What It Was Like by Peter Seth Page A

shot back, “I’ll see your lanyard, and raise you an ashtray.” Which made me laugh. I liked that she liked to play. But as if on cue, she was called by a chorus of her loving campers –”Rayyy-chlllll!” – waiting for her at the bottom of the steps, down from the porch.
    I just looked down at her, and she looked up at me, and we smiled. We said nothing because we didn’t have to.
    â€œLater,” I mouthed.
    She let herself be dragged away by her girls.
    â€œSave me!” she yelled back to me as they pulled her in the direction of the Girls’ Campus.
    â€œI will,” I said, knowing that she probably couldn’t hear me. But perhaps she could feel me. In any case, I should have learned right then that I’d have to, as my Mom used to say, “ make do.” Make Do with the amount of time, whatever it was, that I had with Rachel. Something or somebody always seemed to be pulling us apart. That was a hard lesson to learn, and one that I always fought against. If only they had just left us alone. . . .
    So as I walked back to the bunk to watch the Doggies clean up for Inspection, I thought about Rachel, and I could think about her all morning. Of course, through this whole thing/experience/ordeal, I spent much more time thinking about Rachel than actually being with her. The ratio is pretty alarming when you think about it, but really, what we do most during our waking hours is talk to ourselves continually, back and forth, remembering and imagining and reliving, all the stupid/monumental/trivial/tragic things in our lives: this inner monologue is our life.

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    From then on, my goal for the summer changed. Oh, I still wanted to be a good counselor, have a hassle-free summer in the country, and walk away with a decent chunk of change at the end – all those things – but suddenly my life became all about seeing Rachel. Nothing else really mattered. I mean it was the obvious thing to do.
    I learned her bunk’s schedule so I could make it my business to run into her at various times during the day. (All of the bunks’ schedules for the week were posted in the Main Office.) Fortunately, because she and I were counselors for the Inters, our paths could cross more often “naturally,” whenever our kids had a co-ed Evening Activity, like that first square dance. But that wasn’t enough for me. There was never “enough” for me: I had to see her more.
    I had a free period that next afternoon and devised a plan to cross Rachel’s path “accidentally.” (Yes, counselors occasionally were treated like actual employees, with some of the benefits of real workers, so we had a free period each day and a day off each week. Mine was Wednesday.) I found out that Rachel’s bunk had boating first thing that afternoon, right after Rest Period. So during the Rest Period, I signed out a rowboat from Captain Hal, the old, beer-bellied head of the boating program, who really didn’t care if I ate the boat, as long as I checked it out properly. Under the supervision of his suspicious red eyes, I moved the colored tag for Rowboat #4 on the Big Board from one hook to another hook, and stepped uneasily into Rowboat #4. I got control of the oars and pushed myself away from the other boats along the dock. Carefully, I rowed out to the far end of the lake. Then I stopped the oars and waited.
    I brought a book with me, but I couldn’t concentrate on it. My mind kept wandering, going over every word Rachel and I had exchanged and every look she had given me, even going so far as to imagine how she might be as my girlfriend. I know it might have been premature, but I couldn’t help thinking what I was thinking. I mean I had had girlfriends before, in high school, but no one very serious. The girls I really desired never seemed to like me (except as a “friend” or homework helper), and the girls who liked me just