. It highlights particles of dust hovering in the air, but the corners where its rays can’t reach are dim and comforting. I sniff as I swipe a finger under my eyes, hopefully clearing any mascara that ran. I actually look nice today. My golden hair is braided into two low buns held back with a green floral headscarf. I can’t remember the last time I had time to do my hair or banish the dark circles under my eyes with a layer of foundation.
I look down at the blue message I typed on my phone screen: “I just need a minute.”
Asher’s response, 6:48 pm, reads, “Of course. Take all the time you need.”
He’s considerate like that. Asking how I’m doing. How he can be there for me.
I’m not ready to lose him.
The thought comes almost subconsciously. It’s the only thing I’m really certain of. But regardless of how I feel, we only have two days left together. It feels like just hours ago we were given our assignments for the week, cheered on by our friends as we realized we were going to be partners for Ridgewood Camp’s Senior High program. I can still remember him with his clipboard on Monday, asking everyone to say their names with a concentrated look as he pointed around the circle of our new campers. A laugh escapes me to think of how nervous he was. We’ve come so far since then.
I let out a long breath and hoist myself to my feet. Like it or not, my time is up. I’ve spent twenty minutes in here already. Steeling myself, I put on a brave face, roll back the heavy barn doors, and get back to work. I walk down the dusty path, pulling the red gate shut behind me with a clang. The sun is low in the west, and our team should just be finishing dinner. I’ll make it if I hurry.
“Where are you off to, Marlowe?”
I turn around to see Annica ambling up the path. Her silky black hair is long and loose, and she wears an easy-going smile. I find my own smile returning.
“Dining Hall. You?”
“I’m meeting my team at the firepit.” She tilts her head as she examines me closer. “You all right?”
I wonder if my eyes look as raw as they feel. “Yeah,” I breathe, knowing I don’t have time to elaborate. “Just a lot going on. I’m not ready for the week to end.”
I don’t voice the true reason. I didn’t expect to get so attached.
“Just take it one moment at a time. Enjoy it.” She pulls me in for a hug, and even though I need to go, though I should technically already be there, I don’t protest. I needed a hug, and we both know it.
She starts walking again, angling to my left as I turn down the gravel path to the right. “I’ll see you later, okay? You’re doing so great.”
“Thanks! You too!”
Pebbles crunch under my Chacos as her words echo in my head.
Just take it one moment at a time.
Sighing, I grip my backpack straps as I try to walk faster. There’s nothing else I can do.
I enter the dining hall under the rock arch way and weave my way through crowds of colorful t-shirts to the table where our cabin is sitting. Asher’s saved me a seat, and he looks up as I sit down.
“Doing better?” he asks. His voice carries a tone of concern. Something in me lifts to know he was worried about me.
“I’m good. Thanks for covering for me. I just needed to get my head on straight.”
“You’re doing phenomenal, you know.” His blue eyes fix on me encouragingly.
I smile, a real one this time. “Thanks. You too.”
It’s a good moment, and I try to savor it.
One moment at a time.
But moment by moment, the moments run out. Bonfires and stargazing and Swedish fish. Whispering behind clipboards and breakfast burritos. I live it all, trying to push all thoughts of the next hour, the next day from my mind, but somehow I blink, and it’s Friday night, and our week together is almost over. It’s no longer about moments now. I need every last second.
I walk over to where Asher’s sitting by the fireplace with a blue organizer folder resting on his knees. Olivia sits in a chair next to him. She’s doing paperwork too, but I catch them midlaugh, and my stomach tightens. Her hair is lighter than mine, almost silver. My confidence wavers for a second. Something about her reminds me of the girls I used to pass in the hallways in high school, the ones that used to walk in packs. They’d brush past me rougher than they needed to, which I pretended didn’t bother me since I was already too busy walking and reading to look up anyway. Watching them now, it’s not hard to picture them sitting at a popular cafeteria lunch table. If this were high school, I’d probably never talk to either of them at all.
