I never really enjoyed going to camp growing up, so I'm not sure why I made the decision in the spring of 1995 to become a counselor that summer. I suppose I could blame it on pressure from my parents to get a summer job, or my dad's insistence that being a counselor could teach me valuable leadership skills before my freshman year of college began that fall. I was about to graduate high school, and the thought of working at a camp and spending a lot of time outdoors and having fun sounded like a much better alternative to working in a burger joint or department store, so I reluctantly agreed. Between that point and the start of summer, I wondered if I had made a bad decision, but I had already made my commitment and I was brought up to believe that keeping one's commitments is important.
During the last few weeks of anticipating summer, I cycled through memories of having been a camper at Faith Falls Christian Camp, which is located in scenic southeastern Pennsylvania. I had trouble finding the good memories among all the sad and depressing ones. I had never been one to make friends easily, and usually the weeklong camp session was not long enough to make any real friends, at least not the kind that you stay in any sort of contact with. So, for the most part, I spent that week each summer feeling lonely and bored, watching the other kids and wishing that I could be a part of a group, one of the "normal" kids that seemed to fit in so easily. To make matters worse, many of the other guys in my cabin would find girlfriends for the week --dubbed "The Great Camp Hook-Up," though generally the "hooking up" consisted of no more than hand-holding and maybe a kiss-- and girls didn't seem to be at all interested in me. I was a pale, awkward kid with no fashion sense or confidence with girls, and though I always hoped there would be a girl at camp who would see through that, it never happened during those many years I attended Faith Falls as a camper.
By the time I graduated high school, I had yet to have had a girlfriend or to have been on a real date. The only "date" I had been on was a double date --a blind date for me-- set up by my best friend Steve and his girlfriend, Tara, who was from another town and attended a different school. They tried to hook me up with her friend Gina, but about fifteen minutes into our date --which consisted of bowling and going to Burger King-- I felt like there was no chance of us connecting on any real level. She was a fairly "typical" girl, interested in the normal, trendy things that I either had trouble keeping up with or ignored. She was pretty, but she seemed to exhibit few traces of a personality. She mostly chewed her gum, talked to Tara, and stared blankly into space. I tried to be funny for her, but she didn't react to it and my confidence was quickly shattered. Tara laughed at my jokes, though, and to this day sometimes I wonder if she and I would have made a good couple. She and Steve broke up not long after that, due to his being a jerk to her half the time, and unfortunately I never saw her again.
I arrived at Faith Falls Christian Camp about two weeks before the first group of campers were to show up. There was a lot of cleaning and organizing to do, as well as some training for the counselors and staff. You had to be eighteen or older to work at the camp, and at eighteen I was one of the younger ones. Many of them had previous experience as well, and they didn't seem too eager to help me learn the ropes. When I was a camper, my memories of the counselors was mostly of them being caring individuals, but apparently they're not that way to you when you're a fellow counselor. This is a lesson I learned on the first day.
For that first evening at the camp, after a day of cleaning cabins, repairing the obstacle course, and who knows what else, the administrators held a "mixer" for the counselors and staff, with barbecue, easy-listening Christian music, and a lot of laughing and conversation. It became clear to me that many of these people already knew each other; either that or they were quick to make strong friendships. I ate at a table by myself, trying to look nonchalant but secretly watching the interactions of the other counselors. Most of the other guys were tan, in shape, and confident, and the girls were tan, pretty, and flirty. I wondered how it seemed so easy for people like them to carry themselves, wearing the right clothes, saying the right things, using the right posture. Every move I made was self-conscious in some way, and when I looked at myself in the mirror I saw a guy who didn't seem to be comfortable in his own skin. I felt like the clothes I wore were outdated and awkward, my skin was blemished and oily, and I slouched too much. No wonder no one wants to talk to you, I thought. No wonder girls don't want to date you, and guys don't want to be friends with you. These phrases were like a mantra to me, and they repeated in my head as I sat there alone in the corner, eating barbecue chicken and drinking weak fruit drink and wondering which of the girls I would want as my girlfriend if I could have any of them.
