* Your Own Adventure *

~Chapter 2~

When the bell rung on that last day of school we felt like we were being released from prison. Not that Sir. John A. was any worse than other schools, just that we were like all other junior high students: ready to break the bars of childhood that confined us to junior high and spread our wings and fly into the beautiful unknown that is high school. It was scaring and exhilarating and Cami and I were ready to try.
It took a few days for our freedom to set in. I think deep down we realized that this was most likely the last summer of our ‘childhood’ and that after this it would be summer jobs and boyfriends and a million other things to worry about. We had that subtle sense of melancholy that I think is peculiar to pre-teens, the hope of everything about to start, yet a sense that childhood and its joys are ending.
Cami and I actually had a conversation about how we felt. It was an unseasonably hot June morning, and we were curled up on the cool marble floor in my living room, craning our necks to watch the cartoons on the TV.
Cami started it all. “So, do you think we’ll ever be able to spend a whole day watching cartoons next summer?”
“No, probably not.” I answered practically. It was true! Mom and Dad had made it very clear that I was supposed to work during my summers of high school to help pay for my college education. Something about “developing a sense of ownership.” Whatever, I just knew that it was not something they were going to budge on.
“Does that make you sad?” Cami looked over at me, her eyes betraying her own insecurities. I so rarely saw Cami betray any vulnerability, I was shocked. I rolled over onto my side to give her my full attention.
“Of course, it makes me sad a little. I mean, I think about the future and days and days of work with no break, and it makes me feel scared. I can’t imagine myself ever really becoming a responsible adult and having a real life and a real job. The idea of it just scares me so much.”
“I’m so glad you feel the same way. I thought it was just me. Sometimes I think about my life and I just want to curl into a ball. It stretches on and on, and seems to get more and more boring until someday I die.” Cami gave me such a miserable look, I had to keep from laughing.
Containing my smile, I told her truthfully: “You know, it’s not that serious. Everyone else in the entire world has done this. You get to be a teenager and then an adult, you have a job and a family. You settle down, you live your life. It’s not like you’re the first teenager to ever feel scared by the future.”
Cami seemed pleased that I referred to her as a teenager, which was not the literal truth. She laid on her back and stared up at the fake crystal chandelier that my parents had installed in the living room (against my better judgement).
“So, you want the family, the job, the house, the whole life?” She asked, wistfully.
“Well, no, not really.” I sat up and let the blood distribute out through my body. “But I think it’s what I’ll want when the time comes. You don’t think you’ll change your mind?”
“I just know that if I had a choice, I would travel and explore and dream and reach until I died, and never stop to ‘settle down’.”
Cami sat up too, and faced me across the coffee table. Her eyes revealed how serious she was about this. Cami took everything seriously, but sometimes it was a seriousness that reached to her soul, and as a best friend I knew it was my turn to listen.
“What do you want, Cami?”
She smiled. “I want to travel the world, see all the places where history has happened or the future is being made. I want to follow in the steps of the important people from the past, and try to set my own trails.”
“Sounds like you should make an inspirational postcard. I can see that quote with a picture of a mountaintop behind it.”
“Whatever.” Cami laughed, but I could tell she was hurt because she thought I wasn’t taking her dream seriously. “Bryce, you’re just making fun because its something you don’t understand.”
“Whoa, wait just a minute. A: I wasn’t making fun of you, at all. B: why do you have put a jab in at me? You always do that Cami, if someone says anything negative about you, you immediately get defensive and fight back. Learn how to accept constructive criticism. You should be able to laugh at my joke.”
As you can probably tell, that was just the beginning of our first big fight. We had made so many plans for all the things we were going to do in that last summer of freedom – but we started it by fighting and deciding we couldn’t be friends. From that morning in June until July 1st we didn’t see or speak to each other. Guelph was a big enough city that we could effectively avoid each other. Even if we did catch a glimpse of each other across the mall, it was big enough to take evasive manouvers.
July 1st came. It was my first Canada Day. A week before, on one of the evenings my parents were actually home in time for dinner, we had talked about the two holidays. My father and brothers liked the idea of still celebrating July 4th as Independence Day. Mom and I held that it was Canada Day we should choose, because we had moved to this country to stay and it was our new home. It came down to a vote, which was obviously a tie. I thought we could all just celebrate whichever holiday we wanted, but my mother was adamant it should be a family thing.
