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This is his third time puking in the last twelve hours.
His body is rejecting the change, desperately trying to cling to what is known, what is safe. The distress in his body is such that Adam is currently dry heaving on his knees, head above the toilet bowl, prepared for a fourth bodily expulsion. He wonders if anything will come out at this point. Even with blurry vision, clouded by tears, he can see his reflection in the water. His eyes are red, and his features look swollen.
But no amount of suffering will make his father reconsider his cruel choice.
He stays still as his dad pushes the ajar bathroom door open.
“Adam. Let’s go.”
The boy chokes on a sob. “C-Can’t.”
“It’s not a question of can or can’t. You’re going to that camp. I don’t want to hear it.”
Adam shakes his head quickly in a desperate motion, his dark curls flying.
His father sighs, long and heavy. A sound Adam knows too well. A warning.
When he next speaks, the man drawls out every word slowly, as if Adam wouldn’t be able to understand them otherwise. “Your brother did it. You can do it. Now stop wasting my time; I have to get you there by eight.”
The boy shakes his head again. He wants to scream that it doesn’t matter that Will went to that camp, too, once upon a time. It doesn’t matter because Will won’t be there, Will hasn’t even been home in more than a year, and most importantly Adam isn’t Will! He can’t endure things the way his older brother can. Adam can’t take the punches. He can’t stand up for himself. He shuts down and is unable to move, like a prey freezing on instinct. Will, on the contrary, lashes out. He’s the fight to his freeze. His older brother is like a caged dog that still has fight in him, even after being kicked in the ribs repeatedly.
And the last part isn’t a metaphor.
Adam is not Will.
“If you’re not in the truck in two minutes, I will drag you out of the house by the collar of your shirt. Don’t make me do it,” His dad threatens as he makes his way to the front door of their small bungalow.
A choked sob followed by a gag has Adam puking nothing but water into the porcelain bowl.
-
Familiar residential streets. Highway, overpass, tunnel, turnpike. Unfamiliar highway, underpass, dirt road. Dirt road. Gravel road. Dirt road.
Adam’s brain is covered in a thick layer of fog, unable to form any other thoughts than the information his eyes are transmitting to his brain. It’s as if his consciousness took residence in the cerebrospinal fluid, instead of its usual home in the center of the brain. Displaced, evicted.
The truck shakes as it slows down on another gravel road encased by trees with thick trunks. Between the branches, a big yellow banner comes into view.
‘Camp Welkin’
Adam makes himself impossibly smaller in the passenger seat, resting his forehead against the window. He hiccups as he suppresses another gag.
“You puke in my truck, you fucking clean it.”
The boy makes a small noise he himself would categorize as a pathetic cry for help. He feels like the abandoned baby owl he saw in a documentary two nights ago. Its parents were nowhere to be found. It was left to its own devices. No one came to help.
No one’s coming to help Adam either.
His father turns off the ignition and hops out of the rusted truck. He hears the man move his seat forward to retrieve Adam’s bags from the back. The boy stays seated for as long as he can, unable to face his reality: Eight weeks at Camp Welkin with no way out.
-
“Boys, come with me! This way!” The over-eager camp counselor, who Adam assumes is in his late teens or early twenties, exclaims while gesturing with his arm.
Adam trails behind the group, keeping his distance from everyone else. He adjusts the straps of his bags and sleeping bag over his shoulder and groans at the weight of them. He can’t wait to put them down.
The camp counselor opens the wood cabin’s door and motions for the boys to follow him inside. Quickly, Adam scans the room for which bed he should take. There are 5 bunk beds. 10 spots.
In the blink of an eye, the nine boys sharing the space with him all select a bed, excitedly putting their bags on the firm and dusty mattresses. Which leaves Adam with the top bunk on the other side of the room. He awkwardly makes his way to it and tries to go up the ladder with his heavy bags. As if his fate couldn’t get any worse, he stumbles backwards at the start of his ascent and lands on his behind on the hard wooden floor.
Some teenagers snicker while others shamelessly erupt into a roar of laughter.
Adam feels like puking again. And crying. And screaming, and-
“Let me help you with that,” A deep accented voice comes from above him.
When Adam looks up, he finds his thoughts have become abstract, swimming in the fluid between his brain and skull. He can’t decipher them; they’re colors and lights.
The boy before him stands in front of the only window in the cabin, his strawberry blond hair illuminated by the morning sun.
Colors and lights. Pink, gold, orange, sunlight, sunlight, sunlight...
‘Sun Boy’ bends down and grabs Adam’s bags before tossing them up onto the bunk bed.
