Thursday September 21, 1995

"Julie lives upstairs." Mark said to me after I'd finished putting my clothes away, "Do you wanna go up?"

"Sure." I said, agreeably. Mark and Julie had been a couple for years and were always together. No point in changing that now.

"All the girls live on this floor," he explained as we headed up the stairs, "fourteen in all. Not too bad, huh?"

I told him that compared to the six guys living on the floor below that was pretty damn good.

"Good," he laughed, "Maybe you'll meet someone."

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye to see what he meant by that but I couldn't tell by the look on his face.

I decided to change the subject, "I didn't realize so many people would be involved."

"Yeah, well, when you think about it; how many people would like to move away from home for the summer, out into the beautiful wilderness, and make seventeen bucks an hour to put some food on a few kids' plates?" he asked, "Quite a few. I was never really interested in summer camp when I was young but now it's a whole new perspective, you know what I mean?"

I nodded, "I guess it's just an added bonus having Julie here."

"It's an added bonus having Julie here," he agreed.

We reached the second floor of the staff building. Girls flooded up and down the hall, in and out of open doors in packs and droves. We stopped at room 283.

"Knock, knock," Mark called out before entering.

Julie, who sat on one of four beds, smiled up at him, "thought you'd gotten lost." she replied.

He grinned, "Nope, here I am. How are your roommates?"

"Cynthia, Phoenix and Candace," she listed them off on her fingers, "So far only Cynthia and Phoenix are here. I heard Candace might not be coming."

"Lucky for you," Mark said, sitting down beside her on the bed and leaving me to stand in the doorway by myself, "Too many roommate can be annoying."

"How true," Julie agreed.

Someone emerged from a closed door in the room that I hadn't noticed before. She wore a pair of flannel pants and slippers. Her short dark hair was wet.

"This is Phoenix," Julie introduced, "This is Mark and--"

"I know you," she interrupted, staring hard at me, "Your uncle owns this place."

I nodded, "That's right."

She went on to tell me that my uncle and her father played golf together often.

"That's fine." I replied.

She frowned at me but Mark only laughed, "Everything's fine to you."

I shrugged and smiled easily at Phoenix. She smiled back.

Another girl emerged from the doorway with a towel over her head. She had freckles across her nose and was wearing a fuzzy robe.

"I guess you're the infamous Mark," she said to Mark. Her voice was low and kind of husky. I immediately liked it.

"That's me." Mark replied, grinning, "You must be Cynthia."

She nodded and turned to me. Mark introduced us. She repeated my name slowly.

"So who do you belong to?" she asked me.

"I'm sorry?"

She sighed, "Who do you belong to? Mark belongs to Julie, Phoenix belongs to that guy Merrick down in 174 and Candace belongs to some guy back in her home town."

I nodded.

"So who do you belong to?" she repeated.

"He doesn't belong to anyone." Mark answered for me.

"Well, you can belong to me then," she decided.

"That's fine." I replied.

I noticed Julie and Mark exchange a glance.

That night we had a staff meeting. Afterwards all the employees went to the lake to build a fire and complain about our supervisor, Mike.

"I mean, he totally made it sound like we came her to just slack off and do nothing." one girl named Marie said, "I mean, as if."

"He's gonna work us like dogs." Mark offered, glumly.

"I know!" another girl, Jennifer agreed, "Did you see that list of chores?"

"It's not fair!" Marie pouted, "Now I wish I hadn't accepted this job."

"I think it's pretty easy work for seventeen bucks an hour." Cynthia said, coming to sit next to me, "At any regular job we'd be making minimum wage."

Everyone lapsed into a brooding silence. Of course, Cynthia was right. It seemed like Cynthia was right about everything. Tonight her fiery red hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked very serene.

Mark changed the subject, "So where are you from?" he asked Marie who launched into a detailed description of her home town. Cynthia turned to me.

So did you leave a girlfriend back at home?" she asked.

"No."

It was the truth.

"But..." she prompted.

"I have an ex-girlfriend." I replied, wondering why I was bringing this up.

"Why ex?" she inquired, leaning in closer.

"It just wasn't working out." I replied, leaning back.

"Who broke it off?" she continued.

"I did."

"Do you regret it now?"

"Not at all."

Lie. Not that I do regret it. I'm honestly not sure how I feel about the whole situation. Sometimes I'm glad it's over and sometimes I miss her so much it's all I can do to stop from calling her and begging her to come back.

She nodded and I could tell she knew I wasn't telling the truth.