“I read about situations like this all the time in case studies at work. The holidays and special events are familial bonding times that are one of the cornerstones of a family’s identity. We split on this one thing, and we will never be a cohesive family.” Mother seemed passionate about her speech. Perhaps she had been teaching about “the family” in class that day.
Father had a look in his eye that I couldn’t quite understand. “Maybe we should talk about this without the kids, Trish.” And with that the moved the discussion upstairs. Not that it really kept us from hearing the whole thing. Both my parents had the capacity to be very loud when they felt strongly about something. So they didn’t even really need to come down and tell us the results, we had heard the entire power struggle clearly enough. Dad was going to take Adrian and Jamie with him on a road trip back to Mississippi, to spend time with old friends and distant relatives. Mom and I could stay in Canada.
The three of us kids knew very well that this kind of arrangement spelled trouble. However, since we had all gotten what we wanted, we quietly accepted the plan. I certainly wouldn’t mind a few days without my brothers pestering me.
When July 1st came around, Mom and I had planned out our whole day. We were going to start with baking a Canada Day cake from a recipe I had found in a women’s magazine. Mom had absolutely no domestic skills, but she had remained confident:
“We have an oven, the ingredients and a recipe. Really, how hard can it be.”
There was a level of false bravery in her voice. I kept thinking that having the boys gone was harder on her than she was letting on.
We made the cake, which ended up a little, or a lot, flat and lumpy. But the crowning glory was supposed to be the whipped cream and strawberries arranged to look like the Canadian flag, and we did a lovely job with that, if I do say so myself. Whipped cream covers over a multitude of sins.
So, the cake ready, Mom’s next activity for our Canada Day-o-fun was stopped at the local civic celebration. It was downtown at the municipal government offices. It was probably pretty lame, but we had never had anything to “go” to in Mississippi so this was a step up. There were red and white things everywhere. We wandered around, and Mom offered to pay for anything I seemed remotely interested in. Something was definitely wrong. I ended up with a nice new silver ring, and I spent a chunk of money on tokens to play silly carnival games. In the end I won a plastic curly straw that I would never use. I tried to get mom to play, but she seemed distracted. It the end, we seemed to be just wandering around in circles.
Perhaps it was too much cotton candy or the excessive visual stimulation. But as I rounded the next tent, I ran into Cami.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Oh, it’s you.”
My mother distractedly looked over at Cami. “Oh, wonderful, you’re Bryce’s little friend, aren’t you? You’re tired of spending so much time with adults. Why don’t you two girls run along and have some teen fun and I’ll meet you back here in an hour.” With that she was gone, quickly enough that I knew she must have planned to dump me.
“What’s with your Mom?” Cami asked, looking hopeful that my family had flaws, too.
“Well, Dad took Adrian and Jamie on a road trip down to Mississippi, so it’s just Mom and I here today. I don’t think she’s very happy. But I have no idea where she was running away to so fast.”
We stopped in front of a big poster of Canada’s history. Neither of us was really reading, but we both seemed to need a minute to assess the situation. Our fight had been almost three weeks before, and neither of us remembered quite what it was about. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that the fight was over and our friendship would go back to normal, but we were both stubborn enough to not want to be the one to admit fault first.
“So, what was that fight about anyway?” I asked Cami, hoping to prod her confession.
“Well, I’m not the one who started it, so I don’t remember.” Cami shot back, obviously not willing to take the fall.
“I don’t remember either. Can we just forget the whole thing ever happened?”
“Sure.” Cami seemed relieved that neither of us would be reduced to grovelling. “Let’s go check out the carnival.”
And with that, the first of our many arguments was effectively solved. Over the years we had just as many fights, but the waiting time between the fight and when we were ready to forget and make up considerably lessoned.

* Bryce and Cami*

A Novel by
Carole Nickle

~Email Me!~

~My Other Blogs~

My Taipei Traveler Blog

My 2005 Nanowrimo Novel:
Plucking Blackberries

~Accolades~

* Bryce and Cami*

A Novel by Carole Nickle

~Email Me!~

~My Other Blogs~

My Taipei Traveler Blog

My 2005 Nanowrimo Novel: Plucking Blackberries

~Accolades~

A Novel by
Carole Nickle

My 2005 Nanowrimo Novel:
Plucking Blackberries