NOTES ON CAMP

Emma and Matt got lost on the way to the airport. Or something like that. The excitement of getting to camp completely makes me forget that I’ve waited an hour. Matt plays his liked songs, and just from observing his music taste I know that I’m totally gonna vibe with him. Even though he hates Taylor Swift.

Everyone stands on the steps of the CU dorm as we pull into the parking lot. I thought the building was a mega-sized Hilton Garden Inn at first. I awkwardly greet the girls I’ve talked to online for the past three months. Introductions don’t seem necessary given our familiarity with each other but it’s hard to find my first words. It’s familiar but uncomfortable, like I’m reuniting with an ex or something.

The walk to the dining hall is literally longer than a mile. Ben walks ten feet in front of everybody else, performing the role of Responsible Adult, as though he has to remove himself from the social dynamics of camp on the first day, not talking to anybody but the camera. The girls follow him. The guys lag behind, conversing only among themselves, seemingly prohibiting any female contact before they know each other first. Cameras are rolling. Curated personalities are turned on and off with the angling of a lens. Lots of different conversations are happening at once. I try to insert myself into a few in an attempt to avoid walking alone. 

After dinner we split into media groups. The only other girl in the writing group is Taylor Rohatinsky. She runs a 4:42 mile but doesn’t act like it. My hypothesis about Matt is confirmed. We read an excerpt from My Year of Rest and Relaxation and a random boring article from a recent GQ about Brad Pitt. The big shocker is that both pieces were written by the same woman. It was a really good example of how the same writer can produce really different pieces of work: The assignment shapes the product. Our group goes a half hour overtime. I get the feeling that leaving on Monday is going to be a bitch.

The next morning I wake up at 5:45. Neidyn joins me at the bathroom sink. We talk about sunburn. I complain about the skin peeling off my nose. She tells me it makes me look like I’m blushing. No, you don’t need her to braid your hair, but if you did she could do any style while offhandedly dispensing comments about mundane things that anybody else would’ve ignored. This happened every morning for a week.

I attempt a fartlek on my first day at elevation. I tap out after my first pickup and walk a quarter mile. I jog the rest of my run. I don’t attempt a workout again.

Back at the parking lot everyone has their cameras out. The campers are grilling OAC pros with questions. I’m not excluded from that group. Alicia Monson, Olli Hoare, and Geordie Beamish are worth fangirling over. I ask Alicia how she keeps herself sane during a 10k, a 25-lap race, hell. That conversation will forever remain in my voice memos.

We arrive at the lake. “Closed due to algae.”

We arrive at another lake. The water is cold but it’s even colder outside the water even though it’s 90 degrees outside. The breeze is to blame. I get to paddleboard and it makes me feel cool because I do it better than everyone else. 

Madeline is missing. It sends the counselors into a 45-minute search that ends up involving the park service. Frantic, camp counselor Joe runs across the field, still searching for Madeline. “Holy shit, Joe is sprinting.” “Joe Hale for World Champs ‘23?” “Forget Erriyon Knighton.” Turns out she was just reading a book under a tree. Honestly, wish it were me.

On the car ride back Gary ducks his head in an attempt to conceal his laughter at the conversation going on in the front seat. “Leo is definitely the hotter twin. Wait, maybe it’s Lex… which one has long hair?” “No, shut up. Nico is the hottest Young.” It might’ve been the conversation going on in the back seat. “Okay, yeah, it seemed like I said some really bad stuff about you, but I didn’t! My friends all have my Instagram password. They all just, you know…”

I write a piece about one of the campers. Matt wants us to steal a stylistic element from one of the pieces we’ve read and I decide to experiment with caricature. I’ve never written a satirical piece before but I try today because it feels obvious to me. This guy is a caricature himself. I can't tell if it’s intentional or not. It’s probably somewhere in between. It’s like it’s some sort of sophisticated performance art. He’s really good at it. The piece wrote itself.

I thought about listening to an audiobook on my run but I ran with Hayley Jackson instead. She’s not like other girls. She’s like six feet tall. A lot of vloggers have to perform their personalities to get clicks or whatever but Hayley’s quirks are all sincere. She blurts out strangely confessional lines about being feral and will trauma dump to people she doesn’t know that well yet but does it in a way that’s not uncomfortable or manufactured. She’s constantly making self-deprecating jokes but in a way that absolves her of any accusations of fishing for compliments. She’s clearly mentally ill but in like a chic way. Sometimes she looks over your head while talking to you. She makes her own soap. Does crazy makeup for every track race. Not like a James Charles full face of foundation but like intricate designs around her eyes. She has to draw it out on Procreate first. She brought a container of Old Bay to camp and put it on chocolate ice cream last night. People from the DMV are crazy. No one else at camp really gets the hype around Old Bay. I love her.

