Important event alert.
Let me explain about camp. C-a-m-p, camp. Most kids go to summer camp when they're younger. Winnataska or Coleman or Cosby or wherever. I've been to all of the above. I was a camp kid, growing up. My summer memories consist of bunks beds, un-airconditioned cabins, hikes, canoes, cafeteria food, singing, telling ghost stories, playing cards, making crafts, riding horses, etc. The only camp that's ever really felt like home, though, is Hargis. I've gone every summer...ever. Every scar I have, all my sprained ankles and scraped knees, every wasp and bee sting, my first kiss, my first "boyfriend(s)," my best friend, half of the things I have accomplished or know how to do, where I've cried the hardest and hugged the tightest, the only place where I've ever really been able to believe in God, all of these things mean Hargis.
I guess it only makes sense, then, that when I go back to that place, everything I've ever been comes back and piles together and suddenly I feel myself. Myself as six years old, too naive to be afraid of anything, jumping off rocks and climbing trees and picking up bugs. Myself as ten, in a homemade tent on the top bunk, ignoring lights-out, giggling and playing games long into July nights. Myself as thirteen, all about some Truth or Dare behind the gym, sneaking off into the woods to hold hands and pretend like I knew how to be in love. Me, seventeen, Hargis means who I am. There's something about going back that, I don't want to say changes me, because it doesn't. Going back makes me whole.
And then there's all these new faces. These people that I've never met, but who feel like family because we call the same place "home." People who have been going to Hargis long before I existed, and people who are there for the first time. They all feel like family, and I feel like myself, and things happen that make one weekend feel like forever.
...He's eleven inches taller than me. My head fits right in the middle of his chest, my ear to his heartbeat. It was just a weekend thing, but it is a huge deal, and here is why: I'm sure it had something to do with the rain and the night and being at Hargis. It might've just been the way the expression in his eyes always softened when he looked at me. A lot of it was probably that I've merely been listening to too much country music lately. But nevertheless, this guy this weekend, was the first person all year who has been worth it.
Something clicked like the sound a seatbelt makes when you buckle it, and I realized that it didn't matter that after the weekend I had no idea when or if I would see him again. It didn't matter because it wasn't about the situation, it was the person. It wouldn't have mattered if the weekend had lasted for three years instead of three days, or if he had slapped me in the face instead of hugged me goodbye. He was worth trusting because whatever pain he could cause in the end couldn't possibly outweigh the way his fingers and mine fit together like they had been exactly proportioned and sculpted to do so. And right now does hurt - I miss him and I can't sleep and it's not fair. Not fair that the only person who's felt right this whole year is a two/three hour drive away.
But this weekend was worth it. I would much rather feel pain with the memory of the way he smelled and how his skin felt than not feel anything. And I know, it's just a weekend thing. I keep having to tell myself that because it felt like the opposite of just a weekend thing. But to have been able to just let go and trust someone and not be afraid to have these feelings, that's a huge step. I'm just thrilled that I still have the ability. So wad that up and shove it in your ass, KL.
Ah, and tonight I saw "Movin' Out" on (off-)Broadway at the BJCC. It was their last showing with that cast of a three-year run. The most passion I've ever seen on stage. Amazing. And I wish I were a dancer.
And so, I never thought a country song would sum up my life but...right now, this one pretty much does.
I guess it only makes sense, then, that when I go back to that place, everything I've ever been comes back and piles together and suddenly I feel myself. Myself as six years old, too naive to be afraid of anything, jumping off rocks and climbing trees and picking up bugs. Myself as ten, in a homemade tent on the top bunk, ignoring lights-out, giggling and playing games long into July nights. Myself as thirteen, all about some Truth or Dare behind the gym, sneaking off into the woods to hold hands and pretend like I knew how to be in love. Me, seventeen, Hargis means who I am. There's something about going back that, I don't want to say changes me, because it doesn't. Going back makes me whole.
And then there's all these new faces. These people that I've never met, but who feel like family because we call the same place "home." People who have been going to Hargis long before I existed, and people who are there for the first time. They all feel like family, and I feel like myself, and things happen that make one weekend feel like forever.
...He's eleven inches taller than me. My head fits right in the middle of his chest, my ear to his heartbeat. It was just a weekend thing, but it is a huge deal, and here is why: I'm sure it had something to do with the rain and the night and being at Hargis. It might've just been the way the expression in his eyes always softened when he looked at me. A lot of it was probably that I've merely been listening to too much country music lately. But nevertheless, this guy this weekend, was the first person all year who has been worth it.
Something clicked like the sound a seatbelt makes when you buckle it, and I realized that it didn't matter that after the weekend I had no idea when or if I would see him again. It didn't matter because it wasn't about the situation, it was the person. It wouldn't have mattered if the weekend had lasted for three years instead of three days, or if he had slapped me in the face instead of hugged me goodbye. He was worth trusting because whatever pain he could cause in the end couldn't possibly outweigh the way his fingers and mine fit together like they had been exactly proportioned and sculpted to do so. And right now does hurt - I miss him and I can't sleep and it's not fair. Not fair that the only person who's felt right this whole year is a two/three hour drive away.
But this weekend was worth it. I would much rather feel pain with the memory of the way he smelled and how his skin felt than not feel anything. And I know, it's just a weekend thing. I keep having to tell myself that because it felt like the opposite of just a weekend thing. But to have been able to just let go and trust someone and not be afraid to have these feelings, that's a huge step. I'm just thrilled that I still have the ability. So wad that up and shove it in your ass, KL.
Ah, and tonight I saw "Movin' Out" on (off-)Broadway at the BJCC. It was their last showing with that cast of a three-year run. The most passion I've ever seen on stage. Amazing. And I wish I were a dancer.
And so, I never thought a country song would sum up my life but...right now, this one pretty much does.