Tuesday, July 17, 2012

More Camp Stories

Elisabeth can feel it - in the heat that won't break, in the way the other campers are looking a bit desperate at flag-raising, in the lake, unreasonably still and murky. And she knows the administration can feel it too, for the camp director’s grin has turned toothy and dark, and the early bedtimes come frantically, like a terrible precaution. The infirmary is over-capacity. Sleep-walking is at an all time high. All of the eight-year-olds besides Elisabeth have been up late, sobbing and tossing in their bunk beds, their haggard counselors unable to offer them any comfort. Elisabeth lies by quietly, listening to the restless horses and the shrieking bats. Something tragic and wonderful is coming to camp Matoaka, she writes in her journal, and we will all be its witnesses.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012


She was the bride at the wedding, and you busted in and convinced her fiance to run away with you, because maybe you and him were high school sweethearts or co-workers who hadn't gotten a chance to say I love you until now, when you traveled across the country to get the man of your dreams and perhaps push her and her expensive dress into a pond. It's worth mentioning, though, that, while the story followed you and your finally found love out to your quirky beat-up sedan, the tears she cried in her canopy bed were as real as the ones you would have cried in your hip Manhattan loft, and, despite her short stature and mean face, the love poems she wrote for him were real and better than yours.

Sunday, July 08, 2012

Further Dispatches from the Zombie Apocolypse

By the light of your headlamp you pick off another zombie that was hammering at the barricade, and I hand you the second rifle, already loaded. With only a handful of .22s at our disposal, this was the system we came up with. The world is ending at summer camp, and you are good at shooting guns and making fires and I am good at arts and crafts.

“We are going to die,” I say.

“Yes,” you say, “we are.”

There is a momentarily lull in the conversation during which you kill more of the walking dead. Thunder rumbles.

“I never had the heart to tell you this, but I feel it is worth mentioning now,” I say, “I am in love with you. I think you are beautiful and funny and you have wonderful aim.”

You say, “pass me another rifle.”

I say, “there is no one else with whom I would rather be spending my last moments.”

You say, “I wish I was with my family.”

I say, “yes, I’m sorry, I know,” and I hand you another gun and you shoot another zombie, and I think about all the colors I could have used for your friendship bracelet.

Sunday, July 01, 2012

the best

They said, you're the best, and Jesse said, don't worry about it, it's alright, it was nice to get off-campus for a bit and I didn't have much else to do anyway.

They said, you're the best, and Jesse said, I'm really not because I've actually been preparing for this day for two years, spending hours daily building up an immunity to the gas with which I filled my car during the drive, and you will all be dead shortly and the life insurance policies will pay handsomely and this time next month I'll be getting a massage on the beach in the Caribbean and you'll all be dead.

They said, you're the best, and Jesse said, I know I am.