Summer Camp Blues

Anne leaned forward until she was eye-level with the palm-sized, beautifully crafted figurine. It was a turtle - no, a tortoise. With a sigh, she wondered briefly why she cared what it was. She straightened up and looked around the small souvenir shop, eyes roaming past the shelves lined with trinkets and nick-knacks galore.

“Are you going to get it?” A small voice asked, tearing her attention from her search. She stifled a frustrated sigh, knowing the tiny vermin she was about to turn her attention to was not as dim-witted as she wanted the rest of the volunteers to believe. This particular nuisance seemed to notice every tiny, insignificant movement that Anne made.

“No.” She answered with a brief, forced, smile in the direction of Claire, who was smiling back innocently.

“Why not, Ms. Anne?” The child asked, just as innocently. Anne fought to keep her cool. Children were the bane of her existence, especially these children.

“It’s a tortoise.” She said simply, perfectly aware that it was not a sufficient answer. “Where is Jenny? Why aren’t you with her?” Anne asked sharply, rerouting the conversation so that the attention was no longer on her. Claire just pointed in the direction of her friend, who was hidden from Anne’s view by several more shelves crammed with junk. They’re too small, she thought grumpily of the kids, following her miniature guide through the maze of shelves.

“I think she likes the painting.” Claire informed her counselor matter-of-factly when the two had arrived at their destination. Anne regarded the small girl, to whom Claire had been referring, and struggled with another sigh. Whatever Claire’s intelligence may truly be, her friend Jenny was clearly dumb enough to be deserving of a summer-long excursion at St. Mary’s Camp for Special Young Ladies.

“I can see that.” Anne mumbled bitterly, glancing at the watercolor painting that Jenny was staring blankly at, as if she didn’t notice her company or the fact that they were discussing her. The bright colors strewn seemingly carelessly across the canvas depicted a scene of a beach. It’s beautiful, Anne couldn’t help but think. “Well, come on. We’ve got to get back to the campground.” Claire grabbed her ‘special’ friend’s hand and led her away from the painting, following Anne towards the doors of the shop.

Because the girls needed more one-on-one attention than a normal camp, each counselor was responsible for only two children. And Anne, whose mother had condemned her to St. Mary’s for her last summer of high school in an attempt to help her learn how to ‘serve rather than be served for once’, was stuck with the mute Jenny and her self-appointed best friend Claire, who was too sharp for her own good.

Later that day…

“You don’t like smores, Ms. Anne.” Claire said as they sat around the campfire. It wasn’t a question. Anne gritted her teeth together.

“What makes you say that, Claire?” She asked, turning to her young companion with a smile plastered on her face.

“The way you’re taking tiny little bites is very unlike you. Normally you shovel food into your mouth as if it were your last meal. This leads me to believe that it is the food that you find not to your liking.” Claire told her, eyes on the flames she was rotating her marshmallow in.

“I just don’t want to get messy.” Anne explained, busying herself with putting another marshmallow on Jenny’s stick so she wouldn’t snap at Claire. Jenny put the stick into the fire and left it there, staring at it. That’s all Jenny ever did. Stare and stare and stare until someone told her to do something other than stare. And then she would stare at the speaker, and stare and stare and stare.

“Oh." Claire said bluntly, taking a tiny bite of her own smore.

"Why do you do that?" Anne asked before she could stop herself. At Claire's confused expression she felt compelled to add. "You do whatever I do. Why?"

"Because I want to be just like you, Ms. Anne." She responded with an all-too-innocent smile, the confusion melting off her freckled face.

Now it was Anne's turn to say, "Oh." And take a tiny bite of her smore, contemplating her acquaintance's statement.

Later still that day…

“Ms. Anne!” Anne heard Claire shout. She returned her focus, which had wandered briefly to the flower patch just outside the gate of the pool, to the children.

“Yes, Claire?” She called.

“Take a picture with us?” She asked, leaning against Jenny’s floaty. Jenny was staring at her ‘best friend’, floating in an inner-tube in the shallow end of the pool. Her thick black hair, which sat in a bowl-cut on her head, was still perfectly dry. Claire on the other hand, with her bright orange locks that would re-tangle hardly a minute after Anne had finished brushing her hair, was soaked thoroughly. Anne reached for Claire’s disposable camera and strode over to the edge of the pool.

“Jenny look at the camera.” She instructed, kneeling beside the girls and turning the camera to face all three of them. She smiled and snapped the shutter.

"Thanks, Ms. Anne." Claire smiled as her counselor walked away. Claire was obsessed with the idea of ‘memories’. She wanted a picture of every little thing they did together, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. The one time Anne had tried to talk her out of taking a picture of her at breakfast one morning, Claire had thrown a fit the likes of which the world had never seen before. She kept her photo album under her pillow and looked through it every night. It was full of pictures of the spring they had just left. Anne sighed as she rested the camera on the ground beside her chair. perhaps serving for a summer won't be so bad, she thought, watching the little creatures in the pool. Claire was splashing stupidly around Jenny, who was staring at her. What a surprise.

Written For:
"The Writer's Cramp"