But this isn’t high school.
Cut it out, I chide myself. We’re all grown-ups here.
Besides, he’s my partner. I contort my face into a relaxed expression and confidently walk up to him.
“How are you doing with your paperwork?” I beam.
He looks up and a brief smile crosses his face. His Monday morning clean shave is filling in with light stubble along his jawline. It will all be gone tomorrow though, stripped clean of any sign of the week’s wear and tear. It’s for the parents, we’re told. Monday and Saturday we glow with curled hair and fresh showers and faces smeared free of flaw. Something about the mascara or the hair gel confirms that we’re professional. We do our jobs.
As if in proof of that, he answers, “I’m almost done actually. Only two camper profiles left, and then I just need to get them signed.”
“Good job! That’s amazing.”
“Thank you!” He bites the end of his pen absentmindedly. “We’re getting there.”
I find my eyes lingering on his face where the scattered brown fuzz is threatening to grow back in. I suddenly realize I don’t want it gone. It’s proof that the week happened. Proof that I came up with all the example stories for challenge courses when he couldn’t think of any. Proof that between the two of us, we managed to coax a pile of twigs into a three-foot-tall blaze when neither of us had started a fire before. Proof that we were a team.
When he shaves tomorrow, it will all be gone.
The thought sends a cold wave rushing down my spine. I try not to shiver. “Well. I’ll leave you to it then.” I turn to go so he can’t see my reaction. “Have a great night.”
He’s already looking back at his paperwork. “You too.”
I expect that’s the end, the end of everything, and tomorrow we’ll go back to our separate lives, but suddenly he says, “Also, Marlowe, could I talk to you tomorrow?”
I blink. In the span of a second, images flash across my eyelids. Us hiking Empire Bluffs. Us blaring “Blinding Lights” with the windows down.
“Yeah, for sure,” comes out of my mouth, but I’m not really seeing him. I’m seeing his hand close around mine as we watch the sun sink behind Lake Michigan. I stammer, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
The night air is cool as I step outside, but I can’t seem to clear my head. I keep my eyes down on the path as I walk back to the cabin where my girls should be in bed. The buzz of caffeine, the rush of too much sugar, and the desperation of little sleep heighten my dizzying emotions into a vortex that feels impossible to disperse. It can’t be. There’s no way. And yet . . .
I need to talk to you.
Without meaning to, my mind drifts back to a counselor meeting earlier this week, wooden chairs around a gas fire pit and blue raspberry slushies and Reynold Palmer, our camp director, teasing the guys about their lack of first moves. “Someone here asked me just this morning for permission to ask a girl out,” he announced. “The rest of you need to catch up!”
I hate it. Hate the way my heart soared when I heard Palmer’s words. The hope I felt.
It’s me. Finally, it’s me.
I squash the thought as soon as it rises, just like I did at the counselor meeting. No, it’s not me. It’s never me. Love stories are handed to girls with platinum highlights and LuLuLemon belt bags, not the one with book character bracelets up her wrists and the entire Harry Potter series on the cabin windowsill. Fairy tales aren’t forged at a summer camp.
But then again, who else could it be? I run through the other Senior High teams in my head. None of them have the kind of connection Asher and I have. I think of his intentional texts, highlighting the specific things I’d done well and encouraging me when I was beyond exhaustion. The respect in his eyes when I spoke to him, hanging on every word like my ideas were not only valid, but the best ones he’d ever heard. He said I was doing phenomenal. Phenomenal. Never before had I been told I was phenomenal. I can still feel his arm around me when we sat in the dying light of the campfire flames . . .
Tears prick the corner of my eyes. The pavement below me glistens, wet from the sprinklers and glinting in the light of the nearby lampposts. The moisture in my eyes only blurs it more. I hug my arms to my chest as I walk, trying desperately to delete the thought that tomorrow I’m going to lose him.
Trying to eliminate the hope that maybe I just might get to keep him.
