I opened my eyes on the morning of February 20th with a tear of relief running down my cheek.
"Thank you, God..."
I jumped out of my bunk and threw my last-minute belongings into my duffel bag; most of it I had eagerly packed the night before. Everyone was still asleep when I finished dressing, but I couldn't have been more ready to finally get out of here.
For the past twelve months I had been staying at an extremist, religious-based camp for "incorrigible" teens. If you observed the clientele there, it was obvious that I didn't belong. However, refusing to go along with my parents' homophobia and talking to my girlfriend behind their backs was apparently defined as "incorrigible."
So they made me somebody else's problem. I was just "too much" for them to handle. Totally justifies sending me to hell, right?
The best way I can describe this place is boot camp mixed with church on steroids. Three square meals of cold mush every day, field exercises, and a three-hour service every night. (No sitting permitted.) Lights out at eleven, up at four. No free days, no calls home, no mail. I don't remember ever being more miserable.
My girlfriend's name isKendall. And for three months before I got shipped off, she was my life. Going to camp didn't change that, despite what my parents hoped. Nothing could. I loved her with all my heart and soul. I still do...
There wasn't a second that went by that year when I didn't think about her. I missed her so much when I left that for the first two weeks I threw up every night. And I spent 365 nights crying myself to sleep.
I wrote toKendallevery day. But I couldn't send a single one of the letters, because like I said before, we weren't allowed to send or receive mail. All I could do was hope and pray that I was on her mind as much as she was on mine.
The last thing I packed that morning was her stack of letters, held together by my favorite sillyband and hidden under my bunk. I picked it up gingerly and tucked it safely away into my bag, out of sight. I then threw it over my shoulder and waited.
Our counselor dismissed us one by one as our parents arrived. It was a four hour drive from my house, and I doubted my mom and dad were in any hurry. But still, I waited, perched at the edge of my bed, anxious and eager.
It was about three hours before the counselor looked at me. "Bent!" he barked. I jumped and stood up. "Get out of here," he said, jerking his head toward the door.
Don't have to tell me twice.
I practically ran out the front door. I hesitated once I was outside, though, wary of what waited for me.
I caught sight of my father's car in the parking lot. My mom was in the passenger's seat but when she saw me she opened the door and stepped out slowly. I tried to read her expression as she looked at me but it was difficult.
We both hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, before I shoved my hand in my pocket and walked over to the car, head down. Without saying a word I opened the door, flung my bag inside, and plopped down on the seat. My mom looked a bit hurt at my standoffish demeanor, but I didn't care. This was going to take a very long time to forgive.
"Hi,Savannah," my dad greeted my in a flat voice.
"Hello," I muttered in reply.
The rest of the long drive home was silent. I didn't have anything to say to them, and I'm sure they had no idea what to say to me. But when we were about half an hour away from our house, my stomach growled loudly. I kicked myself.
