Camp #7
by Jack Swenson
"Swan Lake, Camp #7" it says on the sign. I've been invited to stay for a few days by my friend Phil. "Well, la dee da!" my mother says when I tell her. No peasants need apply.
Everybody at the camp is a doctor or a lawyer. Phil's mom is a Baker or a Wright, I forget which. That's why they got voted in.
We kids horse around in the water most of the day. Swim, skip stones, get a suntan.
Phil's little brothers play on the shore with tin buckets and shovels. Phil and I swim. We throw rocks in the water and dive for them. See how long we can hold our breath.
One afternoon the kids from next door come over. Marion is our age, Jimmy a year younger. Marion's pretty. I can't even look at her. Her laugh is full of sunshine.
Phil splashes water on Marion, and Marion yips and splashes him back. I'm standing in waist deep water, and Jim sneaks in behind me and tugs down my swimming trunks. I quick pull my trunks up and duck Jim's head under water. He comes up spluttering. He's mad as a wet hen. "We don't do that sort of thing out here!" he screeches.
When Jim and Marion are gone, I explain to Phil's mom what happened. It's all right, she says.
I feel awful. I want to go home. I look around, and I no longer recognize the place.
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Author's Note
Childhood memory. Yuk.
Ouch. painful. From communal heaven to isolated hell, exposed as the outsider.
"We don't do that sort of thing here!"
Not knowing the rules, THINKING you did, but not...
"Well, la dee da!" my mother says when I tell her."
I like the suggestion of betrayal here. The narrator really is on his own.
Another good one.
Should it be, "I quickly pulled my trunks up and dunked Jim's head under water."
Beautifully told tale of childhood nirvana turning to angst. There is so much purity to that last paragraph, it nails the protagonist, and who he will become as a man
Enjoyed this piece, Jack. Nice imagery here.
Nice, Jack. Amazing sometimes how the things that embarrassed or hurt still do.
Oh to be included, and then to find out inclusion sometimes stinks! ""We don't do that sort of thing out here!""
Think perhaps No peasants need apply, should perhaps be spoken by his mother?
Sentences punching me in a good way. Left, right, center, on the button, the nose. I never looked away all the way through to that last grand sentence. That first paragraph is rhythm perfect, too, by the way.
I love this... 'No peasants need apply', 'Mad as a wet hen'... I want to see a series of this - what a great, fun read right up to the painful part... and now you've left me feeling like an anxious child. Beautiful piece. Very skilful.
An understated Jack Swenson story supreme. Not one word out of place. No dramatics. You pulled me into the water, Jack. Favorite indeed.