Box Canyon Revisited
Lawrence Teft III
Most people look back on summer camp as a good time. I don't.
For me, the summer I attended Box Canyon Boy's Camp was the worst summer of my life. I was put there by my father, who only wanted me to be a miniature of him. I was the delinquent, the deviant everyone looked down on.
And please, don't try to say that you never looked at me like I was a lunatic. I know you did. I was there, remember?
But then there was Cotton. He pulled all of us together; he made us proud to be Bedwetters. That was what you called us, all of us. We were nothing but dings to you, but in the eyes of Cotton, we could do anything. He motivated us.
Everyone knows what happened that summer. It was the Bedwetters, the crazy dings. We set the buffalo free. Cotton died setting them free.
Did it ever occur to any of you that you killed Cotton? It sure occurred to me. If it hadn't been for you and your standards, your definition of a man, then none of us would have been outcasts. Cotton wouldn't have been our leader, and we wouldn't have been together to see the buffalo die. He wouldn't have driven over that cliff to free them.
It was your fault.
But Cotton died for our ideals. He would have wanted us to grow up, to be independent. I am, now.
That summer, I ran away. My thought was only to leave the past behind. I could take care of myself.
And I did, for almost seven months.
My father finally found me and put out some damn-fool story about me having amnesia. Me, I went on with my life. I didn't care what my parents thought. I only ever did what I had to so I could pass my classes. I never bothered with college.
Now, I write. I write nonfiction, mostly on animal rights. No wife, no kids. I don't think they'd like me much.
I was wondering though, if you ever realized that you were the real dings?
You're all alike. If one of you went racing off of a cliff, there would be a nearly identical one to take your place. If you ask me, that's not a real place in society. It isn't your place; it could be anyone's place. You have no purpose, no place in the world.
Dings.