"Do you want to walk on the beach?" she asked.

"That would be fine." I said, rising and helping her up.

No one noticed us leave. We walked so far away that the campfire was just a flicker in the distance. She pulled the elastic from her hair and it sprang out in all directions. She tossed it easily out of her face. Nothing like Rachel's hair. Hers was bone straight and always long and flowing. She never tossed it out of her face.

Cynthia smiled at me, "Will you be returning to her after the ten weeks her are done?" she asked, as if we hadn't stopped talking about it at all.

"I don't know." I replied, honestly.

Satisfied with that answer, she stooped down and pulled off her shoes, "Did you know that Alan Thycke sand the theme song for Different Strokes?"

I shook my head.

"Do you sing?" she asked, tiptoeing into the water's edge.

"Not well." I replied. I took off my shoes too.

"Me either." She looked back at me, hair blowing in the breeze, grey eyes flashing, "Should we sing?"

I joined her, wading in the water and nodded.

We sang. We sang old Disney movie classics. Her voice was a lot better than mine and she would scrunch up her nose when she sang particular notes. She held my hand and stood on my toes. She smiled at me and I smiled back, and it was just fine.

"Way to go," Mark congratulated me, "Scored on the first day!"

I hung my head over the side of the bed and looked up at him.

"I hardly scored." I replied.

I heard the bed creak as he turned to look down at me.

"Looked like you scored to me," he commented, "What's she like?"

"She's fine." I replied, picturing her in my mind.

"More than fine." Mark added, "She's a definite switch from Rachel, isn't she?"

"Yes."

More than a switch. She was a breath of fresh air. It was nice to be with someone who wasn't moody and brooding all the time. It was refreshing to hang with a girl whose disposition didn't change with the cycle of the moon or with the season or with whatever was on t.v. that night. Everything about Cynthia was free and open. She didn't analyze everything or try to figure everything out before they happened. She didn't want to talk about our relationship all the time, she just wanted to hang out and have fun.

I didn't feel guilty when I was out with her.

"I guess I like Cynthia better," Mark said, tentatively, as though he was wondering how I would react.

"That's fine." I replied.

He shifted again and I could hear him turn over to go to sleep, "I like Cynthia better, but you'll probably end up with Rachel in the long run," he said quietly.

I didn't reply.

I thought of Cynthia, upstairs in room 283. She was probably asleep by now, her wild read hair all over the place. As I fell asleep I heard her voice and smelled her hair. So unlike Rachel's.

A week went by before I got to see Cynthia again. The week had been hectic. Julie's third roommate had finally arrived but had gotten food poisoning and spent the entire week in bed or in the bathroom. Everyone was cranky.

After the dinner rush on Friday Cynthia slipped me a folded piece of paper. I opened it and read it quickly:

I watched her walk out of the kitchen, her long hair tucked into a hair net and suddenly I was hit with a wave of homesickness. Actually it was more a wave of Rachel-sickness. Rachel always wrote me small notes and she would always sign them "Truly Rachel" as though she could ever be "Partially Rachel" or "Artificially Rachel". Missed those notes now.

That night Mark and Julie argued. They argued in our room, right in front of me. It began to get ugly so I left. I went up to Cynthia's room but the door was closed. I decided to go for a walk on the shore.

For the second time that day I suffered a bout of Rachel-sickness. I also felt racked with guilt. I hadn't called her before I left to say good-bye. I hadn't even given her an exact date when I was leaving or coming back. What was even worse was I couldn't think of one good reason why I hadn't. No explanation at all. I knew I had to call her soon. If she didn't hate me yet, it was only a matter of time before she did.

Funny how I'd been the one to break up with her but I still spent so much time thinking about her.

I fell asleep on the shore. By the time I woke up the water was lapping gently at the bottom of my shoes. I looked up and Cynthia sat there, watching me.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"Just fine." I replied.

I sat up beside her and she leaned up against me.

"You don't belong to me after all," she commented, matter-of-factly.

"Not yet." I agreed.

"What's her name?"

"Rachel." I replied, "Her name is Rachel."

"What's she like?" Cynthia asked me.

"She's fine."

"Of course she is," Cynthia said, seemingly annoyed, "Let's not talk about her anymore."

"Fine." I agreed.

Cynthia squatted in front of me. Her hair hung past her shoulders; I could almost touch it.

"I was jealous just now," she remarked.

I nodded.

"I once had a boyfriend who told me I was too aloof, that I never felt anything or I wouldn't express how I felt," she continued, "He was right. Some emotions are counter-productive. Jealousy is one."

