HappyBuddha Posted September 21, 2004 Report Posted September 21, 2004 (edited) I was awakened by the hand of Jack Finnegan nudging my slumbering form and his words “Wake up Robert, we’ve got to ride” rolling in my head. They tumbled into the tumultuous valleys of my dreams, but somehow made it through to register in my brain, a Pony Express rider venturing through the unfamiliar and tortured landscape of my dreams. I opened my eyes and was met with his; they gazed back at me with a look of recognition and purpose that has lived on in my memory long after those eyes departed my world. I said no words; I climbed out of bed knowing what to do, and donned the clothes I had set out for myself. He left me asking if I would wake the others¸ and I went about doing so, raising all the last-years in my cabin, before getting them to go to the other cabins as I did and rouse those cabins. Soon all 17 last-years were gathered at the Senior Camp fire ring, waiting, shivering in the unusual cold that stubbornly insisted that the season was not in fact summer, contrary to evidence otherwise, but fall. Jack showed up then, drawing us after him across the creek and out of Senior Camp. We walked on the path we were all ever-so familiar with, going up to the Horsemanship range. We donned our helmets at the bottom of the range, and then hiked up the hill to the barn where the horses were stabled every night. The sun was just beginning to get over its hazy-red period of flirtation at sunrise and mellow out into a gentle yellow, a soft and curvaceous lover. I sought holes in the shade as we climbed, basking in a warmth that felt positively divine. There were not 17 horses, and so some of us were forced to ride in the wagon out to the breakfast site; remembering my mother’s talk of breakfast rides when she was a camper, I insisted on riding a horse. They packed the saddlebags, brought out the horses, we mounted up, and rode off. I had no idea where we were going; despite knowing the entirety of camp like the back of my hand, it was clear that we were going into adjoining property about which I had no idea what to expect. We shortly arrived at a ramshackle stable that looked (and smelt) like it had been built in the 30s. It lay at the end of an open field, giving me the opportunity to turn and face that glorious sun, smiling and laughing at me as if to suggest that whatever comes next, here is happiness, here is love. I smiled back, and went to the breakfast prepared for us; it was delicious, even better than the French toast (my favorite camp breakfast) I would have later in the morning with everyone else. We concentrated on trivial matters, we joked and laughed and played and were our old selves, the same traits as normal life clung to us but now their cloth was of gold, and every movement shone when formerly it would have stained. That morning was the last time we were all together as those glorious creatures clothed in gold; the next dawn would bring a return to the sewer, to the people we came here to escape. I would come to treasure this butterfly for what it was, innocence and sincerity. Jack came among us and we all hushed up quick – Every single one of us who held Jack in the highest respect and loved him intensely, not to mention hero-worship him to a degree (and I’m willing to bet most of us still do so, to an extant). He came to make a small speech but we had other ideas, and clustered around him in a big group hug that squeezed him deathly tight, yet could not prevent him from laughing with the rest of us as we burst into song, singing “You Are My Sunshine”, an inside joke between us and Jack that stretched back 4 years – an eternity in a life comprised of moments such as this, netted and put in a bottle like a child’s pet butterfly. We ended it laughing, and he motioned for us to spread out a little and give him room to talk. We obliged, smiling and laughing a little but with all attention focused on him (Jack was a master at that, getting your attention and rewarding you for keeping it on him). “I’m sure you all know that this is the last day of Camp, the last for good for all of you. We brought you out here this morning as part of a tradition and as part of something larger than yourselves. You were happy here; remember this. You were satisfied here; remember this. You were with friends, with brothers here; remember this. Tomorrow is The End. I hope all of you enjoy this last day, that you spend it like you’ve meant to spend every day here. Make this day something you’ll want to look back on for all the good times you had and all the good things you did.” Jack’s speech would have sounded incredibly corny in another context, overblown and absurd, but to me it sounded like my thoughts echoed aloud, bouncing back from the perimeter of my existence and aimed straight at my heart. I felt then the beginning of the feeling that would consume me at nightfall, the desperate longing for the past to stay and a mortal fear of the future I would have to lead, a biting sadness that racked my body and left me numb. But that was later; that was the fall. The innocence was here, the innocence which flooded me and caused me to laugh and joke and just stare off into the distance at the sun, my companion ever-bright. I knew what was coming, but I didn’t care at that moment, I didn’t care that the world was about to end because at that moment, at that place, I was happy where I was – to know a happiness too great to be outdone by any further thrill is to be the happiest man alive, and surely such an honor went to me that day, that morning, at the barn. Any and all commentary, criticism, is appreciated. I want to improve, not boost my ego; that being said, if you really feel its worth compliments, then I could hardly argue with that ! Edited September 21, 2004 by HappyBuddha
Appy Posted September 21, 2004 Report Posted September 21, 2004 He came to make a small speech but we had other ideas, and clustered around him in a big group hug that squeezed him deathly tight, yet could not prevent him from laughing with the rest of us as we burst into song, singing “You Are My Sunshine”, an inside joke between us and Jack that stretched back 4 years – an eternity in a life comprised of moments such as this,I absolutely loved this part... it seems to be the most real moment of the story..and I know where it comes from. Maybe, next time, speak from 'your' heart, not 'just' your writer's heart... in other words, use less 'prettyfying' words maybe... instead, tell it how it was, like in the piece quoted.. *hugs*
HappyBuddha Posted September 21, 2004 Author Report Posted September 21, 2004 The reason the story comes off as so surreal is because, in truth, I'm telling a memory, not a story; this is how I remember the story, and so thats how it comes across. This isn't an apology, just a clarification - I kinda like the dreamlike state, in that it conveys the utter, unmarred happiness I associate with the moment.
WrenWind Posted November 30, 2004 Report Posted November 30, 2004 Definately a memory to keep in writing and you have captured it well.
Annael Posted December 3, 2004 Report Posted December 3, 2004 definetly a treasure worth remembering. Thank you for sharing it with all of us.
Recommended Posts