I sat on the bus watching the "scenery" trying to get inspired for a story a poem or anything. I was uncomfortable, and when I was uncomfortable, I wrote. A lot. Until the point of no return. But alas, the scenery before my eyes was just one eternal stretch of beige and light beige. There would be nothing to inspire me here, so I checked out my more immediate surroundings, namely my bus company.

There were two other girls on the bus with me. One was very quiet and toyed with a camera without paying attention to her travel company whatsoever. The other was the punk-est punk I'd ever seen. She wasn't one of those I'msewpunkrockloveme types like I knew at school (when I bothered going), she just seemed like she didn't really care what people thought of her. True punkocity indeed.

I saw her examining me and the other kid. She noticed my Lord of the Rings t-shirt, and I swear I heard a small sneer. I looked down, somewhat embarrassed, thinking: Okay, I love Lord of the Rings, and I brought Tolkien's books with me but I wasn't too obsessed? I just loved merch!

And I really did; I had a teeshirt for every concert, festival, field trip, etc. I had postcards from everywhere I vacationed (namely, once to New York), and I had a small weakness for posters as well.

I dropped out of my thoughts as the bus stopped and I took a look at the camp. No lake. Go figure. I wasn't surprised to not see a lake, but wondered what the brochures for camp GL would look like.

The camp itself looked like a ghost town or something. Like those in the Clint Eastwood and old west movies. My bus mates were likely thinking the same thing. The quiet girl didn't have a visible reaction while the wee Joey Ramone snorted again. She seemed all together pleased with herself.

"Well?" I mentally asked her. "Do ya feel lucky, do ya, PUNK?"

Goodness knows I did.

One thing pleased me though. There were BOYS running around. Some without shirts on. This pleased the horny bahstard side of me that went to church with my peg-legged grandmother every Saturday mass. Bibles? Pfft.

The guard on the bus led me and the other girls to a cabin that looked as if it would crumble into dust at will. And it was probably suicidal anyway, given its inhabitant: A guy chewing sunflower seeds swiveled in his chair and gave us a mean look. His mustached was greasy from the beads of sweat collecting on his lip, and it twitched as he introduced himself as Mr. Sir.

"Jes keep in mind," he warned us, "that this ain't no girl scout camp. You hear?"

"Yes sir," the three of us stammered off cue, reluctantly.

"Well,…good. You better not cause any trouble for me, because I just quit smoking and let me tell you I ain't in no flower-picking mood. The only things that gonna be picked around here is the bullets from my gun outta yer sorry behinds. Now….let's see about these damn forms…" and he turned to the guard who escorted us from the bus, as we stood around awkwardly.

Then, we were processed as camp members. And it was official, the welcome party to the Camp Green Lake was over..

…………

I remember my first day very well. I can safely say anyone in my shoes would have to suffer dementia to forget it or many of the days that followed. Anyway, the two bus girls and I were given work clothes and boots (which were VERY sexy I might add), Mr. Sir left and a hobbit walked in. Well, he was a hobbit. He was my counselor. Mr. Pen-dance-key.

I decided I would have to make up a dance about him one day.

Nice guy really. He assigned us D-tent and led us there. The four of our company walked across a sandy ground in the direction of a series of tents. I wondered how many other girls were at the camp, hoping that we weren't the only ones. You know, in case my current companions turned out sourly, I needed backup.

Not important. I did see a few girls, mostly older than myself, but my future immediately brightened as I saw some guys run into the tent Mr. Pen-dance-key seemed to be heading for.

OOOO! Tents were co-ed. Sweet. I figured the owners of the camp didn't want to waste the profits the state of Texas gave them to own the camp. So they made the tents co-ed. One of the guys running into the tent looked like my friend Jose. He was a guy I'd known since the incidents that led to my conviction. I hadn't seen terribly much of him, but we were kindred spirits! I missed him a good deal since.

I shook the thought from my mind, and followed the other girls into the tent after Mr. Pen-dance-key left. He read off our names from a roster. "Boys," he announced, "These are your new tent mates: Christy (he pointed at the punky one), Veri (moi) and Leena. Make them feel welcome, I know you will. Now, it's going to be a little bit crowded, but hey: How much room do you need to sleep anyway, when you've got all day to play outside, right?''

There was a collective snigger from the boys.

Christy, the punk girl, met the guy called ZigZag, as she dumped her belongings next to his bed. Social one she was, as she busied herself with conversation and flamboyantly the two flirted.

I huffed quietly, only somewhat miffed and jealous. It had been my goal after all to find someone, and here she goes without lifting a finger.

Ooh, and do I find myself a hottie? Uh...NO!Tsk.

Leena, on the other hand, acted true to her quiet character and silently took a bed in the corner. At least my first impressions of her had been correct. I looked around for my own space when I heard a familiar voice. "Veri?"

I turned and it WAS Jose. "Jose!" I yelled and ran over. "What's up man?"

We had a little happy reunion, as we held hands and skipped in a circle. At least, attempted to. Tents, I noted, were not good places for square dancing. Releasing my old mate I noticed Jose was wearing a shirt, I noticed. Damnit!

We started talking immediately as if nothing had ever happened in the space between our meeting and the jail sentence. This was clear when he asked me to fix his radio, knowing I was good at fixing stuff.