"Sometimes you can't help it." I replied.

She leaned in closer, "I don't ever want to feel that again."

I didn't lean back, "That's fine."

She kissed me then. I looked at her in surprise when it was over. Her kiss had been light, feathery, just barely a kiss. It had been a Rachel kiss. Rachel kissed me that way just after we'd discussed something heavy or important. Then she'd cup my chin in her hand and watch me for a few minutes. It had been a Rachel kiss.

I had expected Cynthia's to be more definite, more concrete, like everything else about her. I had expected to let my fingers get tangled in her long hair, not to barely touch her at all. I had expected her lips to be more demanding; not Rachel-lips.

She noted my surprise, "Can we go back to your room?" she asked me.

"Julie and Mark will be there." I replied, still thinking about the kiss.

She shook her head, "They went into town. I think they needed to get away. Things here are getting crazy."

"Maybe we should get away too." I suggested, wistfully.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

I shrugged, "I don't know," I replied, "Let's go to my room."

We ran all the way back, we barged through the door and collapsed on the bed without bothering to turn on the light. Cynthia and I made love that night.

It was strange being with someone else after all that time. Cynthia was so different. It didn't last long and we didn't say much. She wasn't very vocal. Not bad, just different.

Afterward, she positioned herself beside me. We sat in silence for a long time.

"Are you asleep?" she finally asked.

"No."

I felt the need to say something.

"I really like you, Cynthia."

"Don't." Her voice sounded raw.

"Why shouldn't I like you?" I asked, turning toward her in the darkness. I searched for her hand and found something else. She smacked my hand away.

"I meant don't say that you do," she explained, "Because I know it's not true."

"Why do you think that?" I asked.

"Girls know," she replied, simply.

"Oh." I said into the darkness, "I'm not sure I believe that."

"No?" she replied, "What colour are my eyes?"

I turned toward her in the darkness but couldn't see a thing. I remained silent.

"Now what colour are Rachel's eyes?"

The most beautiful, warmest, deepest brown eyes I'd ever seen. Sometimes camouflaged by glasses. Always sparkling.

"Well, they're brown, I guess." I replied, quietly.

"Of course they are," she said, "Mine are grey."

"I've looked into her eyes a lot more than I've looked into yours." I offered.

"I'll bet you remembered hers after you first met her," Cynthia said, not the least bit annoyed.

I thought back but couldn't remember. I figured I probably had.

She shifted so she was right up against me. Her hand found mine. I could feel her hair against my face and shoulder.

"Will you be returning to her after these nine weeks are done?" she asked me again.

"I don't know what I'll do."

"That's fine," she replied. We slept then.

By the next morning Cynthia was gone and Mark was back. His head hung over the edge of the top bunk as he waited for me to wake up.

"Sleep well?" he grinned.

I grinned back, "Just fine. How was your night?"

His face clouded over, "It wasn't to fantastic. Julie and I nearly broke up."

I raised my eyebrows at him. I hadn't realized it was that serious, "What happened?"

He shrugged, "She thought I was starting to like Emily in 274."

"Were you?" I asked him, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

"Yes," he admitted, "But not enough to dump Julie."

"No?"

"No," he concluded, "I mean, just because I'm with Julie doesn't mean I'm dead. I'm allowed to find other girls attractive, aren't I?"

"You can do anything you like." I replied.

"Right," he agreed, "I just told her I knew I had a good thing and I wasn't about to throw it away on a whim, you know?"

"She believe that?"

"No," he replied, glumly, "I'm pretty much in the dog house."

"Sound's more like the snake pit." I commented, "What will you do?"

"I dunno. I hate it when she's mad a t me," he whined, "What do you think I should do?"

I shrugged. I had a lot of practice at getting Rachel to forgive me. It seemed as though she was always getting angry at me for something. But the strangest thing was the simplest thing appeased her. Flowers and gifts didn't do anything. Complex apologies meant nothing. But one time I just came by her house and told her, "I'm just a jerk" and she agreed and hugged me.

Somehow I doubted that would work with Julie.

"Buy her flowers." I offered, and headed off towards the shower.

The phone rang five times before she picked it up.

"Hello!" She sounded out of breath.

"Hello," I greeted cheerfully, "How are you?"

Pause.

Pause.

"I'm okay." She sounded cold, "And you?"

"Fine," I said, "What's new back home?"

"Not much," she answered, non-commitingly.

"The camp's a lot of fun," I went on.

"I'm sure," she replied.

