How My Mind Melted

Heatwave: Day Zero

“Hey, Camp Counselor Dustin,” Jordy waved at me, sporting that way-too-wide smile.

He pulled his golf cart beside me, disrupting—and therefore ruining—my half-hour break.

“Hi, Jordy,” I said back with a lazy, please-leave-me-alone wave.

He didn’t leave me alone.

“Big heatwave coming tomorrow,” he said.

If there’s anything I can’t stand more than being bothered by my boss while I’m on break, it’s having to engage in small talk with that same boss. Sadly, I lacked the gumption to tell him to screw off.

“Yeah, heard it’s going to get over 100,” I replied.

He nodded, twitching his beady eyes in a way that suggested there was something else he wished to discuss.

“Crazy town, huh?”

“Yup.”

Just. Spit. It. Out.

Finally, he did. “So, hey, I noticed you’re not wearing your canary colors…”

Quick background that you probably already figured out: I am a college kid, working as a camp counselor at Camp Canary. Our uniforms are yellow (get it, like the bird), but more importantly, they are dumb and ugly and made of cotton, and I don’t like wearing them.

Quick background on Jordy: he’s the camp director. He’s like the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld, except for shirts and other camp rules. There, you’re all caught up.

“Sorry, I guess I forgot,” I lied.

He reached across the golf cart, patted my shoulder, then said, “It’s okay, sport, just change into it next time you’re at the ole bunk. Gotta show the kids that Canary spirit!”

Right… because kids care deeply about the color shirt I’m wearing—I hear them talking about it all the time.

“Sure thing,” I replied.

“Catcha around,” he said, then zipped off to bother someone else.

Heatwave: Day One

It was over 100 degrees.

I had been sweating from the moment I woke up. The studio apartment–sized bunk that I shared with another counselor had no air conditioning. The wooden floors gave it a smell that I normally associate with the inside of a sauna.

“Well, this blows,” Ray said.

Ray was the camp’s basketball instructor. He’s a huge dude—6’4”, with a mop of curly brown hair that raised his height another two inches. He played Division III basketball for some school in Allentown, PA, that I’d never heard of.

Ray was a nice enough guy, but something about him irked me. He seemed like the kind of person who would have no problem ratting on a friend. Or maybe I only felt that way because we weren’t that close.

Ray and I engaged in the classic weather-related small talk while I got dressed. In a half hour, I had to wake up my campers.

Lucky me: I get to run around in the heat with a hormonal horde of seventh-grade boys.

If you listen really hard, you can probably hear my yelps of joy.

I sighed heavily as I ran my finger along the cotton material of the yellow uniform. The yellow fabric made my body feel ten degrees hotter on contact. It was like getting a hug from a hairy, shirtless guy who just got out of a hot-tub.

I was about to leave when someone knocked on our door.

“Canaries, rise and smile!” Jordy entered our bunk. He was wearing a big, stupid yellow bucket hat, which perfectly matched his camp shirt.

“Big J,” Ray said. “To what do we owe the honor?”

He somehow managed to sound genuine—it’s part of his slippery personality.

“Well, I don’t know if you boys have heard,” he began, “but there’s a little heatwave that will be with us for a day or two.”

Actually, it’s supposed to last seven days.

“I think we noticed,” the words slipped out of my mouth.

“Right, right,” Jordy said. “Any which way, I’m just going from bunk to bunk, letting everyone know that there are no changes in the ole schedule.”

So, his mission had been to tell us that there’s nothing to tell.

If the camp owners are looking to trim fat from the budget, I have a suggestion.

“Let’s make sure the kiddos drink plenty of water—important that everyone stays hydrated.”

“Will do,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as terse as I felt.

Ray added, “Think you can bring some extra coolers down to the courts? We’re always running out.”

Jordy nodded. “Absolutely! It’s like I always say: hydrate or dydrate!

He raised his hand for a cringy high five, which Ray awkwardly slapped.

As he was walking out, he turned to me, winked, and said, “Dustin, sweet shirt!”

I wanted to cry.

Heatwave: Day Two

Fun fact about me: I have fair skin and burn easily. Therefore, I had my own ultra-high-SPF sunscreen.

Another fun fact: I get grumpy and forgetful when I don’t sleep well.

