CHAPTER FIVE: Shades of Green
Summer rounded the corner toward fall. I wished I'd be able to stay around through September and October to watch the leaves change into flaming yellows and oranges amid the evergreen needles. But, at the end of August, only a week after sending the last batch of campers home, I'd have to go back to Drexel one last time. I wasn't ready to face the reality of this summer romance coming to an end -- or, maybe worse, not coming to an end -- so I dug in my heels for the remainder of July.
On the last Friday with this round of girls, we'd have our annual talent show -- one for campers, one for staff. I always wrote and performed a song, usually with Jackie manning the boombox or playing the pink ukulele she used to amuse the younger campers. This year, though, I had the guitar Olive gifted me, which meant I had the opportunity to write a real song, not just some little ditty to make the girls smile.
Of course, there were two things to consider: 1) I had to keep the song itself from Olive, and 2) I had to keep our relationship secret within said song. The first half was easy, the second half not-so-easy. Every time I went to write a line, it came out cheesy and poetic, the kind of thing that would embarrass me equally in private as in public. So I worked out the melody on the guitar first, humming alongside the chords. I had to steal away between lessons and activities and kisses and moments, but it was coming along by Friday morning.
The kids' talent show was first, mostly so they'd calm down from being upset about losing before bed. Their show kicking off just before sunset meant most of my day was spent watching the girls and helping them with all sorts of things from reciting lines to finishing costumes. There were sequins to reattach, hair to be braided, and knees to be bandaged when dance moves went wrong. It was a flurry of giggles, arguments, songs, dances, and messes that made the whole July rotation worthwhile.
Watching the girls perform for each other in whatever ways they'd decided over the past few weeks was always a highlight for me. No matter who won and lost, it mattered that they gained confidence or improved a skill or learned something new during their time at Camp Sutton. And any small part of that that came from me meant something. I still remembered the counselors I had growing up who helped me learn guitar in the first place, refining my skills each year until I was good enough to win for a couple years. It wasn't about winning, of course, but just getting up on a stage and being vulnerable for a minute or two.
The day turned to afternoon and, soon enough, I had the girls backstage -- which meant behind some makeshift curtains at the outdoor amphitheater, but still -- shaking out their final nerves as they finished preparing. Finally, I left them alone with Mary, who would run the show, and went out to the crowd lining the rows of stone benches carved into the earth.
I found my place between Olive and Jackie, the rest of the counselors on the same row. We waited patiently for the sun to find its own purchase behind the bandshell. At that perfect golden hour moment, sun rays spread out behind the rounded roof like a halo. Enough light was blocked out that the warm stage lights could compete against the sun.
The first girls came out on stage, a duo performing a duet. One of them played ukulele -- the instrument of choice for youth summer camps -- while they both sang an upbeat, sweet song from a musical I didn't know. Another girl had somehow taught herself to juggle over the last few weeks and was able to do it while delivering a medium-funny comedy routine. Between the songs and monologues and special skills, Olive's hand brushed mine. The outsides of our thighs tentatively kissed. Our smiles and laughs were entangled.
Juggling girl won and, in a rare turn of events, everyone seemed happy for her. There weren't any frustrated tears. Maybe because they all knew they couldn't do the same thing, so it's not like someone was a better singer or a prettier face. It was nice to know I wouldn't have to spend the night reassuring them that they were good enough, at least.
When the girls' show was finished, they replaced us in the crowd, giddy for the chance to gossip about the people who'd been in charge of them the past month. Honestly, I think that's part of why Mary always had us perform, too. Camaraderie for the kids. They got to rally together behind or against their own counselors. I remember doing it myself.
I was up last. Behind the curtains, I tuned the guitar by ear, hoping it was close enough to sound right. As Jackie belted out a song from "Wicked", my heart beat fast. I was never nervous before performing -- I went to open mics near Drexel all the time to unwind, in fact -- but Olive's presence in the audience made it feel important. Special.
I walked out to the middle of the stage, where there was a chair and a microphone on a stand, the usual setup for anyone who wanted to play something and sing. I sat down, balanced the old guitar on my lap, strap around my back, and said, "I wrote this because this summer has been special to me. You girls inspire me every day, and I'm lucky enough to work with some of the best staff in the world. This place is special."
With a few whoops from my campers, I began to pluck and strum. My voice -- a breathy alto that rarely belted -- wasn't nearly as strong as my guitar-playing skills, but the words were honest and I hoped they would resonate not just with Olive but with everyone to a certain extent.
in the city, everything is gray
snowy white on the best of days
and when I sit alone in my dorm
watching those rain clouds form
I dream of months spent here
with the fish, the seals, the deer
these Maine summers may not be home
but at least I never feel alone
and here, everything is green
and green is the smell of pine
it's crashing water on the coastline
green is lily pads across the lake
and green is what makes my heart wake
when I come home to this place