We stop in a town that could be the setting of a Stephen King novel. Matt and Krissy LARP a sword fight, which Krissy wins. Krissy talks in a way that makes her seem really wise. Not in a way that she knows everything but in a way where she doesn’t need to. I think I want to be her. 

I listen to Ethel Cain for the first time as we head toward the place we’re swimming today. I’m ultra unprepared, given it’s in the low 60s and foggy and I forgot to bring pants, a sweatshirt, my swimsuit, or a towel. 

The walk to the lake is a mile long but it’s a mile full of wildflowers. I announce that I know how to make a flower crown.

Matt and I discuss books and movies as I pick and weave flowers. The conversation starts with Midsommar but then bounces to Ari Aster and then to Baz Lurhmann because he’s my favorite director and then his best movie Romeo + Juliet and then another one of his movies The Great Gatsby and while we’re on the topic of literary adaptations we talk about Little Women and then I find out that Matt’s never seen the 1994 adaptation which Kirsten Dunst stars in and he loves Kirsten Dunst and brings up the Virgin Suicides which she also stars in and that’s crazy because we read an excerpt from the Virgin Suicides novel in writing group yesterday. Matt’s smart and talks in a way that makes me feel like I am too. I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation that long about that type of stuff. “That type of stuff” is literally my favorite type of stuff. In his essay about last year’s camp he mentions meeting strangers you feel like you’ve known your whole life. He’s definitely one of those people. Kindred spirits may be the term. I think we’re kindred spirits.

The lake is over a hill, at the top of a flight of stone stairs. This place gives similar energy to the “Roslyn” scene from the second Twilight movie. The fog covering the lake slowly approaches and recedes in unison with the water, as though the heavy condensation is part of the waves themselves, making the lessons about the water cycle I learned in second grade somehow relevant for the first time in my life. 

I finish the flower crown. A photoshoot commences.

I talk to Carter (counselor) about Phoebe Bridgers on the drive back. Apparently he and Matt went to a Clairo concert together. 

I want to go to a Clairo concert with Carter (counselor). 

I should be writing but I instead learn how to make a friendship bracelet. Everyone else in the classroom is working on producing content. I guess bracelets could be considered content. Or at least that’s what I tell myself to avoid the guilt I’d feel otherwise. Stu, a word I’ve never heard before, begins to pick up traction.

As I braid my hair in the morning, the fact that I don’t have face wash really starts to stress me out. 

We head to a track to make content while the On athletes run their workout. Matt tells us to write vignettes. At first I don’t understand that I’m allowed to take breaks. 

On the way to the waterslide in the adjacent field, Carter (counselor) picks up sunglasses with a missing lens. “What’s the line about John Lennon from that Phoebe song?”

I do half the run today by myself. I listen to my book on moral ethics and get a pinch of self-loathing as I stride the last 200 meters.

I think On shoes make my feet swell.

“Has anyone here actually ever played volleyball?” Joe asks our team right before we start. I played for like a week in sixth grade. The week of experience doesn’t pay off, but no one else is any good either. We switch to Newcomb. It’s kind of like volleyball but with catching and throwing. My instincts from playing goalie in soccer for four years return. Almost every time the ball comes near me I dive in an attempt to catch it. Emphasis on attempt. My entire side is red when we finish. 

Hayley braids Matt’s hair. He leaves it in for the next two days.

I join forces with Carter (camper) to make a sponsored post for ArtiKen. He seems to be the only guy camper putting effort into his outfits and I commend that. In a few days, he’ll complain to me about how shit his outfits have been. I’ve never touched a camera, but he teaches me. It takes me a bunch of tries to get a picture that isn’t crazy amped up with brightness but I end up getting the hang of it. “Oh my god, that’s so slay.” I’m super excited about taking a photo that’s not absolute crap. After we’re pretty much done with the shoot, he suggests that I grab my flower crown. I tweet a motion-blurred photo of me wearing the flower crown while holding an ArtiKen bracelet, more flowers in my other hand, and caption it “@ArtiKen should have been at the @newgenerationtf lake shoot.” The company’s owner replies from his personal account. “Sorry Anne :/ Would have loved to but ran off and got married on Wednesday and spent Thursday at Disney celebrating. Raincheck?! Thanks for reppin’ and have a great weekend!” My first 40-year-old fan! 

