Summer warmth on the Oregon coast doesn't linger past dark. It's not freezing, buy the air is wet, heavy, and never still. The grass is slightly damp but it feels safer sitting. My back is against a tree and I am alone. The chill on my skin is in a sharp contrast with my innards. The extremely cheap vodka and orange juice makes me feel like my digestive tract should be glowing. But it's dark under the trees and no one is near to even watch me sip from my canteen.
It is night and I am listening to howls and screams. The other teenagers are set loose for one last wild hunt before a snack and bedtime. They are supposedly playing capture the flag or something. I didn't pay attention at the evening worship meeting slash briefing. All I could think about at the time was how to ditch my counselor and friends so I could have a little piece of the dark to myself. Fortunately at a christian camp no one checks aluminum bottles brought from home for booze. I've learned I can get away with a lot if I let them keep their illusions about me. Oh sure, I dress like a bad kid, but it's obvious I am just going though a rebellious phase. I am a pastor's kid after all. I am polite to adults, and talk about Jesus just the way I should. I even know to switch my language from overt bible talk to more hippie friendly terms if the youth worker has facial piercings or doesn't shave her legs.
I am sitting, and not really thinking, more just feeling. It's been a very long week. One that I even mostly enjoyed. I can feel myself slowing down, really letting it sink in that for the first time in days I am not in view of several hundred kids and our adult minders. I can finally relax my face back to it's neutral state without anyone pestering me about how I look "sad" or "angry". I have no idea what they're seeing, but if I don't fix it I'll wind up with a small group of concerned girls expecting me to cry and share my deepest feelings. Calculating up a feeling that is vague, fairly glum, authentic enough but not actually close to my reality is tiring. And I've never been good at making myself cry on command, unfortunately. Nothing makes "nice" girls feel better than making someone cry and then telling them they are beautiful and Jesus loves them. Which of course solves all problems. The girl in crisis is then fixed and happy again, and the nice girls leave knowing they have done good in the world.
I'm drinking, but not to get drunk. I'm mostly doing it because I can. Because I like the taste. Because I love the feeling of doing something that has no consequences if not caught, and worlds of annoying shit if I am. The screams and shrieks are getting quieter. I don't know if it's all winding down, or just drifting away. It doesn't matter, I am tucked away back towards the hills and the forest in an odd corner no one visits at night. It is so dark I can barely make out the difference between the bushes and the grass a few feet away from me. The tree behind me smells nice and piney, the air is thick with oxygen and water. I have plants on all sides of me, a narrow path leading towards a larger clearing.
I can feel my outer emotional layers peel away. The gossip, the grudges, the interest in boys and video games, the insecurities. All of it just melts away. What's left is a hard steel core. I know who I am. I know what I am and I know that no one else does. I know exactly how far I will allow adults to control me. They all have their outer layers on and they see just what they want to see. As long as I can keep them seeing that image of me I am safe. I know that given the proper motivation I am capable of anything. I am also clueless as to what I actually want to be doing. I can't seem to fear flunking school like my classmates do, and I sure as fuck don't fear god's wrath the way my camp mates do.
And then my ruminations are ended when I hear the bell. There is a huge old church bell in the middle of the grounds, it is the signal to end the evening melee. I cap my bottle, stand up and head in. The closer to the light and noise I get, the more pieces of my mask come back together. The cold steel inside gets coated in layers of teenage life. I think about my friends, my enemies, who is dating who, what my clothes look like, all the usual stuff. My feet crunch on the gravel path and the laughter and shouts are converging around me. I hear something familiar behind me so I turn, and when I see my counselor I smile.
