"This one time, at band camp..."

When I was 15 years old I was dating a 19-year-old. I know, I know, great judgment on my part. My mom flat out told me she didn't approve of the relationship but that she wouldn't forbid it because she knew that would just encourage me to be a very naughty girl and sneak out of the house all the time. Because she did not forbid my "love" I always came home at curfew and only spent two sick days at his house instead of at home in my own bed. Trust me when I say that plenty of corrupting can occur between 3:30pm and 10:00pm when you're dating the guy everyone hangs around in his mother's basement watching movies, eating candy, and rollerblading through the laundry room. (Much more devious things occurred, but you'll have to use your vivid imagination.)

When I was 16 I was still dating the then-now-20-year-old and my mom was pretty fed up with it so she told me I would be spending an entire week (OMG!!!!!) at religious music camp. I'm not religious. Sorry if that disappoints anyone, but I don't take kindly to "the word" being crammed down my throat. I appreciate the stories for their creativity and message about the state of social inequities, but other than that it really has no bearing on my life. I know my mom was hoping that I would go to camp, learn some songs, be "saved" in some manner, then never speak to the boyfriend again. Not what happened.

When I arrived to religious music camp I was dumped off by my mom who drove away sobbing because she knew I didn't want to be at camp but she was at her whit's end with this whole older boyfriend business. A camp counselor greeted me then placed me in a room with three girls who already knew each other. These girls? They were catty. They were mean. They whispered about me while I was standing right there. I took the only free bed, plopped down my stuff, then just stared at them because I had no idea what else I was supposed to do for an entire week without my boyfriend or without my C64 with 1200bps modem!!!!!!!!!!!. The girls did not include me in their discussion about all the "hot" boys who were there (um, it's religious music camp, what did you expect?).

Through listening to them interact I figured out that their names were Nancy, Julie, and Snotface. The girls eventually decided it was time to leave so I followed them out of the room and onto the camp grounds, keeping a 10-foot distance from them so as not to provoke them into a physical fight but so that I could passively figure out the lay of the land. I realized quickly that most of my time would be spent in three areas: the cafeteria, the rehearsal space, and the actual church at which we would perform for our families on the last day of camp. At said cafeteria Julie broke away from Nancy and Snotface and became an entirely different person. She wanted to be my bestest friend ever, because Nancy and Snotty were actually mean to her as well but she just played along because she’s a follower. “Great,” I thought to myself. “Not only do I get to hang out at some place that totally goes against my belief system, but I get to hang out with the follower sheep!” What else was I gonna do for a week? We bonded.

That night I actually felt so miserable about my situation and missed my boyfriend so much that I just kept crying as quietly as possible until I fell asleep. If you’ve seen my 50 things video you can see that I am a fair-skinned girl. When I cry my face gets red and splotchy like someone quickly sautéed it. It’s disgusting. Imagine my face being all nasty and hot and dripping with nose goo while I tried to block out the noises of snoring girls and grasshoppers as well as the thoughts of my mother's betrayal. I didn't get a lot of sleep that night.

Anyway, back to the story in a very condensed version: I cried a lot that first night but then I just gave in to my circumstances. I practiced singing as instructed, hung out with whoever Julie told me to hang out with but in a very wallflowery manner (I didn’t talk, I just observed), and waited patiently for performance day to arrived. I had made arrangements with my boyfriend for him to come to the performance on the last day so I was pretty psyched that I would get to see him even though Mom didn’t want me to.

When the last day arrived I went into the church dressed in some flowery skirt, a white blouse, and a chenille sweater. (Basically, I was dressed like a dork.) I took my place on the risers and looked out into the crowd of grinning moms and dads, grandparents and siblings, and noticed a distinct lack of boyfriend. I was instantly furious, silently blaming my mother for what I was sure she had done: Called him and told him not to come to my performance. I considered running out of the church before the singing began just to defy my mother but the piano started playing and I was too scared to activate my plan in the middle of the song. I stayed, I sang, I walked out of the church to my room, I got dressed in normal clothes, quickly exchanged postal addresses with Julie and Nancy (but not Snotty, or else I’d remember her name), and dragged my suitcase to the car.

If you know me well enough, you’ll know that I get really quiet when I’m pissed off. You can talk to me all you want and I’ll just look at you (or not!) and say nothing at all, but my face speaks volumes. My mom got a faceful of volumes on that ride home. I had 5 silent fights with her on the three-hour journey. I went directly to my room when we arrived back to the house and I didn’t come out for any reason, not even when Mom knocked on the door to congratulate me on my great job at the church.

After returning from camp Julie and I exchanged a few letters. She lived a few states over at the time and I randomly confessed that I’d never eaten a shoestring potato so in the next letter she sent there was a piece of aluminum foil wrapped around three moldy previously-frozen fries. It was disgusting, but it made me laugh hysterically.

Last week I was half-heartedly watching the local news when I saw a story about Julie. She had gone missing the night before and police were very concerned about her whereabouts. I can only imagine that means that she: a) is special in every sense of the word; b) takes medication but didn’t have it with her; c) was suicidal before disappearing. I was kinda shocked by the story, but really the only shock for me was that she now lived in my state. The following day the news ran an update story that Julie had been found alive and well.

The boyfriend? I know now that he had no intention of ever coming to the performance in the first place. He was only dating me because he didn’t know how to break up with me (how we started dating to begin with is another long tale). At the end of our relationship he just started dating someone older than he is and they eventually got married, lived miserably, and got divorced. I haven’t seen him in probably 10 years and I like it that way.

And that’s why I don’t like mushrooms. (Are you still reading? Wow! Hi!)