"They work us like slaves," I continued, "Not a spare moment to ourselves all day. I sneaked away to make this phone call. I've been eaten by mosquitoes and black flies. Still, it's good money."

Pause.

Pause.

"I miss you terribly." I admitted. It was the truth.

Her voice finally softened, "I'm sure," she said again.

"Aren't you missing me yet?" I continued, cheerfully, "It seems as though I've been here forever, doesn't it?"

"I guess it does," she replied, softly.

She sounded so distant, so detached.

"Can't wait to see you." I offered.

Pause.

"You'll find something to pass the time, I'm sure," she replied.

No way she could know about Cynthia. Unless she'd heard the guilt in my voice.

"I'm sure." I replied.

Pause.

Pause.

"Aren't you missing me yet?" I asked her again.

"When are you coming home?" she ignored my question.

"Nine more weeks." I said, feigning sadness, "Much too long."

Pause.

"I didn't call before I left." I pointed out.

"No, you didn't," she agreed.

"I guess I'm just a jerk?" I asked her. It had worked before.

I heard her smile over the phone, "I guess you are."

"Can I call you when I get home?" I asked her, "You'll be there?"

"I'll be here," she confirmed.

"And I can come over to see you?"

"That would be fine," she mocked me, "Just fine."

I grinned, "Aren't you missing me yet?" I asked her for the third time.

"Terribly," she said.

Satisfied, I said good-bye and hung up.

I felt good again; the way I used to feel about her, in the beginning of relationship. And I had missed her, despite the circumstances now. My sweet Rachel.

Cynthia and I were together nearly every night. We were often pressed for a place to go and since neither of us had brought a car we had to be very creative. We did it every place imaginable. We did it every way imaginable. She was so free and uninhibited. Being with her was so different than being with Rachel. Not better. Just different.

One night as we lay on the beach I said to her, "I think this is the most sex I've ever had in my life."

"How old were you the first time?" she asked me.

"Fourteen." I replied, "But it was nothing like this."

She rolled over so she was lying on her side, facing me, "Well, enjoy it because in another few weeks it'll be done."

I tangled my hands in her hair, "It doesn't have to be."

"I know that," she leaned up on one elbow, "But it will be."

"Why?" I closed my eyes.

"Things'll be different."

"It's only a half hour distance." I calculated.

"Things'll be different," she repeated.

She got up and straddled me. I opened my eyes to watch. God, she was beautiful.

"Rachel will be back in the picture," she finished.

"How do you know?" I asked her.

She shrugged, "Girls know."

"Oh." was all I said.

"Don't you miss her?" she wanted to know.

"I thought we weren't going to talk about her." I shut my eyes again.

"Not talking about her won't make it go away," she pointed out.

"It might." I grinned. I pulled her down to me and found her lips. We kissed for what seemed like a long time.

She broke away, "I really like being with you," she said, "I'll miss you when this is over."

"I'll miss you too."

"Should we sing?" she asked me, her grey eyes sparkling.

We sang camp songs. She sang loud and clear as we did it again. She laughed like a child as we rolled on the shore.

I only thought of Rachel once.

By the time the ten weeks at the camp were done not much had been resolved.

Rachel had called once but I had been too afraid to return her call because I had a premonition it was bad news, I don't know why.

Julie and Mark had officially broken up. He skulked around the room all the time and at work in the kitchen the two of them pretended the other didn't exist. Watching them was depressing. Mostly I hung out with Cynthia.

Cynthia informed me that she had no intention of continuing the relationship after we left the camp. I didn't object although I wanted to. I knew it would be impossible to see them both; there was no way Rachel would go for that. But I didn't want it to end with Cynthia either. I guess it was selfish of me but I had reason to be selfish, didn't I? I felt good with Cynthia so why should I just throw that away?

On the last day at the camp I met Cynthia on the lakeshore.

She was wearing cutoffs and a "Staff" T-shirt. Her hair was loose and blew wildly in the wind. She was gazing up at he sky which had clouded over and darkened. The lake looked choppy.

"Looks like it's gonna rain." I commented, coming up behind her.

"Good thing were leaving now," she replied, looking me straight in the eyes, "Before it gets too wild."

I nodded.

She turned back towards the lake, "Are you excited to go home?"

I shrugged, "Not really. After all, it's just me and my mom. And she gets on my nerves."

"Poor Mom," she giggled, "She just loves you."

" I know." I agreed, "Just sometimes it's too much, y'know?"

"No," she sighed, "I've never loved anyone too much."