We head to Magnolia road the next morning. I don’t run. In the car, I sketch for the first time this week. Ben glances over from the driver’s seat. “To be honest, I could never draw anything like that in my life, but Hayley kind of looks like a burn victim.” I spend the rest of the run trying to fix the portrait and realize how hard it is to draw well with a blunt pencil.

Jenna drives us three hours to a lake. I haven’t spent much time with her yet, but we share a favorite song off of Harry Styles’s new album. She complimented my friendship bracelet this morning. When we drive through this massive casino town in the middle of nowhere, we both get crazy excited about a place we weren’t even stopping in.

I come to the realization that music taste heavily influences my opinion of a person.

Paul Hinds is like a golden retriever. He tries to throw three apple cores at three separate signs and misses all three times.

Burgie subtly inserts his muted opinions of people and music into the conversation as he constructs a sophisticated graphic design project that gives me a slight twinge of imposter syndrome. I barely know anything about him, but he’s a creep. He’s a weirdo. What the hell is he doing here? 

We stop at a thrift store on the way back. Why are half the people in here literally on meth?

In the back seat, I press the flowers Hayley told me to collect in my sketchbook. It doesn’t really work as it should, but she tells me that it’s okay.

About thirty minutes from Boulder, we come across a town called Golden. There’s a concert or event or something happening in a park. We don’t do anything at the event but walk around but it’s still one of my favorite things I’ve done at camp. I pick up barbecue chips and a pineapple-flavored yerba mate from a general store. Barbecue chips and pineapple-flavored yerba mate do not go well together.

10:30 p.m. I tweet “eating pizza. listening to phoebe bridgers. in the stu. writing some cool stuff. life is good.”

I attempt to start my final piece. The attempt ends with me crying. I don’t start the piece. Matt tries to intellectualize my tears away because that’s how we communicate but when it doesn’t work he tells me that I should join him and Hayley on their Target run. I buy four face masks and shove them into my backpack.

Hayley, Paul, Carter (counselor), and I all take the Rice purity test. Our scores are all within ten points of each other. I forget that I’m 15 for a hot minute. 

I still can’t get myself to write. I re-download my notes app and write something that resembles a diary entry before I sleep. “i literally want to bash my head into a wall bc it's 11:32 and i should really sleep but i feel the weird compulsion to write something before i sleep bc if i don't, im literally a failure.”

I wake and realize it’s my last day. I have an icky feeling in my chest. I get out of bed and put together my outfit. I don’t have to run today so I get to wear something non-athletic. Kevin picks up coffee for me and I start to write after staring at my notebook for an hour. I think I didn’t want to write because it meant that camp had to be over soon. The icky feeling doesn’t go away.

We play one last game of Newcomb. The sand burns my feet. Burgie takes a selfie with his laptop. 

Taylor, Matt, and I meet for one last media group session to talk about jobs and writing going forward. I realize that writing about running for running publications sounds like hell. Matt proposes that we pitch one of my piece ideas to Teen Vogue. I don’t say anything but the widening of my eyes probably implies my attitude. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Before we leave for Rocky Mountain National Park, Carter (counselor) makes a comment about how much he loves my shirt, a Geoff Hollister Athletics Club merch drop from the early 2000s. It’d never been worn before and my dad sent it with me to camp because he thought it would get that type of reaction. In the car, Matt makes the same comment about the shirt. He’s wearing his New Gen Pizza polo, something that maybe one day will be just as rare as the one I’m wearing. After thinking for a bit, we make a deal to trade. I got home and my dad said I should’ve negotiated for more.

I get a video of Burgie and Talon making animal sounds in the back seat of the car. 

Alison and I do a photoshoot out of the car window. Her hat flies off so we stop the car. She sprints to grab it off the road. Our photoshoot starts. Alison’s photos feel like they communicate an entire moment without the need for context. They just feel complete, I guess. The photos she gets of me make me forget that I haven’t washed my face in six days.

Burgie’s opinions of music maybe aren’t all that muted. He talks about The Strokes for a while and ranks the music taste of all the counselors. 

Matt and I trade our shirts right before we get out of the car at the park. Earlier he said that it smelled bad. It does, but I don’t mention it. Carter (counselor) frowns as he sees our new outfits. “Don’t worry, you can just steal it from Matt whenever you want to wear it.”

We take a brisk walk around a lake. It’s pretty. It’s also pretty brisk.

The conversation in the car centers around relationship problems. Mine aren’t as shitty as I previously thought. At least compared to some of the shit I hear in this car. Unexpected

We get out at some rocks. We climb the rocks. Finn climbs the farthest and takes off his pants. We leave.

