Sixty-Two ☼ Phan

One

The road to the campgrounds smelled like sweat and bug spray.

I leaned against the door, watching trees whir by in blurs of green and brown. My brother, backseat of my mom and I, was making his train figurine swerve through the air as we turned onto a dirt path. Pebbles and twigs cracked and a hot wind came in through the window. She stopped about a dozen trees away from the actual entrance to avoid having to maneuver through other cars.

"Here you are," my mom said, not quite parking. She wasn't coming with me.

"Here I am," I said back.

I made sure to leave a touch of sarcasm in my tone. To put a little emphasis on the fact I didn't want to be here.

I heard the clunk-click sound of the trunk being popped and opened the car door, backpack already on my shoulder. I dragged my suitcase out, slamming the bright blue monstrosity of a jeep shut, then circled around to the driver side window.

"Have a good summer, honey, I love you," she said, smiling softly, though a little rushed. She had to pick up my second youngest, and thankfully only other, brother, Leo, from oboe lessons in thirty minutes, and would most likely be late.

I didn't feel guilty. He needed the extra practice.

"Love you," I mumbled, then tapped on the inside of the backseat door through the half-open window. "See you, Aden."

Aden slammed his toy into the seat in reply. Wordless, as usual.

"Don't forget to call. Do you have everything? Money in case there's an emergency? Your toothbrush? Extra underwear?"

"Yes, mom."

"What about your stuffed bear? The little black one? You know you can't sleep without it," she told me.

I felt a flush of embarrassment. "Yes, mom."

"Okay," my mom nodded, smiling. "Okay. Love you. Please be careful. And Dan?"

I looked at her expectantly.

"Don't get into trouble," she added with a softer tone that made my stomach twist. Then, she looked at the clock and let out a sound that reminded me of a goose. "I have to go! Love you, Dan, bye!"

I watched as she did a complete u-turn on the spot, narrowly avoiding a tree trunk, and waited until the blue paint job was out of sight. Then I turned and made way to the camp, the wheels on my suitcase clunking and my backpack jingling with what I presumed was spare change.

It was big. For the most part, anyway. I stood at the open entryway, where a large sign overhead read Camp Sixty-Two, and, below, pinned to the pole, a flyer bearing the signature The Best Summer Ever slogan. From there it led to a wide range of dirt that was used as a makeshift parking lot. Car upon car upon car stretched until there was no space left, to the point I wasn't sure if it would be possible for most to even get out until a couple others left. Right through the middle of the lot was the dirt path, continued from where I stood, protected by two lines of fence posts. I followed it, watching as other kids my age climbed out of their parent's grasp and said their goodbyes.

The sound of chatter got increasingly louder very quickly. The parking spaces dispersed into more fence and suddenly there were people all over. Some broken off in groups, laughing and buzzing excitedly, others stood lost like me. Among that I was able to make out about four lines of people that snaked up towards different tables. A large banner was pinned to the building behind it all, and I had to stand on my tippy-toes to read it. It said SIGN IN HERE in bright red marker. I walked up and joined the shortest line.