After spending the night tossing and turning in sheets that were sticky with sweat, I had miraculously remembered to lotion myself up.

However, I had forgotten that my group wasn’t scheduled to return to the bunks until after dinner—so I didn’t take my special lotion with me.

I realized this when we got to basketball.

The blacktop court was radiating in the sweltering heat—Ray claimed that the concrete made the court twenty degrees hotter, like an oven top.

I believed him. I could feel the heat melting my sneakers the second I stepped onto that hunk of asphalt.

A few of the kids ran past me, racing to grab basketballs, while the ones with common sense lagged behind.

“Dustin, play one-on-one with me,” said Rex, a camper who was too tall for his body, so he looked like a stretched-out piece of gum. Rex wore goggles—or Rex-Specs, hence the nickname.

“No chance,” I told him.

“Why not? Afraid you’re gonna lose?” He thought he was taunting me.

“I work here,” I replied. “I’ve already lost.”

He shrugged, then went to shoot alone at the far side of the court.

At that point I realized I badly needed my sunscreen. I walked over to Ray, who was holding his whistle, ready to bring the kids in and start some type of basketball thing.

I tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, I forgot my sun—”

The sound of wheels rolling over pavement cut me off.

“Hey, Canaries!” Jordy said to the campers—and, I guess, also to us. The kids had a mixed reaction to him. They were at that age where some of them thought he was cool because he was in charge, and the smart ones thought he was an annoying man-dweeb.

He told us that he was planning to watch our game. His presence slashed any hope I had of running back to the bunk.

Not a huge deal.

Ray had this handled—all I had to do was sit in the shade and watch. Ray began splitting the ten campers into two teams—shirts vs. skins (not sure we were supposed to be doing that, but whatever).

When Rex was put on the skins team, he announced that he wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t play.

Jordy became gravely concerned. “Come to the shade, big guy. Let’s get you some water.”

Ray looked at the kids, then said, “Okay, we’ll play four-on-four with a sub.”

“Hang on a sec,” Jordy called over from the shaded sideline. “Why doesn’t Dustin play?”

Ray smirked. “Great idea—you can go on the skins team.”

“I…” I was racking my brain for an excuse. “I’ll get burned.”

Jordy sat up, and for a moment I thought he was going to volunteer to play—which would probably have been the first time he’d done anything useful in his entire adult life.

Instead, he pulled a tiny white bottle out of his shorts pocket. “Here ya go, sport!”

It was SPF 20.

I was going to sizzle like a fajita.

Heatwave: Day Three

I had a nightmare last night that fire ants were crawling all over my skin, digging their tiny nails into my flesh.

When I woke up, my skin was raw—red, like the casing of a hot dog. The sun had ravaged me from scalp to legs. It was so early that my enemy—the sun—had yet to rise, so I tried to fall back asleep.

I failed.

My shoulders stung every time I rolled onto one side, and again when I peeled off the sheet to turn the other way.

Giving up, I decided to use the time productively. I grabbed my Kindle and opened one of my summer reading books. But my eyelids were so burned that focusing on the screen physically hurt. I could hear my lashes crinkle like charred paper whenever I blinked.

I forced myself into a cold shower. For a few glorious moments, the icy water soothed my radioactive skin—until it turned warm, and I screamed from the sudden burst of pain.

“Dustin…?” a very groggy Ray called out.

I didn’t feel bad for waking him—in fact, I should’ve done it sooner. This was his fault.

My hands balled into fists, trembling with rage. I wanted to punch him.

Instead, I took a deep breath and got my temper in check.

“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep,” I said.

“Yeah, I got that,” he replied, sounding more annoyed than sympathetic. “Can you try to keep it down? Maybe read a book or something.”

“Sure,” I said through clenched teeth.

By the time I toweled off, Ray’s snores were echoing through our tiny bunk.

I stood by the side of his bed, the towel coiled in my hand like a weapon. I watched him for several minutes, irritated by how perfectly peaceful his breathing was. Each rise and fall of his chest felt like an insult.

The only reason I didn’t whip him with the towel was because, at that moment, my enemy rose.

In the morning light, I saw how crazy I must have looked—and retreated to my bunk, my nerves blazing with pain every step of the way.

Heatwave: Day Six

I was not a human being.

I was a husk of skin that crinkled like tin foil every time I moved.