I reach the door of the log cabin and my heart sinks when I see light through the frosted plexiglass. My girls are still awake. A part of me was hoping for darkness and everyone asleep in their beds so I could just slip inside unnoticed. It’s an irrational hope though. It’s their last night of camp, and they’re reasonably excited. I open the squeaky door and step onto the thin, green carpet. I see several heads peeking out of sleeping bags, but most girls are still getting ready for bed. I join them in the white tiled bathroom.
“Hey, Marlowe!” they chorus.
“Hey, guys!” Any trace of my confusion vanishes like I snapped my fingers. “We gotta hurry up, it’s nearly midnight, and if Night Watch sees us with the lights on . . . ”
“But it’s the last night!” Alana wails.
“But if they catch us, I’m the one who has to clean a bus!” I laugh.
“It is the last night though,” says Lexi, a brunette volleyball player going into senior year. “We can ask you any question now, and you have to answer.”
Right. It’s a Ridgewood tradition. Somehow with everything going on, I’d forgotten. I really don’t want to talk about this right now, but with a dramatic sweep of my hand, I say, “Ask away.”
Immediately, Alana asks, “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.” I know what’s coming next. I hastily grab my face wash from off the counter.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” someone shouts. I can’t tell who because I stick my face under the faucet so I don’t have to look at them. I hate this question. It always makes me feel so defensive like I have to surround my answer with soldiers and barbed wire to justify it.
“No,” I say with my head in the sink. “I just haven’t found anyone yet. I’m waiting for the right person.”
I hate how Asher’s face appears in front of me. I squeeze my eyes shut and rinse the cleanser off my cheeks. No more questions. Please, no more questions.
Without a boyfriend, I must not be interesting anymore because the subject changes.
“I’m going to miss everyone so much,” Lexi laments. “Seriously, I’ve never had such an amazing brother cabin!”
Without a second thought, I declare, “It’s because of Asher.”
Shoot. For a second, I’m terrified I said too much, that I showed my true feelings, but then I realize they’ve seen his character all week. They know who he is. Emboldened, I continue. “Guys, you don’t know how lucky we got with him. I’ve worked with tons of guys here, but I’ve never had anyone else treat me so respectfully. He set such a good example all week for how his guys should act toward you girls. It’s no wonder they’ve all picked up on it.”
Lexi nods vigorously. “You’re right! He is so respectful!”
The girls echo my thoughts, but I’m not listening because I finally realize why I’m so taken with Asher—he treats me like I’m his equal. Going into the week, I half expected him to be the dominating male, unintentionally taking over or insisting on having the final say. But more often than not, he turns to me to make the final call, sometimes even before voicing his own thoughts. How can I not fall for him when he looks at me like I’m the most brilliant person he’s ever met? When he treats me like I’m something of value?
Somehow I feel worse than before. I’m dreading the morning more than ever. I methodically brush my teeth and crash onto my stiff mattress. I pull the comforter with faded purple flowers over my head and bury myself in darkness. Sleep. Now. I won’t get enough as it is.
It feels like barely minutes later when the sickly flute notes of my alarm cut through what little rest I managed to steal. 7 am. The week is practically done already, but I force myself to smile my brightest as I help bring suitcases to the welcome center, clean the carpet with the smoke-belching vacuum, and walk into breakfast. Chew a cinnamon roll too dry and too sticky that threatens to cement my mouth shut. Orange juice. Swallow. Smile.
Breakfast ends, but my body feels like it’s somewhere else. Everything seems distant and muffled, lost in the rush of emotions I’m not allowed to show. As I walk to the welcome center, my body goes on autopilot. I sign out my girls to their enthusiastic parents with parting hugs and variations of “we had such a good week!” until everyone is gone, and I can take my first real breath. There. Another week finished. Two days from now, it will start all over again.
But for now, he wants to talk to me. Trying to keep my hope at bay, I scan the sea of blue staff shirts until I spot his dusty hair in the crowd. I shoulder my way past dads dragging suitcases and Junior campers dueling with PVC pipe light sabers. I reach Asher and smile. Real this time.
