The Never Forgotten Summer

Every year my parents would send me to this stupid summer camp. I hated it. There were creepy counselors, stupid cliques, and swimming in lakes. I started going to this camp in 7th grade. I made a few friends here and there, and we would always make fun of this counselor who wore really high pig tails in her hair and kind of had a mustache. Let’s just say that she looked like an orangutan. She even had the reddish hair color and everything! It was also at this camp that my new friends introduced me to a boy named Tristan Rika. He had to be the most obnoxious boy I’ve ever met. He was outgoing, outrageous, and totally gorgeous. Unfortunately, he is a bit of an egotistical maniac, but we’re still friends.

Anyway, 4 years later, my parents were, yet again, sending me back to Camp Glendale, Home of the Otters. Lame, I know. So, right now I am packing my bags and reminiscing on the good ol’ days. Please note the sarcasm, because it isn’t going away, and sometimes I feel like it goes unappreciated. I threw another pair of shorts into the bag and zipped it up. I finally got the bag zippered and admired my handy work; my dresser was completely empty and now all of its contents now sat in two bags, both lumpy and a bit distorted. The zipper threatened to undo itself, and I was getting kind of pissed off at it, because a lot of work went into packing and actually getting the bag closed.

I sat down on my bed and sighed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. First, I had to wake up and enjoy a nice shower and breakfast because it would be the last time I would be satisfied by either for the next 2 months. Then, it was a 3 hour drive to Camp Glendale, not to mention the pit stops and the traffic jams we’d probably be slowed down by. The least I could say was that I was not looking forward to the drive up.

I quickly changed into some boy shorts and a tank top, and hopped into bed. I knew I was going to need some sleep because my cabin mates were never quiet. I just sat there, thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking. You know, as much as I say I hate camp, I don’t truly hate it. I just try not to get too excited, so that I won’t be let down if something misfortunate should come my way. I thought about that as I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning I woke up bright and early, taking a quick shower, cramming some food into my face, and then I jumped into the car. We drove for about 20 minutes, when my father decided to turn on the radio. Now, normally this wouldn’t bother me, but he turned on country. I absolutely hate country music…and rap. They both just really don’t appeal to me. I asked my dad to turn down the music, and when he refused, I knew that this might possibly be the longest drive of my life.