We take a bunch of photos at the next stop. Carter (camper) and I get a couple of photos together. “Are we slaying?” “We’re definitely slaying.” We’re definitely slaying. 

The road narrows and gets closer to the edge of the mountain, which is incredibly terrifying. On our way to the top of the mountain we see a whole bunch of elk. “Wait, I want to get out and eat one.” I need to let my impulsive thoughts win a little less. 

The sun begins to set. Me & My Dog by Julien Baker and Phoebe Bridgers starts to play. We roll down the windows. Matt turns the volume up. People have been making comments about being the main character or living in a movie this week but this is the first time that comment has felt actually true.

It’s cold at the top of the mountain but I don’t care. Everyone gets pictures with each other because this place is probably the best to do it. We’re there for like an hour. 

I wish I was photogenic.

I could probably make a flower crown out of the surrounding flora but that would be illegal.

Carter (counselor) joins us on the way back. First Love / Late Spring is played during the three-hour drive back. I add it to my list of camp songs in my notes app. We all sing Motion Sickness because we all know the words.

I pull out the four face masks that never left my backpack. Talon decides not to do one. Burgie terrorizes him by spreading the gel on his knee.

We stop at a McDonald’s. It’s pretty hectic because a few people are bitching about not wanting to go. I buy my own food so that I don’t have to wait for the rest of camp to order. I haven’t eaten since breakfast. The chocolate shake I get is my favorite thing I eat/drink on this trip.

We get back at midnight and are given our superlatives. I’m unsurprised by mine because they’re comments that have been made the entire five days of camp. It’s still cool to hear them because they’re definitely traits that people who just met me probably couldn’t distinguish. Still, Matt proposed one in the car earlier that I agree with much more. 

Ben says that I have to leave at 5:30 the next morning so I make the (stupid) decision to stay awake all night, which I’ve never done before. I’m not sure if I’ll be successful.

I realize that I have to say goodbye to people, which makes the aforementioned icky feeling in my chest become much more prominent. Carter (counselor) is the first to go. He tells me that he’ll probably see me again. I’m really happy about that but totally depressed about the uncertainty of the situation. I’ve never thought of my writing as something I would actually do outside of school and now that it feels like I could actually go somewhere with it, I have this really big fear of losing touch. I was hoping that Carter (counselor) wouldn’t be the first to go because he’s another one of those people I feel like I’ve known my whole life. I end up filing through his Spotify later. 

I’m already crying when Matt comes out of the classroom from his portrait session with Ethan. I knew from Tuesday’s media group that leaving was going to be a bitch, and this goodbye is definitely the bitchiest. I really don’t know what to say but, 

that shit hurted. 

I cry for a while. I give up on trying to be productive with my writing. I say goodbye to Hayley but I know I’ll see her at a meet in the fall. 

I end up making it through the all-nighter. I spend a good portion of the night packing and going up and down the stairs, a different conversation or activity happening each time I return to the lobby.

Up the stairs. Remove everything from my room. Down the stairs. Everyone on their phones. Grab my backpack. Up the stairs. Pack everything while listening to one of Carter's (counselor) playlists. Down the stairs. A camper’s head rests on another's shoulder. That’s a new development. Another camper’s head rests on another’s lap. That’s a new development. Videos are still being edited at 1 a.m. Up the stairs. Finish packing. Down the stairs. “Is that an edible?” someone ironically asks Burgie. “Yeah, definitely,” he says, unwrapping the obviously normal Rice Krispie Treat, “I got it from Ethan.” “Wait, can I have some?” another camper asks.

Up the stairs. Bring down my last load of luggage. Down the stairs. “Bro, I’m so high right now,” says the one who asked for some Rice Krispie. She is not so high right now. It was a Rice Krispie. Carter (camper) starts playing heavy metal music. “I need to stay awaaaake,” he says. 

“Turn that shit off. I wanna play Morgan Wallen,” she says, playing her music over his. She sings along. Marietta and I stare at each other, dumbfounded. Heavy metal and Morgan Wallen do not go well together. 

After being dropped at the airport, I turn on First Love / Late Spring. I press the replay button. Even though I sleep most of my flight I don’t turn the song off until I get into the passenger seat of my mom’s car. I immediately start crying. “It’s good tears, though, right?” I talk the entire way home, trying my best to explain everything about everyone and all my experiences. I’m still talking when I get in the door, so enveloped in my rant that I don’t notice my dog Comet, who is old enough to have maybe been dead by the time I returned, trying to greet me.

I start unloading the items in my backpack onto the counter. A bunch of pressed wildflowers fall out of my sketchbook.