1962, Northern California

By Claudia Sternbach

“Hey,” Larry said from outside my window. “Are you awake?”

Was I. I don’t think I had even closed my eyes. Once Larry had asked me if I wanted to go with him in the morning and check the water in the water tanks (I would have to be quiet and not wake anyone else in my dorm room), all I could do was lie awake and wait until I heard his voice.

We had all been sitting around the campfire singing Kumbaya My Lord, and after we finished and were about to return to our cabins and say prayers Larry stopped me and put his hand on my arm and asked if I wanted to get up early, before the bugle, before the flag raising, before the time when we are supposed to take our bibles and go find a quiet place to read and meditate and help him check the water. I had no idea what that meant to check the water, but if Larry was inviting, I was accepting.

Larry was 18. He wasn’t a counselor but he did all kinds of interesting things. Sometimes he was a lifeguard at the pool. Sometimes he ran softball games down in the field just past the pool. Sometimes he took groups of kids out hiking on the narrow trails under the giant redwoods and was quick to point out where the poison oak was and would warn us not to get too close to the edge and would help us look for four leaf clovers, which we never found. Larry was the cutest boy at the camp. And he wanted me to help him check the water.

Ma had finally let me go away for a whole week in the summer. This is my first time at a sleep-away camp. One whole week in the mountains. When I am 18 I want to be a counselor here. I keep hearing them talk about what they do on their night off. Saturday night, after the kids all go home in the afternoon and the next campers don’t come until Sunday. I think they sneak beer. I think. I don’t know for sure. But I hear them laughing a lot when they talk about Saturday nights, and I think this wouldn’t be such a bad kind of job to have.

I like this place. Even though you have to read the bible. I don’t really mind. It’s a book. And I go find myself a shady place to sit and read and I sniff the air. The smells around here are so different than the smells in Oakland. And the sound is different. Kind of echo-y. Maybe ‘cuz of the pool and all of the very tall trees.

The food is not that great, but I don’t really care about that either, ‘cuz there is a snack bar and I have money with me. Every day I buy red licorice and bite the ends off and then I buy a bottle of Coke and use the licorice for a straw until it falls apart and then I just buy another. The trick is to use up the licorice and the Coke at the same time.

First thing we do when the horn blows in the morning is jump out of our sleeping bags and smooth them down and then go in the bathroom, then throw our clothes on and get down to where the flag pole is so we can watch them raise the American flag. Yesterday our underwear was clothes-pinned to the line, and when the flag went up so did our underpants and bras. Those boys thought it was so funny. We had to go up and claim our stuff in front of everybody. Even Larry. Somebody did not claim a really big bra. They just left it. I don’t blame them. I would have left it, too.

After the flag is flying high in the sky we go off for quiet meditation time with our bibles. That lasts about a half an hour. Then the bell rings, signaling breakfast. We eat at big, long tables. Nobody tells us where to sit, but we always sit in the same places with the same people. I sit next to a girl named Sparky. Her name isn’t really Sparky, but that’s another thing I like about this camp. You can give yourself a new name, which I did. Now my name is Corky. Corky sounds like somebody who knows how to do things. Like ride a skate board. Or pop a wheelie on a bike. When I get back home I know nobody will ever call me Corky.

All the girls like Larry. Really like him. I lie on my towel by the pool and close my eyes and listen to them talk. If you close your eyes they forget you are there. I can smell the chlorine in the pool and hear kids playing softball and sometimes I can hear Larry’s voice, “Nice hit!” or, “No running by the pool!” And then the girls really talk about him. “Oh he is so cute,” or, “I hear he has a girlfriend at home,” or, “Did you see him watching me last night at the talent show?”

I don’t mind listening to them. I figure if they are all talking about him and they are all trying to figure out who he likes then that means he hasn’t chosen anyone yet. So maybe I could have him.

But I was surprised when he asked me to help him with the whole water thing. And all night I kept thinking, maybe he asks other girls to check water. Maybe every morning there is another girl who goes with Larry to the water tower. Except I have never heard him wake anybody up before. And I am a very light sleeper. My mother would tell you. I always have to read myself to sleep and I always wake up before anybody else. So I’m sure I would have heard if Larry had come by our dorm cabin.

All night I have hardly slept. Maybe not even a wink. And now Larry is here. Right outside my window.

I lift up the shade as quietly as I can. His blue eyes are right there! I can’t see his mouth but I know he is smiling by the way his skin crinkles right by his very blue eyes.

The sky is still purple. Larry is wearing a white sweatshirt with the name of the camp on it. It almost glows. He puts his finger to his lips so I won’t say anything. I just follow him. When we get a little bit away from the cabin he reaches back and takes my hand. His hand is rough. It feels like blisters from all of the work he does. The pine needles make crunchy noises and birds are starting to squawk at the beginnings of the sun.

Barry doesn’t say anything, so I don’t, either. We just walk through the woods to a clearing. And in the clearing is the water tower. There is a ladder attached to the tower.

“Are you afraid of high places?” Larry asks.

“Nope.”

“Well then, climb on up,” he says. “I’ll follow you.”

The ladder is metal. It has rust on it. But it doesn’t wiggle. It feels wet when I put my hands on it. I climb all the way to the next to the top rung. Larry is right behind me.

“Are you all right?” he wants to know.

My heart is pounding in my chest. Larry is right behind me and his arms are kind of around me, but not in a creepy way. More in a safety way.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry. Look around. What do you think?”

I turn part way around and look back toward the camp. I can see the dining hall. Lights are on inside. I see one of the cooks go through the doors.

I see the flag pole, empty. And the pool with the cover still on. I can see the softball field, but the bases aren’t out yet and there are no people anywhere.

“Look up,” Larry tells me. And I do. The sky is turning pink and there is mist floating around the trees. More birds are making noises, but now it sounds like singing.

It is like the whole camp belongs to Larry and me and the cook, who I only saw for a second so he hardly counts. And only Larry and I are seeing this. This pink sky and the misty trees and the covered pool. This quiet while everybody else is sleeping.

“OK, down you come,” he says and climbs down before I do, but watches me the whole way. And I am wondering if I should marry Larry. We could both work here at this camp for the rest of our lives. And we could get up every morning before everybody else and watch the sky turn pink. And while I am thinking about this Larry takes a little set of bottles out of his pocket and climbs back up the ladder. He goes all the way to the very top and then leans over and dips the little bottles into the water. Shakes them. Holds them up to the light so he can see better. And then writes something in a little notebook. And then comes back down.

That, I guess, is checking the water.

He looks at his watch and tells me we had better hurry. I am waiting for him to tell me he loves me. And that he wants us to check the water every day for the rest of our lives. And I am waiting to seal it with a kiss.

But he just takes my hand again and starts to run.

“Hurry,” he whispers. “I don’t want you to be late.”

And in no time we are back at my cabin and I know everyone will be getting up in about two minutes.

I stand on the steps and watch as he starts to run down the path toward the dining hall. But then he turns and sees me. And he waves. So I make a vow to love him forever. And later, sitting under a redwood tree and trying to read about Matthew and Mark and Luke and John and begetting and forsaking, all I can think about is Larry.

Claudia Sternbach is a newspaper columnist and author of Now Breathe.

Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Tuesday, February 27th, 2007 | Email This Post

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