“Nice to meet you, upstairs neighbor.” The boy smiles. “I’m Nigel.”
-
Adam has been following Nigel around all day, like a raccoon kit clinging to the first comforting presence it finds. None of the other teens have uttered a word to him, none bothering to introduce themselves. So why should Adam do as much? He knows one person now, and he’ll stick to it.
The camp counselors guide the group of twenty tweens and teens through a forest path. They decided a hike of the grounds was the best first activity. If the distress would let Adam speak more than two words at a time, he would have argued that letting them accommodate to their cabins would have been a better use of their time on their first day.
He feels dizzy and slows his pace, falling behind the group once more. With shaky limbs, he sits on a rock and rests his forehead on top of his legs. Adam feels seconds away from fainting, having had nothing to eat since last night. He would just have vomited it all.
“Hey, man,” Nigel’s voice seems to echo. “You okay?”
Adam shakes his head and slowly looks up at him.
“No, ” He adds verbally.
“D’you eat anything?” The other boy asks, to which Adam shakes his head again. “No wonder you feel like shit.” He digs inside his camo cargo pants’ pocket and pulls out a granola bar. “Here.”
With trembling hands, Adam accepts it and unwraps it, taking a small bite out of it. He doesn’t want to expel his insides again.
“We’ll get you water once we’re back at the main cabins. You good to walk?”
“Very slowly,” Adam says before taking a bigger bite. “But, yes.”
“That’s okay. I’ll go at your pace.”
-
“They’re fucking idiots.”
Adam startles and almost chokes on his sip of water as he drinks from the water fountain.
“Who?” He asks after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He feels a little better now that he’s in the shade with a granola bar in his stomach to stave off the fainting.
“The counselors,” Nigel replies, leaning his back against a wooden beam. “They had us do a two-hour hike without telling us to bring water. Irresponsible.”
“I wonder what other stupid things they will make us do today,” Adam says with a small smile tugging at his lips before he takes another sip of water.
Nigel barks out a laugh. It’s a beautiful sound. Adam wants to hear it again.
“I bet they’ll have us sitting in a circle around a bonfire and sing kumbaya while we hold hands.”
-
As one of the camp counselors - Jared, who showed them to their cabin- sings Wonderwall around the fire, Nigel leans into Adam’s space.
“I wasn’t that far off.”
Adam giggles and promptly covers his mouth with both hands to stifle the sound. He looks up at the boy next to him in time to see him grin. Adam’s eyes travel across his features, briefly making eye contact with him. His brown irises seem to glow golden in the light of the fire.
Maybe being at this camp is not the end of the world.
-
Adam spoke too soon. As he lays in bed, eyes glued to the ceiling with all of his excitement from laughing with Nigel slowly fading, a heavy sense of dread settles in his stomach. Some of the boys are still awake, whispering and snickering on the opposite side of the cabin. Adam’s heart rate starts to accelerate, and he digs his nails into his thighs under the cover of his sleeping bag.
He wants to go home. He wants his room and his bed. He wants the blue glow of his rocket ship night light, and he wants the familiar hum of the fridge. There isn’t any white noise here. It feels unnerving, eerie, like when the songbirds stop singing at the approach of a predator.
Adam wants his plushies, and the soft feel of his sheets, the heaviness of his comforter. He can’t stay here for eight weeks. He needs to go home.
Suddenly, he finds himself unable to breathe normally. His respiration is ragged, irregular. He sits up and brings his knees to his chest, resting his forehead against them. Hot tears hit his pajama pants and seep through the material.
“Is he crying?”
Adam puts his hands over his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that when he opens them again, he’ll find himself back home.
“I think he is.”
“What a baby!”
Adam tries to shut them out, but he can still hear them over the sound of his erratic breathing. He hits his head against his knees repeatedly, rocking back and forth in an attempt to self soothe.
“What the fuck is wrong with him?”
“Hey!”
Adam freezes at the sound of Nigel’s voice. He lifts his head in time to see Nigel climb up to his bunk bed. His dark gaze is fixed on the other boys in the cabin.
“You all need to shut the fuck up and mind your business!” He continues.
Most of the boys obey, turning their heads away from the scene.
“Don’t tell me to shut the fuck up!” A boy lashes out.
“I just did,” Nigel replies with what Adam can only describe as ‘daggers for eyes.’ He finally understands what people mean by that metaphor. “Do I need to repeat myself?” He grits through his teeth.
