Summer at Camp Lagerie

I had almost forgotten the smell of pine. A fresh smell of clean air and pine needles, giving the sensation of your lungs being opened up and detoxed from the smog of a city life. I could feel the air move around me as it circled the lake and drifted through the trees, collecting their scent and delivering it to my memory.

Camp Lagerie welcomed my memory. The wood-log cabins were connected by un-renovated dirt paths that had now become discolouration’s in the grass rather than gravel paths. Standing under the entrance arch, the vines seemed to fade away until it gleamed in its original bronze colour. The ground beneath me greyed as the grass became gravel and my shoes felt the familiar crunch as I stepped into the camp.

Ghosts of children I once knew came skipping past me, their matching jumpers brushing past my legs scratching at my jeans. I watched them all run from their parents into their designated cabins.

“Now you just head straight down that path there and when you see the one called Roosevelt you head right on in, y’hear?” The camp guide instructed eight-year-old me and off I went. I followed my former self, watching how merrily I ran. Looking out to the lake where some brave kids who had already arrived were jumping from the jetty. Some in their swimming costumes, some just jumped in naked but it was at an age where no one cared. Back when everything was a lot easier.

Roosevelt was a thin long cabin with the front of it facing out to the daunting water. Standing outside I could see the green door and the windows either side. My bunk faced out the left window, my bed being the first that you came to as the door swung open.

The roof was partially caved in at the back now, letting the pine bundle up inside. The beds had rotted away leaving only their frames. As I bent down and looked under my bunk, I could still see our artwork. The small carving J and I made one night as we built a den. We had pulled my duvet over the end of the bed and used our pillows to hold it up. Inside we used his torch to cast our shadows and play silly games, hiding in our fortress of youth.

It was all so bright, the freshly painted cabins, the campfires, the costumes; the staff would wear to entertain us. Looking at it now, it’s a bulldozer’s playing ground. Most of the cabins had been reduced to foundations. Roosevelt, Lincoln and Bush were the only ones standing. Mostly standing. Roosevelt had its backend crumbled, the roof missing and half the back wall with it. I couldn’t quite understand if the roof went and dragged the wall with it or if the wall caused the roof. Lincoln, from standing in the door of Roosevelt, seemed perfectly intact. Bush had its sides but had become more like a tepee than a cabin. You could look right thorough it, having both the front and back walls totally missing but the sides somehow still held up the roof.

Then there was the lake. I remember taking dives and swimming there. We would go as a group, the camp tried to mix us all up. Your house was for your evening activities and then you had a day group. I was in group Bee. J was in Apple.

“Now remember, no group is better than the other. We just have to divide you up, y’hear.” Camp leader Rosie called out as she separated us.

“They don’t think we knows that the groups are in alphabets” A boy in my group turned to be as I was partitioned into group Bee and then they started to read group Carrot.

We always got to go the lake after Apple. Then Carrot after us. So, the groups were just a way of denoting order. All apart from the Saturday, our last Saturday. When it was the hottest day of the year and they let all of us in the lake at once as a treat. All of the campers and the leaders bundled into the lake.

I wasn’t the most confident swimmer; I was more of a paddler. The lake was deep, it was a natural reserve with the camp built around it. The camp swam in it and when the camp wasn’t in season the locals used it for swimming and some even rode boats around the vast expanse of water.

“How’s about a race?” J teased. He wanted to do a lap of the entire lake. Impossible for me as a child to guess how long it was but I knew it would be something I couldn’t do. He tugged on my arm as we both bobbed near the jetty. I was holding onto the wooden beams as I bobbed in the water like a log. The cold sensation of being submerged got to me and so we began to circle each other, rolling around in the water hoping that the use of motion would warm out legs. Our torso’s risked sunburn but in the darker depth of the lake, the water had not warmed.

We swam to the side and held leant against the bank. Our feet pressed against the rock, ready to push off and swim the lap. The lake seemed to fade the further away it got, I couldn’t see the finish line. For some reason I expected it to be marked with a big red ribbon, ready for one of us to swim through and be declared king of the lake. Instead it was just another Jetty sitting out of the rock.

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We pushed off thrusted into a swim. Our arms slapped the surface and we tilted our heads as if we knew why the swimmers, we had seen, did that. Our legs created a flurry of white water behind us as we frantically battled to see who could go fastest across the lake.

“Jackson, Miles, not too far now y’hear!” Called out the camp leader as we payed no attention and continued to battle for the win. As we swam, I found myself looking at J and wondering how I had found such a fun friend. Camp Lagerie was my saving grace every year.

We got about a quarter of the way across the lake, our legs began to moan and our arms grew restless listening to them. Neither of us would slow down, for whomever did would instantly loose by rules of camp effort. The leaders by now began to shout after us, their voices fading into the distance and sank under the chanting from other camp members being our cheerleaders. I tried to focus on my red ribbon ahead as every time I looked back to J I slowed down and he began to catch up to me. I was elated to be in the lead, I instantly assumed because of his figure that he would easily dominate me.

My head joined my body and too began to swim. Breathing had become tiresome and my body cried for a stop. I must have been halfway across the lake, above the deepest part of the stretch. I knew if I stopped, my body would cave and I wondered how I would hold myself up. I had to take the risk. I looked back and found myself begin to slow. I saw the camp leaders swimming after me, they had clearly realised their shouting wasn’t effective. I could also see a collection of campmates running across the edge of the water to come meet us at the finish line assumedly. I looked along and didn’t see J behind me though. Had I been so focused he had overtaken me. I stopped swimming and came to a bob. He wasn’t in front or in fact finished nor was he behind me.

An arm shot out of the water like a dolphin gasping for air. Only his hand couldn’t breathe for him. The arm sank and I realised where J had vanished to. I tried to swim towards him but my arms couldn’t move. My legs only just able to jellyfish wiggle to keep me afloat. Again, the hand shot up, this time managing to slap the water to try to propel himself up but instead it just sank back down. I could see the whirlpool of bubbles surrounding him. Muted screams for help reverberated through the water.

From the edge of the Jetty, I could see the bouquets of flowers that had been tied to the supporting beams. Small teddies had been clamped beside laminated letters of regret. Nothing there, with my signature.

My parents collected me the next day, as all the parents did.

The paramedics had collected J the day before, his parents collected his body from hospital as we left the camp.

I sat on the edge of the jetty, my feet dangling just above the water. Part of me wanted to feel its touch again. To dive into its depth and feel the cold I felt that day.

But I know if I go in, I will freeze and see J once more.

The stagnant water hadn’t been disturbed since that time, I’m sure. Word of the boy would have spread through the town and no parent would let their child near again. The lily-pads had spread across the lake and created a small central island, right where J went cold.

As I untied my shoes, took off my tie and folded my suit onto the jetty, I stripped down bare. Just as he was. The water was refreshing against my skin. A rebellious stroke on the upper thigh and a comforting hug around the chest. But this was no summer day and pimples shrouded my skin. I swam towards the island in the middle. I wanted to feel close to something to someone. I swam and floated until I felt the cold hug of J.

It was like our den, it was tight, cramped but still somehow cosy. I felt at home and the only single light was that of J’s.