Entry #288847, added on 05-03-04 @ 10:27 pm EDT
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| My-3: Sweet Sixteen May Never Be Kissed | Entry #288847 |
Fast forward: Sixteen years. My best friend, Jo Anne, and I decided to volunteer as junior counselors at St. Mary of the Pines as a stall tactic to avoid the whole boy issue. And I must admit the idea of bossing around dozens of kids held certain appeal.
So we packed our bags, bid our good-byes and boarded the Illinois Central Commuter train to Chattawa, Mississippi.
I remember the exact moment I sensed the uncertainty and the magic of that summer. It was the second I boarded that old train. The iron maiden creaked from the predictable sway of being rocked across the same five-hundred and sixty-four miles of rail while hauling unceasing generations through the swampland flats and bayous of the deep south. I was mesmerized as the tracks sliced through mossy mazes of cypress trees protruding irregular mammoth forms through citron colored skin that rippled like liquid silk from our thunder.
The moment the train pulled up to the Chattawa station, my heart began pounding with strange terror. We mimicked two lost kittens, ducking between enough luggage to confirm our visiting status. Then we heard this angelic voice.
“Debra? Jo Anne?
“Yes, ma’am,” I waved with relief.
Standing before us was Sister Juliet, a slender tanned young woman with vibrant green eyes and an engaging smile framed in a white linen habit. She was nothing like the nuns that taught us at Sacred Heart. Looking back now, I realize there wasn’t much pious about her. It was her contradictions that drew us in. Innocence and exuberance meshed with boundless energy. She grabbed our two largest suitcases and said, “Come on girls, let’s go home.”
We scooped up our remaining bags and scurried to catch up to her pace. “Where’s all the campers?” I questioned.
“Oh, they’ll be along tomorrow. Today is for the counselors. You’ll have a chance to meet the others, settle in and find your way ‘round the place first. We’ve got one hundred and sixty-two kids arriving in the morning.”
We climbed aboard the old yellow school bus and held on for dear life as Sister Juliet bounced her way back to St. Mary of The Pines. The tall pine trees appeared like giants standing guard over the camp grounds. The air was sweet and the grass was greener than any I’d ever seen.
“Okay girls, I’ll let you off here. You can check your room assignments on the bulletin board. All the other counselors have arrived. Dinner’s at 6:00. See you then.”
We stood before the dorm and felt our independence flounder. We really were on our own….for six whole weeks. No parents, no sisters, no family of any kind. Only dozens of screaming kids depending on us for guidance. What where we thinking?“
Luck was on our side. Jo Anne and I were assigned the same room. Knowing we could start and end each day in the same space made everything else tolerable. Jo Anne and I were inseparable in the city, so we’d hoped to keep the tradition alive at camp. After all, we were in charge. Right?
Meeting the other counselors was unsettling, to say the least. Later that night, we discovered they were part of a junior cult that held nightly séances to conjure spirits from the local graveyard. On that very evening, Jo Anne and I were tested for our silence. By evening’s first shadow, dark souls emerged from graves unburdened, laying claim to those willing to console death within.
What good could come from this? Our days filled with disobedient kids and our nights consumed with haunting rituals. |
© Copyright 2004 Celestial (UN: celestial at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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