Nigel turns to look at Adam, and his gaze immediately softens. He puts his hands over Adam’s and slowly pries them away from his ears. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”
-
The night is cold, but Adam doesn’t shiver. The sky is clear, and he has never seen this many stars. Here, away from the light pollution, they glow and twinkle. It is mesmerizing.
“Feeling better?” Nigel asks after a long moment of silence.
Adam nods slowly.
“Ready to tell me about what happened?”
He shakes his head. “I think I just want to look at the stars.”
A beat.
“Want me to leave you alone?” Nigel sounds hesitant.
“No!” Adam answers quickly, snapping his head to look at Nigel. He scoots closer to him on the log. “Stay. I like sitting in silence with you.”
“Alright.” Nigel smiles and looks up at the night sky. He, too, shifts to be closer to Adam.
-
The first week of activities was disaster after disaster for Adam. The only constant was Nigel’s reassuring presence.
On day 3, they ziplined over the lake. Adam didn’t want to go. He repeatedly told the counselors he was scared of heights, but they kept hammering that he had to face his fears. Nigel had stood up for him and argued with them at length. But the instructor still fastened the harnesses around Adam.
Nigel went before Adam. “I’ll wait for you on the other side.”
“Of the lake I hope,” Adam said with a shaky voice.
Nigel chuckled. “There’s that sense of humor I love.” He smiled and squeezed Adam’s arm.
When Adam landed on the other side, Nigel caught him and helped slow him down so his small body wouldn’t hit the mattress covering the tree too hard.
The younger boy was shaking, his body weak and his knees wobbly.
“You did it!” Nigel exclaimed. He helped Adam unclip himself from the zipline and moved him out of the way, an arm under his to help him walk.
Adam had been nonverbal for the rest of the day. And Nigel glared at anyone who made Adam feel like that was a problem.
On day 4 they went rafting.
Adam doesn’t recall most of it. He remembers falling into the water, and then he was on the shore with Nigel. He stared at the same spot on the horizon until it was time to go to bed. Nigel had stayed by his side the whole time.
On day 7, Adam burst into tears when he laid down in his sleeping bag. It had only been a week, and yet, he felt like he had been there for an eternity. It was purgatory.
There was the sound of rustling, and the tell-tale creaking of the wooden ladder, and suddenly a presence was at his back. He froze when an arm wrapped itself around his waist.
Adam relaxed when he recognized it was Nigel’s. He has a birthmark on his wrist, and a big scar along his forearm. “Dirt bike accident. I broke my arm. It hurt like a fucking bitch.” Nigel had told him when Adam asked on the second day of camp.
Nigel squeezed him against his chest. “Let it all out...” He whispered. “You can cry all you want. I’ll be here.”
Adam turned in the embrace and his heart hammered in his chest as he found himself face to face with the fifteen-year-old. “I feel like such a burden,” He whispered back through a sob.
Nigel’s hand on his back is warm as he presses him closer. “You are no such thing. You’re in unfamiliar territory. They expect humans to adapt to every environment, but we’re animals, too. Take any animal out of its habitat, and it’ll be distressed. They aren’t irrational or a burden to others for that. And neither are you.”
Adam blinked, stunned into silence for a moment, internalizing the comparison. “I had never thought of it this way...” He wraps his own arm around Nigel’s back. “Can you sleep in my bunk tonight?”
Nigel smiled with the sharp teeth Adam is so fond of. “I can sleep in your bunk every night.”
And so he did, for the remaining eight weeks.
-
After week 4, Adam had realised being away from his dad was an immense relief. He still misses his room and his things, but at least he doesn’t have to deal with the tense atmosphere. He wishes he could be home, with Nigel there instead of his father. Then it would be perfect.
On the last evening of camp, Adam and Nigel are sitting on the dock, legs dangling over the lake. At some point during their stay, they had talked of home and were surprised to find they lived only a 30-minute car ride away from each other.
“Will you come visit me?” Adam asks, heart full of hope that this isn’t a friendship that dies along with summer.
“Of course, star.” Nigel had started calling him that on week 3. “It’s a given.” He grins.
Adam’s fingers flutter against the dock. “Can you drive?”
“I can drive. I often get the groceries for my mom. Am I allowed to drive? Now, that’s a different question.”
Adam laughs and leans back on his hands. “Everything is legal if you don’t get caught.”
“That’s the motto.” Nigel laughs too and mimics Adam’s position.
As they watch the sun set, Adam’s thoughts are abstract.
Colors and lights. Pink, gold, orange, sunlight, sunlight, sunlight...
Nigel grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers. A pleasant warmth spreads behind Adam's ribs.
Suddenly, his thoughts are as clear as day:
Nigel, Nigel, Nigel.