"Maybe you will." I offered, "Love has a way of sneaking up on you."

She shook her head, sending her hair in a perfect wave of fiery red fury. I caught a tendril in my hand.

"I don't think I'd want to," she concluded, turning to face me. I nodded, "Well, that's fine." I said.

"She's a lucky girl," she said, cupping my face in her hands.

"She seems to think so," I replied, "I guess I never really realized how lucky I was until just now."

"Will you go back to her when you get back?" she asked me, smiling.

I nodded, "Yes, I guess I will."

She nodded back, satisfied, "That's fine," she replied, "Just fine."

"I'll call you." I offered.

"No, you won't," she countered. She kicked off her shoes and began to wade into the lake.

"How do you know that?" I asked her retreating back.

She shrugged, "Girls know."

I sighed, "Yeah, I guess they do."

She turned back to me, grey eyes sparkling, red hair blowing wildly, "Should we sing?" she asked.

We sang Puff the Magic Dragon. I waded into the lake too and we kissed. Afterwards she smiled up at me.

"I guess, in a way you do belong to me after all," she said, "What do you think?"

"I think that's just fine." I grinned.

That's how I left her, standing in the lakeshore, her hair billowing out around her shoulders, her grey eyes laughing for me.

She was right. In a way, I did belong to her.

The ride home was a long one. Mark slouched in his seat and sulked over Julie. I tried to cheer him up by telling him she just needed a little time to decide what she wanted. He ignored me. After a while I just gave up.

On the way home I didn't think of Rachel once. All my thoughts were on Cynthia. I was having second thoughts.

Why should I stay with Rachel when Cynthia and I got along so well? Cynthia was never moody, she never hated me for no reason. I wasn't miserable when I was with Cynthia. I was alive and happy and everything seemed perfect. And a half hour wasn't that much. I could buy my own car now and go to see her any time.

By the time the bus pulled in to the station, I had pretty much convinced myself that Rachel was old news. Cynthia was the one for me, and if not her then someone else. Anyone but Rachel. I resolved not to even call her when I got home.

We unloaded the bus and Mark went to call a cab. I waited in the station for him.

Rachel was there.

I saw her before she saw me so I watched her for a few moments. Same old Rachel. The summer had been good to her. She looked tanned and in shape. She seemed taller somehow, more confident. Her hair was brushed away from her face. She was playing with her necklace the way she'd always done, ever since I'd known her.

And then I knew why I would stay with her although she was moody and on occasion just plain mean. It was love.

I went over to her and smiled. She smiled back.

"Didn't think you'd show up here." I commented.

"I got the feeling you weren't going to call me after all," she replied.

How did she know?

"Camp was good to you," she said.

"Thanks." I replied.

We watched each other for a few moments.

"What will we do?" I asked her.

She shrugged, "Nothing I guess," she replied, "I can't be with you like this. And you have no idea what you want."

"I want you." I said, simply. It was the truth.

"This summer you wanted someone else," she reminded me.

"How did you know about that?" I blurted, stupidly. Now I couldn't even deny it.

She looked sad.

"Girls know." was the standard answer.

"Well, I'm sick of girls knowing everything and guys knowing nothing." I said, grumpily, "We could start again."

"I would love that," she said, and there were tears in her eyes, "I would love to start again."

I felt my heart actually break as I listened to the hurt in her voice. It was an actual physical pain.

"Let's." I said.

She shook her head, "You don't want me," she stated and the tears spilled down her cheeks, "And I don't want you like this."

"Like what?" I asked her.

"Someone else's guy," she replied.

"I'm not seeing her anymore." I offered.

"In a few weeks it'll be someone else."

I sighed, "So is that it then?"

"Yes," she said, sadly but firmly, "That's it."

We stood inside the bus terminal watching each other. Mark hovered in the background unsure of whether to approach us.

"I missed you over the summer." I said for no particular reason.

"I missed you more," she replied.

She cupped my chin in her hands as Cynthia had done that morning, "Will we be okay?" she asked.

I was startled by her question. Didn't girls know?

I nodded to her, "Yes," I replied, although I wasn't at all sure, "We'll be fine."

She smiled at me then. Rachel has a beautiful smile. She hadn't had to wear braces to get it either. It was just perfect naturally. Her warm brown eyes smiled sadly at me.

At last, she turned away and then she walked away. And then she was gone. My sweet Rachel.

I watched her go before I picked up the rest of my bags; I didn't even look back once as I headed off to the cab to go home.

Copyright 2000 Halima Thompson

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