Chapter 13: July 9, 1978

In the summertime when the weather is hot,
You can stretch right up and touch the sky.
When the weather’s fine,
You got women, you got women on your mind.
Have a drink, have a drive,
Go out and see what you can find.
In The Summertime - Mungo Jerry

“Are you ready to go?” Mom asked me. “Carl and his father will be here soon.”

“Yes, Mom. I got my backpack and duffel bag packed.”

“Well, I want to make sure you have everything you need.”

“Mooom!” I exclaimed in exasperation. “I checked my list twice. If I took everything you want me to take, I’d need four more duffel bags!”

“Don’t exaggerate,” scolded Mom. “You never know when you need something.”

My assistant scoutmaster kept telling us an old adage, ‘Travel light; Freeze at night.’ I never understood it until my first overnight camping trip in December. I trusted what the weatherman had said, but didn’t take into account the difference between Baltimore and the Appalachian Mountains in western Maryland. Luckily, I had buddies who loaned me some of their gear.

I, however, also knew I would not need sweaters, extra underwear, extra socks, six pairs of shoes, and a third flashlight for seven days at camp. Mom wasn’t the one who is going to have to carry all of it from the main building to the camp site, which could be a distance anywhere between 200 yards up to a mile.

The doorbell rang and I went to go answer it. I didn’t want to give Mom the chance to dump more stuff on me.

“Dude!” exclaimed Carl as I opened the door.

I broke out in a smile. Carl was short and stocky with a mop of sandy-blonde hair. He was funny, impulsive, quick to anger, and just as quick to forgive. He was the same age I was and my best friend since we met in the Boy Scouts. His mom, Ellen, hoped I would be a moderating influence in his life, while my mom wished he wouldn’t get me into so much trouble.

“Hey, man. How was ‘camp’?” asked Carl, making air quotes with his fingers.

“Carl!” I hissed, looking around to see if Mom overheard him.

“Hey, chill out,” laughed Carl. “I’m good.”

“You won’t be if my Mom finds out that you know about the camp,” I told him. “Magda told one of her friends, and Mom and Dad felt obligated to talk to her parents.”

“I’m hurt,” pouted Carl unconvincingly. “Haven’t I capture your secret?”

“It’s not a secret. We just don’t like to advertise it.”

Carl move closer and clapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Man, that’s what the secret is,” he said. “Good morning, Mrs. Zaworski. You look lovely today.”

“Why, thank you, Carl,” said Mom, coming into the foyer from the kitchen. “I know it’s not true, but it’s nice of you to say so.”

I shook my head and wonder ... and not for the first time. Carl was a charmer. It seems like everything he said was witty and funny. If I had used that line with Mom, she would’ve interrogated me as to what I was up to.

I knew exactly where he got it from. His mother, Ellen, was very outgoing and always looking for new things to do. His father, Carl, Senior, was a fast-talking marketing manager for large industrial firm. There were times when I was envious of his gift of gab.

“We gotta go,” said Carl, picking up my duffel bag just as a car horn honked outside. “Bye, Mrs. Zaworski.”

I was just about to grab my backpack and head out the door when I stopped. I quickly turned and gave Mom a big, warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. Mom stiffened at first, but then returned the hug and kiss. She then stepped back, cocked her head to one side, and gave me an appraising look.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Just because.”

“I love you, too,” chuckled Mom. “Now, scoot.”

I snatched up my backpack and ran out the door. Carl had already placed my duffel in the back of his family’s station wagon alongside his stuff. His dad was a big man with a large beer belly. His hair was almost gone on top of his head and he had grown long on one side to comb it over the bald spot.

“Come on, Steve,” boomed Mister Svensson. “We’re burning daylight.”

I hurried to the back of the station wagon and carefully put my backpack in. Mister Svensson appeared jovial and full of life, but he was exceedingly protective of his things. I found that out the first time I carelessly tossed my jacket and book bag onto the back of one of his chairs when I went to see Carl at his house. Mister Svensson rushed over to the chair, pulled my stuff off of it, and meticulously checked it for scratches and tears. He then read me the riot act for ten minutes about respecting other people’s property. I was real careful about his things ever since.

“Morning, Steve,” greeted Mister Svensson heartily as I got into the back seat and buckled up. “You all ready for camp?”

“Yes, sir. Uh, Mister Svensson? I’m, uh, going by my given name now ... Stephan.”

“Really? I’ll try to remember that, Steve.” Mister Svensson broke out in braying laughter at his little joke. “Sorry, couldn’t help that. What do your folks think of that? Do they agree with it?”

