The Respiratory Systems of Ellie and Beck | #WATTYS2017

ellie

When Mom and I reach the check-in desk with our luggage, Krista does not look up. Krista does not flinch. She keeps her head down, sifting through about three papers that are attached to a clipboard. Do I want to say something to her? Do I want to make my presence known? I'm already tying to be as lowkey as possible since it's my last year. And I'm not asking for an MVP award from Camp Asthma, but just a blink of eye contact would be nice. My mom didn't pay the outrageous camp fees for nothing.

I look around the gym to see if anyone else's table is available. But the other three counselors, suited in their uniform of a light blue t-shirt, black jeans, and tan fisherman hats, are all busy chatting away to new campers. What the hell is wrong with Krista?

"Hey, we're here to check in. Looks like your busy, but I'm tired of waiting," my mom interrupts Krista's paper filing. Krista stops, like a dog on command, and reaches under the table. She then pulls out two forms, my ID badge, and a plastic container, and slaps everything on the table.

"You can't have your inhalers or any other medication on your person. It's a new rule of this year. You will have to come to the infirmary if you have an attack. Please put all inhalers into the plastic bin. We will administer the medicine on site," she says flatly. "Welcome to Camp Hoosier."

Because I am a senior camper, I get to stay in the lodges. Most campers do not have this privilege because they come to camp too young and have to stay in the musty cabins that aren't are conditioned and have ticks in the walls. (I remember those days.) The senior girl lodge is Windjammer Lodge, one that I've always heard about, but never had the guts to even walk past.

Apparently, there are two girls in here that have stayed here their own lives. The reason is: they have ties to the owner. A privilege I don't have. Their names are Rachel and Jenn, two not very nice girls who looked like they were extra in Mean Girls. My encounters with them are limited and quick, but I was pretty fortunate. Others, not so much. Shaving cream, pantsing, and roaches are just some of the items listed on their Camp Asthma resume.

I expect to see them right away, as if they're going to be standing at the doorway greeting all of the senior girls with fake cheesy smiles. But I am relieved when the doorways are empty and there's a few parents yanking suitcases behind them. Within the lodge, there are four rooms. Two on the top near the grand staircase on the bottom closest to the showers.

I am hope that I get one of the grand staircase rooms. I hold my breath as I flip over my ID:

ELLIE WITHER
AGE: 17
ID #: 371
JIB JAMMER (LEVEL 2)
WINDJAMMER LODGE

Yes! To the highest of heavens, yes! No more shower water leaking into my room like last year at Cove Cabin! A huge smile becomes plastered on my face. I skip up the stairs to the left side and burst into my room. I spin around in the middle of the room, occasionally adding a few jumps.

"WHOO! Level 2!" I scream and randomly fall onto the bottom level of a bunk. Yes! Camp was starting out great! Krista could've been considered a setback, but poo poo on her. She's just mad because she has to work administration this year. Unlike last year, when she was a lifeguard and could chill for two and a half hours each day. The door opens, but it's probably just my mom bringing in the stuff. I don't look and close my eyes, imagining how Camp Asthma might not be so horrible. I smile again and throw my hands back behind me onto the empty mattress. They flop down, and for some reason, I'm happy to feel the hard mattress press against my spine.

"She's in this room?"
"Great."