An: Hey, here's where the piece ends for now, when I finish up the full thing I'll do the full image and song stuff, but until then tell me what you think. - Cosmo
5:45 am, Max felt his phone weakly vibrate through his pants pocket. Without much delay max swung his feet over his cot. The sun was only just blob in orange fabric of the tent. Rubbing his eyes, he refused to let himself yawn and wake up Neil, who was a unexpectedly a light sleeper. The camper looked over at Neil, to get a read on his state. A few silent seconds went by, Neil rolled on his side. The tent was softened by the sound of snoring. Max, pulled on his hoodie over his curly mountain of charcoal hair. It was always a bit of a squeeze getting his head through the head hole since got a growth spurt. As quiet as he could he pulled on his shoes and slowly unzipped the flap. The cold morning air seemed to burn at his cheeks. Max zipped the door back up so Neil wouldn't freeze too digging into his coat pocket he retrieved the pocket knife he had taken from Nikki. Fall was definitely on its way.
The thought of autumn made him think of school, and school made him think of home. It was surprising or unsurprising that Max frequently spent a lot of late afternoons at his elementary school. Max likes to imagine that's how he became very versatile when it came to the ever-changing curriculum at Camp Campbell. It didn't matter what it was, languages, arts, and crafts, drama, debate, fuck it— he'd even play chess. By no means was Max a nerd like Neil who actually liked school. He participated the bare minimum. Just enough to never warrant a phone call home. No one probably even noticed that he was there. He was very good at that. Just blending into the patchwork of faces. Clubs weren't a perfect escape, but they kept his mind busy.
Though on the days when he knew no after-school activities were being held, that's when he'd do his best to be the worst. Detention was better. School was just better than the alternative— the alternative being...home. It was either playing chess with Theodor-the-Sweaty or watching a rerun of Friends for the thousandth time. Fuck Ross by the way.
Unconsciously, he found himself going to the sandbar out by Lilac Lake. Max found it to be his one solace at camp. It was quiet out there. The noise of the other campers waking up and doing their morning activities didn't seem to reach him out there. He found that there was comfort in the silence. Growing up in the inner city with police sirens, screaming from the apartment from above, tv, and all other little sounds it was all something he was used to. It took him awhile to appreciate the lack of noise pollution. After his counselor lit a bonfire a few weeks back, that's when Max let the quiet in. When the last crackle of that fire rang out he slept hard. Normally Max had dreamless nights, but he had one that night. He couldn't remember what it was about, but Neil said that it was because he went to bed early enough to activate REM...whatever that was.
The sandbar had an excellent view of the mountains on good days. He skipped stones with his friends there. The water was dirty, hazy, and unclear. Nikki had shoved Neil off the dock once. Max had to hear a week of him going on and on about how he was gonna grow a third nipple, or how he was breaking out in hives. The counselors have assured Neil that he was overreacting.
Max chuckled to himself thinking about it. He pushed some branches aside while stepping over a log. The camper could almost make the way through the pine with his eyes closed. The woods had gone through some subtle changes, some trees knocked over in the winter storms, to branches broken in half from territorial combat with the birds. Max seemed to both loathe and be fascinated when he noticed a new difference, because it meant he actually cared enough to pay attention. Granted, if you visited a place where you've spent a good chunk of your small life there; you're bound to notice a few things too. Looking at one of the cut trees of to the left, his small hands traced around the rings of the stump. Sixteen rings. The surface of the trunk felt like it had been cut very smooth and cleanly. Cut with a chainsaw. His counselor told him once that cut trees were like open wounds. Fuckin' tree-hugger. The wood grain dug into his soft palms. He sighed, as anxiety seemed to roll off his shoulders from the stimulation. Max recovered from the distraction and continued down the dirt path towards the opening of the sandbar. Balling his fists into his hoodie, he continued the walk. The camper found it hard to keep himself warm despite the summer weather, his counselors hypothesized that it could've been because his weight. Shivering, Max felt the breeze glide across top of the lake and seemingly stabbed through his jacket. The camper pulled on his hood to keep as much warmth in as he could.
Max had to do a lot of things by himself. He packed for his three month summer camp by himself. The boy just threw a bunch of stuff in a plastic bag and called it good. He didn't put off the packing, his parents just told him to get ready and then the next day they barreled out of the city into the country. In that plastic bag he brought: , two pairs of pants, five shirts, and a box of band-aids. He had a lot of time to regret about what he packed, he did so almost everyday. Max had been coming to this camp for a long time, yet never really learned how to do it. He found it hard to dress himself; it was sad to admit. Even on the hottest day in the city he wouldn't be without his hoodie and dress shoes. They were hand-me-downs, those shoes. Some cousin to another, then to Max. The shoes weren't really comfortable, but he found himself attached to them after a while. His counselor thought it was strange that Max's parents hadn't noticed that hiking boots were required along with a pair of galoshes for fishing, and nautical camp.
His small feet crushed twigs while kicking pine cones. Max claimed that he despised nature. Part of that was true, he disliked numerous things about nature. Mosquitos, how big everything was compared to him. However, the trees surrounding him was the exact opposite of isolating. It was the awe of being in the middle of something that made you feel so small. Realizing that there was a whole world out there for you...and it doesn't know you, and the world doesn't care.
Max chose to present himself as the alpha of the camp. He certainly didn't give a shit about any reputation; that's how it works. Max kept people away...yet yearned to let someone in his world. It was difficult to explain, it was even harder to tell someone.
...He hugged his counselor, once. That was terrifying. Easily, one of the scariest things he ever did. There was that fear of rejection that always persisted, coupled with the pride that he didn't need physical reassurance or validation. Max found that he didn't hate himself as much as he was exasperated. It was a battle he always tired from— fighting himself. So tired.
To his surprise, the hug was...nice. It only lasted half a second but felt like an eternity. Max almost forgot what the sensation of touch felt like; He had hugged so infrequently, it was like riding a bike. Like—yeah he knew how but Max was so out of practice. Granted, he was never taught how to ride a bike either so maybe that wasn't the correct analogy to use. The closest thing he could compare it to in his known world of self-imposed isolation was the warmth from an electric blanket. Though there was something different about it that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
The camper almost broke into a sprint when he saw the lake shore. His foot nearly got trapped to an ugly twisted tree root, he faltered but didn't fall. There was another positive to the sandbar, it was the perfect triangulated distance from each cell tower to bounce off each other to create the two bars of service that made up the Camp's entire access to the internet. Neil had put it simply,"If the World Wide Web was the information superhighway, then Camp Campbell would be one of those Flintstones' cars powered by feet."
Max flipped out his smartphone and watched the service bars go back in forth between empty to one, to two. Max began to shuffle his feet, looking up at the sky then back to his phone. One. One. One. One. Empty. Empty. Empty. Max backed up to the in-between part of the grass and the sand. One. One. One. He shifted ever-so-slightly to the left. THREE! Three bars! Practically mythical! Unicorn territory! Three fuckin' bars! Fuckin' A. He balanced himself. Neil would never ever believe him—before he stepped on his loose shoelace sending him face first into the sand.
Pulling his head up from the ground his eyes locked onto his phone's service icon. One.
Goddamnit.