“It’s not gonna get any easier,” he said.
“I know. I might not go at all,” I told him, starting back toward the other girls. I was ready to be mocked. I didn’t care, just as long as I was far away from that cliff. It goes against nature to hurl yourself off a giant rock into a pool of murky water.
“I tell you what, I’ll go with you.”
Nearly fifteen years later, my body goes wild just writing this. I looked at Johnny.
“Really?”
He nodded. “Hell, yeah.”
“Count,” I said.
“Okay.” He nodded, stepping past me, a little closer to the edge. “I’m going to start now. Ready? One … two …”
And we jumped. It wasn’t the clean dive I had pictured. I panicked and wriggled in the air like a new kitten, trying to claw my way back up again. Before I could process the sensation of falling I had hit the water, hard and at the wrong angle. The cold soothed the hurt soothed the fear. Johnny landed a moment later and when we surfaced, me sputtering and coughing, yanking my bathing suit out of my butt crack, he nodded a relaxed congratulations, flipping his yellow hair out of his eyes.
Later that afternoon, when we stopped for some roadside ice cream, he asked to taste my flavor, bubblegum. He wrapped his tongue around my cone—in my memory it’s an impossibly thick, red tongue—and my insides felt even weirder than they had during the jump. I knew he was sending me a secret signal. We could play along, we could have fun with the group, but we were too much for this place.
That night in my bunk, I imagined shedding my clothes, approaching Johnny, and letting him put his hands all over my body. Maybe we would meet outside, in a tent, down the path in the woods. I was practical enough to imagine that he would bring the condom.
Our last summer, as privileged seniors, we took a bunk trip to New Hampshire to hike, camp, and see a movie. The trip was chaperoned by Rita-Lynn, Cheryl, and Rocco, and it was impossible to tell who had a crush on who in the threesome. As fifteen-year-old campers, we vaguely resembled adults, and the vibe of the trip was distinctly collegial, the counselors addressing us like knowing peers. They barely had to assert their authority and we amused ourselves, gossiping in the back of the van, journaling and singing Britney Spears songs at the top of our lungs.
On the last night of the trip it rained and, using a camp credit card, our counselors checked us into a motel. We all gathered in Rita-Lynn’s room to play cards and eat peanut butter and jelly and I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, Rocco opening a beer. And another. And another. He passed one to Rita. One to Cheryl. Took a swig of his own.
I got up and motioned to Rita to join me in the bathroom. “Can I talk to you a minute?” I asked.
“What’s up?” she asked. “Need a tampon?”
“No. I wanted to say that I’m not really comfortable having the only adults who are with us drinking alcohol.”
She looked at me blankly.
“Several people in my family have issues with alcohol abuse so it brings up a lot for me,” I tried.
“Dude.” She looked down at her Tevas. It was unclear whether she was frustrated or guilty. “I really thought you’d be cool.”
On the last night of camp we all wore white and the seniors sent candles out into the lake on tiny rafts and sang “I Will Remember You” by Sarah McLachlan. Everyone sobbed and clutched at one another, making promises to write, to never forget. I cried, too, wishing the whole thing could have been different, that I could have been different. I stared at my candle until my eyes crossed and it disappeared into the dark.
Recently, I awoke from a camp dream so vivid it haunted me the whole next day. I was back at Fernwood Cove, and I had one last summer to make it count. Our bunk was still intact, and so was my hymen. I wasn’t focused on any guy, or on writing home. We were all there, all us girls, and we loved one another dearly.
In this dream I had long, long hair, full of feathers and beads, and I was naked on the dock. My body was longer, more limber, more like my mother’s. I dove backward into the water, landing perfectly without disturbing the surface.
ONE DAY AT CAMP there was a field trip for the soccer team, so everyone in my bunk cleared out except me.