I almost told him that it was none of their business, but, instead I said, “They’ve agreed with my decision. It is my name after all.”

“Yes,” replied Mister Svensson in a tone that told me he thought I was borderline insubordinate, “but you should respect what your parents wish to call you.”

“I agree, sir. They named me Stephan. It was the confusion with all the other relatives name Stephan that caused everyone to start calling me Steve.”

“Maybe you should stick with that.”

Mister Svensson snorted and I lapsed into silence, knowing he believed that children should be seen and not heard. Carl turned around and gave me a wink. His dad went on to regale us for the entire trip about how we needed to make the most of ourselves, how lucky we were to be living in these modern times, how we needed to help our families, how we should enjoy our youth, et cetera, and so forth. Carl and I listened with half an ear because we heard it so many times before. I was really glad my folks were picking us up.

Scout camp is Scout camp. Our troop had been given the furthest site from the main buildings. This was a good thing and a bad thing. Bad because it was a long trek down to the mess hall and the other buildings. It also meant we had to carry our bags all the way from the mess hall up to the camp site and back again at the end of the week. Carl and I made the trip several times. Once to get our stuff up there and several times to help out some of our younger members, whose mothers had loaded them down with everything.

Being that far away was also a good thing because the camp administrators left us alone, except for our daily inspection. We knew our own adult Scout leaders, who are staying with us. They were quite as inflexible as the camp employees about certain things, such as midnight excursions down to the lake, but flexible about other very minor infractions.

The week went by quickly. I’d worked on and received merit badges in Basketry, Campfire Cooking, and Archery. I still had to finish Soil and Water Conversation. We had a full day left before we had to leave the following day and I knew I could complete the merit badge before then. We had just turned in after our get-together around the troop campfire, telling stories and singing songs.

“Dude, you’re working too hard,” complained Carl as we laid on our bunks in our tent. “How do you expect to have any fun here when all you do is work on projects?”

“I don’t know, but I had fun knocking you into the lake during the canoe joust.”

“Yeah, and I got you once, so we are even. Besides, it was Mikey’s fault for not being able to steer canoe.”

“Yeah ... Yeah ... Yeah. Likely excuse.”

“Well, it sounded good,” laughed Carl. “Hey, you haven’t told me about camp yet.”

“Why should I? You’re here with me.”

“No, you moron. The ‘other’ camp.”

I don’t know why, but I was a little reluctant to talk about what happened at The Pines this summer. I had lost my virginity, but I didn’t know to who and I wasn’t sure how much I should tell Carl about Murray. I wanted to tell the world about her, but I kept thinking about Aunt Susan’s advice on kissing and telling.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s just like this camp, you know, hiking, swimming, volleyball ... all kinds of activities.”

“Yeah, but with girls, less boys, and all naked,” chuckled Carl. “What about that one girl you have the hots for last year ... Jean ... Gina... ?”

“Gina, and she’s really filled out, but I was spending my time with another girl I met there.”

“You dog!” laughed Carl. “So, is she is good-looking as Gina? Not that it matters. You can always put a bag over her head. How’s her body?”

“Carl!!!”

“Oh, man,” griped Carl. “You’re the oldest 14-year-old I know. You got to live a little. Stop taking everything so seriously.”

“I have fun,” I complained.

“Yeah, right,” scoffed Carl. “You’ve been breaking up fights between your sister and your brother for so long that you started to think like a cop. You’re working at that restaurant with your dad, Zack the Knife. You’ve gone all high and mighty on me!”

Carl had decided to make a play on my dad’s name ever since he saw him dicing up vegetables one time. I snorted and said, “Not hardly.”

“Really? What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing!” I snapped back. “She’s gorgeous and really stacked!”

“There!” stated Carl smugly “Was that so hard to say?”

I sighed and said, “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

Carl set up quickly. He fumbled around for his flashlight and clicked it on right in my face.

“Sorry,” he apologized as he pointed to beam upward to diffuse the light through the whole tent. “You went all the way with her!?!”

“No! I mean ... Damn it, Carl!”

Car broke out laughing and I could only give him a sour glance.

“Dude, you’re supposed to brag about your girlfriend. Otherwise, she’ll think you take her for granted or worse.”

“Worse?” I looked up from my bunk. “What could be worse?”

“Doesn’t talk about girls or brag about his girlfriend, then you must be gay.”

“I’m not gay,” I said sourly.