“We did it,” I say, slightly breathless. I raise my hand for a high five and he returns it with a grin. Our hands clap together with a satisfying smack.
“Dude, you killed it this week!” he says.
Not hoping. Not hoping. “Thanks,” I reply. “You did too.”
He runs a tired hand through his hair. “I need sleep so bad. Paperwork took me longer than I thought. I didn’t get it done until like two.”
I can barely hear him over the bass of the worship speakers and the hum of surrounding conversations, but I groan laughingly. “No! That’s the worst! Dude, I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got all weekend.”
Yes, the weekend. “Last night you said you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I just wanted to say it was so great being with you this week, and—”
Suddenly the Church Clap starts blaring, cranked to full volume, and campers drop their rolled sleeping bags to dance one last time, and I can see his mouth moving, but the words don’t reach my ears. I can only meet his blue eyes, nodding as if I understand and trying not to cry as the words I so desperately need to hear are swallowed by the engulfing sound and thrown away. He pulls me in for a hug, and all at once I realize it doesn’t matter what wonderful things he said about me, because I know what he means. The light way he holds me says it all. I’m awesome. Great partner this week. He’ll see me around . . .
We break apart, and I muster one last smile. “See you at Staff Assignments,” I say.
He lifts a hand in a wave. And just like that, it’s over.
#
It’s been an hour. Maybe two. I sit on a rotting log surrounding an old campfire pit by the lake. Tears slice through the foundation on my cheeks. My eyeliner, so perfect for check out, smears my eyes as I crush my bunched up rain jacket to my chest. The embroidered pine tree logo cuts into my face, but I hardly notice. All I can see is Asher the moment we got this week’s assignments, high fiving another blonde girl, his new partner, like our week never happened. Like he never told me I was phenomenal.
Lunch is long over, but the thought of wilty salads and staring faces drove the hunger away. There’s only one person I want to see. Her footsteps crunch on the leafy path behind me as Annica crosses over to the log and sits down beside me. I don’t try to hold it together anymore. I bury my head against her matching navy staff jacket, and she holds me to her chest.
Wrapped in her arms, I feel like a small child. My face is hidden in her grasp, and passersby won’t see my red eyes and tousled hair anymore because she shields me and holds me and lets me weep.
I’ve cried so long already, and yet there seems to be no end, no running dry. I think of the novels I’ve read and the heartbreak heroines felt. Somehow it always seemed overdone. Not until this moment can I say I’ve experienced it too. There are no words to describe it, the heaviness in my chest, the weight that feels like it will never lift. I want to make it stop. I keep searching for the switch to turn it off, but I can’t find it. It’s vanished, just like all the hopes I never should have entertained. I was stupid, stupid to even think he liked me, stupid to think I was anything of value to him, to anyone, and stupid to—
All at once, the world stands still.
I can still feel Annica’s arms, but it’s like I’ve taken a step back. Left my body.
I’m standing in the rushes at the edge of the water watching two girls sitting on a damp log. The shorter one is cradled by a friend with long, black hair. In some ways, the picture isn’t new. It’s a scene that’s played over and over in story after story, the heartbreak mirrored in millions of eyes. It could be any of them, but as I watch, the scene in front of me morphs into a dark castle tower. A flock of yellow birds cut the dim lighting, hovering above two teenagers sitting on the cold, stone steps. The tower window shows a bleak November night, and distant echoes of a forgotten party can be heard over the girl’s soft cries. Her head rests on her friend’s shoulder, crushing her curly hair as she clutches his arm, and tear stains wet his blue flannel. Her question still burns in the air, not quite hidden by the sound of sifting snow.
How does it feel, Harry, when you see Dean with Ginny?
I know. I’ve seen the way you look at her. You’re my best friend.
Watching myself, so small, so helpless, watching Annica rock me gently, I hear Harry’s voice as he takes Hermione’s hand, lets out a long breath, and says, “It feels like this.”