That Summer Feeling

by Bridget Morrissey

I didn’t see Stevie until we were seated together to hear about the final day’s activity. I put my hand out where she could grab it. She didn’t take hold. There was a charge in the space between our fingers, like we were magnets not yet connected.

It took all of ten seconds for me to process that if Julianne, who for all of camp had been thoroughly lukewarm toward me, was willing to push past her fears for our team, why wasn’t I? Why wasn’t I?

“Being sure is overrated, though.

these quirky little comments are sooo going into the review

And Stevie. My sunshine.

“You don’t have to do this,” Stevie told me when it was announced. She knew me as someone who didn’t take many risks, and she was willing to let me live that way, even though losing would mean she’d walk away from this competition devastated.

It would always be enough. “Yes I do,” I told her.

At thirty-two, in a summer camp tucked into the Blue Ridge Mountains, standing at the beginning of a long, challenging obstacle course, I finally understood that the questions I used to ask myself all the time were the kinds that had no answers.

I cared through my words. My generosity. I cared through the way I supported people’s plans and dreams. I cared through the challenges I pushed through.

“What’s wrong?” “I hurt my hand pushing the weighted sleds,” Stevie told him. I’d been right beside her, and she’d not so much as skipped a beat as she moved. We’d been standing getting harnessed for close to a minute. How had the pain just appeared?

She was lying. And she was doing it for me. She saw me panicking, and she was trying to save me, as she had so many times before. She knew my shaking was coming from fear, and she wouldn’t be able to carry me up the rock wall like she’d wanted to do across the ropes course. So she was going to throw the competition instead.

“I’d do anything for you,” I said to Stevie. “I don’t need you to do anything for me. I can do it for myself. Just not right now.”

I put my hand atop her wrist—her injured wrist—and pressed down.

I saw it then. What Stevie tried so hard to hide. Her fear. She did everything to avoid showing it because it had depths that terrified her, so she made herself scary to intimidate everyone out of acknowledging it. She was afraid I’d leave her behind. That when we went down the mountain, I would give her up because I didn’t know how we’d fit our real lives together.

Even if I had no control in any real way, I could do this one thing. I could climb. For her. So I did.

“By the way, I love you,” Stevie said to me. “In case it isn’t obvious.” “Oh, it is,” I told her. “Now let’s get the hell off this wall.”

I learned quickly, as I had all week, that camp awards were a tradition not to be taken lightly.

The referee put a crown on my head, and a sash, and I went back to the fold of joyful campers, proud of myself for making an impact. I’d set out to make friends, and I’d done that and more.

Naturally, she won it. Because Stevie won every award she put her mind to, which is exactly how she won me over. My strong-willed, clear-minded sunshine girl. Forever in first place in my heart.

It broke Michelle, who up to that moment had not cried in front of us. Her eyes filled with tears as she gathered Stevie and me for a group hug.

“Why can’t you get a second chance? Why can’t you get a million? You’ve earned the bracelet, Garland. Just by being you.” “I brought it with me,” I admitted. “It’s in my room.” “What are you waiting for, then? Go get it! I want everyone to know I share an accessory with the Most Influential Camper.”

I felt what they meant to her. They meant safety. They meant comfort. They were a part of her protection.

“Yes it will,” she said. “Sisters.” “Sisters,” I echoed. I put my bracelet hand on her shoulder. “You ready?” I asked. She took a deep breath. Steadied herself. “I’m ready.” I put the scissors above the hair tie and cut off her ponytail, letting her brown waves fall to the floor.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes what?” “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Because I was a romantic. And I always would be. Ethan could never take that from me. I extended my hand. “Shake on it?”

And I saw it. My vision. Unfolding before me. It had all been true. Every single frame of it. I lived it exactly as I’d remembered it, but I hadn’t understood it before.

Not her brother. Never her brother.

I kissed her again. Right there at the dinner table. In front of all our friends and family. Because I wanted her to know how much I meant it. “We’ll find a future together,”

“I love you,” she told me. “Are you drunk?” I checked. She laughed as she held me. “No, you weirdo. I’m just sad. You’re leaving me.”

“Fuck,” I whispered, laughing at how much she was making me cry. “I love you too.” “Good,” she said. “Don’t go forgetting it.”

The truth was, I still had no idea what I wanted my life to be after camp ended. I just knew it needed to involve Stevie.

Reality had begun to sneak in, bleeding onto the edges of the utopia of camp. Down the mountain, Dara had all but built a permanent wing for me in her home.

Maybe one day I’d laugh again about being a divorcée. Maybe it would suit me later in life, like dressing youthfully suited me now.

One by one, my friends made their way back to the world beyond Camp Carl Cove, driving down the dirt road and into the land of cell phone reception and obligations. I stayed put. I wanted to be the last person left. Close the camp down and walk through the grounds with the cleaning crew. Savor every last bit of what we’d all created here.

“We love you,” Tommy told me. “I love you too.” It was so beautiful to tell people I loved them and not worry about sounding too intense. If anything, it was hardly enough. They deserved so much more than I could put into words.

“Are you serious?” she asked. “Are birds real?”

“I just need to spend a few days gathering up my stuff, and then I’m yours,” I told Stevie. “I have nothing but time.” “Let’s do it,” Stevie said, beaming. She grabbed me so tight we fell over. And just like she had on that very first day, she rolled so her backpack caught the ground instead of me.

In the last 365 days of traveling with her, I’d seen parts of the country I’d never before known.

Because of it, she’d been able to secure financing for her next project—a documentary about Camp Carl Cove’s adult sleepaway camp, with a special focus on the queer found family that had sprung up within it.

Lucky for us, we would always have camp.

“Shit,” she whispered, stopping us outside her new cabin. “I lost it.” I tried my best to cover up my devastation. The rock had become one of our favorite inside jokes. Earlier in the month, I’d even gotten her a display case for it for her birthday.

“You didn’t lose the rock,” I said when we broke apart.

“See you around camp, Garland Moore.” “See you around camp, Stevie Magnusson.”

After camp ended, we were moving to Washington.

But all of that waited for me down the mountain. For six days, none of it mattered. Summer camp needed me first.