My eyes traveled from girl to girl, and for the most part I would say to myself, "Out of my league," and move on to the next. One of the girls I looked at and quickly wrote off for that reason was Hannah Rose, who stood in a group with several other girls. On that night she wore a ponytail, a baggy red shirt, and basketball shorts that accentuated her curves. She was stunningly beautiful, and that was enough of a reason for my mind to write her off. My eyes soon settled on Jessica Harper, who was not overly attractive but she had a pretty face and what looked like a new perm. I felt that she was probably the only girl in the room I might have a chance with --and who the other guys might not swarm over before I even had an opportunity to introduce myself-- so, for the moment, she became my focus.
The next day, as we were scrubbing the canoes down by the lake, I made an effort to be as close to Jessica Harper as I could. When she looked in my direction, I nervously introduced myself.
"Hi, I'm Tim," I said, holding my hand out to shake. Jessica looked at my hand and kind of smirked.
"I'm Jessica," she said reluctantly, but she didn't shake my hand. She turned away and went back to what she was doing.
Undeterred for the moment, I tried to make conversation.
"Have you been here before? Er, I mean, as a counselor?" I said, stumbling over my words.
"Yeah, I was here last year. Most of us were. We don't really know who you are," she said, with a voice that almost sounded disgusted.
"Yeah, I know. I'm new here."
"Really? Because I was here last year and I would have known if you were here. Duh!" Jessica said sharply, and one of her friends nearby giggled. Great, I thought. Only my second day and I've humiliated myself.
I decided not to talk anymore, for the time being.
For some reason, Jessica talked to me a few times over the course of that afternoon's work. Sometimes she acted nice, and other times she would put me down. I wasn't sure what to think of her. At this point in my life, being a very naive eighteen-year-old, I assumed that girls who weren't very pretty tended to make up for that deficiency by being nice. Jessica Harper was the reality check that taught me that this isn't necessarily so. Still, for the early part of my time as a counselor at Faith Falls Christian Camp, she was one of the few people who would talk to me, so I stayed close to her when the opportunity presented itself.
During meals, she often invited me to sit with her and her friends. She made me the butt of her jokes, and managed to pick up an impersonation of me that her friends found pretty funny, but I was finally feeling comfortable and, in a way, accepted, so I laughed it off. Some of the girls responded to my self-deprecating style of humor, and making them laugh, even at my own expense, made me feel normal, in some way.
Before the first round of campers even arrived, there were multiple hook-ups among the counselors, something that was officially discouraged by the camp administrators but in reality was tolerated and even encouraged by the fact that the male and female counselors had many opportunities to find "alone time." Since I wasn't in the loop, so to speak, I didn't know the extent of what went on among the counselors at that camp, but I heard enough hearsay to make me blush on more than one occasion. Then again, at this age, I was immature and idealistic, having been raised in a strict Christian household and clinging to a strong and traditional set of morals.
During a hike through the woods on the outskirts of camp, on the day before the first campers were to show up, Jessica confessed to me that she had been a part of one of these hook-ups the previous summer, with a guy named Dan that hadn't returned to the camp, according to her.
"He was older. Thirty-two," she said, almost proudly.
"He was still single?"
"Yeah, but he could have been married if he wanted to be. He just wanted to play the field before settling down." Jessica sounded almost defensive, as if I had accused her of playing around with some sort of loser.
I didn't push the conversation any further, but it was obvious that Jessica either wanted to get something off her chest or brag to me about her experience.
"We did so many things," she said, and I looked at her face and she suddenly seemed ugly to me. I think she expected me to ask for details, but when I didn't, she pouted a bit and then took the opportunity to jab me. "You have no idea. You've probably never even done anything like that. You'll be a virgin 'til you're thirty-five."
My face burned and I pouted a bit, hurt by what she said. Sex wasn't the sort of thing that I thought about a lot, because I was determined not to do it until I was married. Marriage, however, seemed like a distant possibility to a guy who hadn't even had a girlfriend or any girl who expressed interest in him.
"He put his hands all over my tits. He even sucked on them," she said. "Have you ever sucked on a girl's tits? I'm sure you haven't."
I didn't respond. Jessica sort of laughed at me. As much as she was annoying me, though, I started to get an involuntary hard-on.