Sleep laughed at me.

In the night, it cackled, replacing the sun as my tormentor.

When I managed to doze off, I was riddled with nightmares: in my dreams, my skin became a feasting ground for all sorts of flame-fanged creatures.

I wanted to quit—but I knew my parents wouldn’t allow me to come home. I was trapped.

In the afternoon, I took my campers to basketball. Despite the heat warning that the state had issued, Jordy insisted we stick to the schedule.

I refused to step on the court, staying on the grass instead.

Rex approached me with a ball in hand. “One-on-one?”

My face twisted into what could only be described as a snarl.

“Okay. I’ll play.”

He backed away. “Umm… no, it’s fine actually…”

“No! I want to play. Can’t you see I want to play?” I held out my hands for the ball.

Reluctantly, he passed it to me.

I smiled—then kicked the ball as high and far as I could. It burned like hell when it connected with my foot, but what was a little more pain?

Rex ran off crying.

I didn’t care.

It was his fault I’d had to play the game the other day. He deserved far worse.

A few minutes later, I heard the familiar squeal of tires on concrete.

I grinned. It had been days since I’d seen Jordy. I hoped the sun was getting to him—hoped it was eating away at his middle-aged body like an overripe plum.

But when he pulled up beside me, I was disappointed to see that he looked the same.

He looked me up and down. “Dustin, why don’t you come with me?”

I glanced down and realized I wasn’t wearing a camp shirt.

“No,” I replied.

He looked confused, so I clarified. “Those shirts are heavy and cottony. They hurt me. And I already hurt bad.”

My fists were shaking again.

“Easy goes it,” he said. “I won’t make you put on a shirt. Let’s just go for a ride.”

Okay, sure. Why not? A ride in the golf cart sounded nice and breezy. No wonder Jordy didn’t look any worse for wear—driving around all day with the wind in his bucket hat.

I hopped in, and he peeled away from the campers, driving me five minutes down the path to his private office.

The first thing I noticed was the air conditioning.

It was the purest thing I’d ever felt—like an angel’s breath.

The office had two rooms, one filled with plush chairs and piles of extra canary-yellow shirts. The other had a wooden desk and file cabinets—much more Jordy.

“Take a seat,” he said.

I did, sinking into a cool, soft cushion. I grabbed one of the shirts and started wringing it like a towel.

Jordy didn’t seem happy—his usual pep was gone, replaced with a sternness that didn’t suit him. I wondered if the heat had gotten to him after all. Though with his breeze-filled golf cart and AC-powered office, it seemed unlikely.

“Dustin, how are you doing?”

“To be honest,” I said, “I’m a little hot.”

“Sorry about that,” he replied. “The AC isn’t working that well because of the heatwave.”

“It seems like it’s working fine to me…”

“Right. Well, sport—we’ve had some complaints about you—”

I thought of Rex. “I shouldn’t have kicked his ball…”

“What? No. It wasn’t a camper. It’s from your bunkmate, actually. He says you’ve been acting strange. Staying up all night... watching him sleep.”

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Is that true?”

I smiled. “No, I wouldn’t say so. I haven’t been acting strange. Not strange at all.”

He seemed to relax a little. “Well, good then—”

I cut him off. “It’s just—there’s a heatwave. I can’t sleep, I can’t move, and he can do all those things. And it makes me a little hot, you know? A little sweaty!”

Jordy walked behind me and put his hands on my shoulders in what I think was supposed to be a calming gesture.

“We’re gonna call your parents. Get them to pick you up…”

His fingers pressed into my skin, burning it badly.

It reminded me of those ants from my nightmares with their iron teeth. I couldn’t stand it.

I stood, brushing his hands off.

Then, I did what I should’ve done to Ray days ago—and whipped him with the coiled shirt.

It slashed across his face with the most satisfying crunch I’d ever heard.

Another!

Another!

I hit him again and again.

His stupid hat fell off, and I realized I’d never seen his hair before. It was fair, blonde like mine.

I cackled.

“I’m the sun now!” I shouted, hitting him over and over.

He was burning—but not enough. Not like me.

After a few minutes, I relented. Jordy was cowering on the floor, blood dripping from several cuts on his face.

“Relax,” I told him. “I’ll put the shirt on.”