PW #5: At Camp

When I first stamped out of my car into the drenched dirt outside the dripping timber camp lodge, I never expected I would be shaking hands with a murderer that very night.

After a grueling five-hour drive past kilometers of damp forests and soggy clouds, I was relieved to finally arrive. I had been looking forward to this camping trip for months, as an escape from the staleness of my room and a fun hiking holiday in the mountains up island. I’d been to the camp the last year and the year before, and I considered myself pretty prepared for anything that might arise. I’d even come within sight of a bear last time – though it was technically on the other side of the lake. (I still prefer to see it as a dangerous and risky encounter.)

Once I’d hurled my backpack amongst the pile under a small, covered area on the gravel outside the camp kitchens and we’d sat down on little wooden stumps, we got to ice breakers. There were only five other campers, all new, and all other girls around my age. That was rather unusual. I’d never been in a camp that didn’t have a mix of kids, and I typically recognized at least one of them, but not this time.

The guide cleared her throat. Her name was Mikaela, but everyone called her Mike, and she was a young dirty blonde-haired woman with a grey windbreaker who was there every year I’d been.

“We’ll start by each naming a fun fact about ourselves,” Mike encouraged.

I hate that question. Immediately, every potentially interesting part about me flies out of my head. Maybe something about what I last ate? No, not really personal. How many teeth I have? No, not quite ideal.

A straw-haired girl, tall and splotched with freckles, started off the circle.

 

To be continued..

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