Reading at Night

by Lawrence Levine

1

I did many things this summer—I bought pants, I saw an old friend and I read a book, to name just a few. Because I did so many things, it's easier to start by telling you something I did not do. I did not apply to university.

Only a few kids from Ashmore Prep did not apply to university, the slow ones. I'm not slow, however. My marks are decent, and I'm very confident that if I had applied, I would've gotten in somewhere.

I did not apply to university because I didn't want to. I don't know what I want to do, but I'd resent spending four years doing something I find empty. Surely that time can be used more productively. I could become an inventor, for instance. Or I could join the army, or a seminary, or a circus. The options are limitless.  

My friend Chris suggested that I apply to a program that partly interests me. I read books. So he suggested that I major in English. The problem is that I've already taken English classes, and all we did was ruin books. We dissected them until they died. There should be laws against it, in my opinion.

My parents supported my decision not to apply. They support me no matter what. If I told them I wanted to be a private eye, they'd probably rent me office space. I could tell my dad was disappointed though. He'd never gone to university himself so he thinks it's more special than it probably is. But he had enough problems to worry about this summer. 

For years, my mom had warned me that she'd leave my dad. This summer she did. It was no big deal. I'm older now. Besides, they both love me. Nevertheless, being at home was no steak dinner, so I went out as much as I could. I read in the park, mostly. I also wrote stories in my journal at Jimmy's Coffee. There was a table at the back where I could feel all alone and surrounded by people at the same time. When I got too bored, I went to Chris's. In fact, I was biking to Chris's that Saturday my story starts.

Chris was one of my best friends. We had gone together to elementary school, high school and summer camp. We were practically family, except that he's tall and German, and I decidedly am not. 

I'd been going to Chris's steady since we met. Always his house, never mine. Chris lived south of the railroad, near our school, near our friends, near everything pretty much. I lived north of it. I often asked if we could move south, but my parents said we couldn't afford it. Besides, they insisted, from our house it took all of ten minutes to cross the tracks. It wasn't the distance, though. Life just seemed better over there. The houses were bigger. The parks were prettier. The families were happier.

Chris's parents didn't care how often I came over. Some parents did. Some wouldn't let me over at all. I was hyperactive, see, especially during elementary school. I never really did homework. I talked to friends during class. Word got around that I was a bad influence.

I wasn't the only one who misbehaved. We all did in our own way, Chris included. But I got the reputation for it. Looking back, I sometimes think people judged me harsher because I lived north. Other times, I blame my misbehaviour on the divorce. Though my parents split only recently, it's not just the end of the family that changes you. It's also many years of the same, old, messy one. 

I stopped misbehaving a couple years ago, after I got kicked out of Camp Okanagan. That's when my reputation was hit biggest. All the kids go to Camp: Chris, Matty, Ema, Max, and a bunch of others. So news travelled quickly. I didn't know at the time, of course, that getting kicked out would change my life in ways best told by books. To this day, I'm not sure I fully understand. But it was only on that Saturday, biking to Chris's, that the changes began.

See, my home town, Kinnard, is little. Big enough to be called a city, I guess, but small in attitude and ambition. It's about three hours north of Toronto, on the coast of Lake Ontario, if you're into that sort of thing. It has a few public elementary schools, and one private one: Kinnard Academy. That's where I went. There's also a private high school: Ashmore Prep. I went there too. Most of the kids south of the tracks go there. The northern kids can't afford it. My parents couldn't either. But my mom got a small inheritance from her parents, which she dutifully spent on her only child, me. I begged my mom to send me to Camp Okanagan too, because that's where my school friends went during summers. She agreed, and I repaid her by getting kicked out, during L.I.T. summer, no less.   

L.I.T. stands for Leader in Training. It's sort of an in-between summer, where you're half camper, half Leader. You get to do some fun stuff, but mostly you help the Leaders. It's set out in a weekly schedule. Maybe one week you help at Swim. Then the next week at First- and Second-Year Boys. And after that maybe at Land Sports. Your performance determines whether you're hired the following summer. Needless to say, I wasn't.

As an L.I.T., you don't just help the Leaders. You also hang out with them, or try to, for the cool points. That summer Chris even dated a Leader. She gave him a hand-job behind the pool shack. In terms of cool points, that put him off the charts. It was the biggest gossip in our cabin. Until I got kicked out. 

I was expelled at night, one week before the end of summer. Sometimes at night, once the campers had gone to bed, several Leaders would gather around a campfire to smoke weed, drink beer and play music. These events were called "Smokers". The Supervisors knew about them. Even Director Stiznik knew. Smokers were an open secret. The trick was not to get caught.

As an L.I.T., being invited to a Smoker scored cool points. Not as many as a hand-job behind the pool shack, but every point counts. Chris went all the time. Sometimes I went with him. I was probably invited by association—you know, like Chris's plus one—but I like to think that once there, I added to the merrymaking in my own special way.   

The night I got kicked out was an exceptional kind of Smoker. Director Stiznik had taken the Supervisors in town to celebrate the end of summer. While out, he instructed two senior Leaders—Eric Jessum and Vin Warsick—to serve as Acting Supervisors. Unfortunately, Director Stiznik celebrated too soon. Eric and Vin spurned their new duties, and threw the biggest Smoker ever. 

Eric and Vin decided to host a Smoker for every Leader, rather than just a few. Even crazier, the Smoker wasn't on Camp property. Instead, they held it on Snake Island, a small piece of land a couple kilometers from Camp by canoe, right in the middle of the Iroquois River. It's owned by no one in particular. So it was the perfect place to host a bunch of blasted teens.

Most everyone was there. Only two Leaders stayed back, a guy and girl who were dating, and happy enough alone, watching the campers. Back on Snake Island, the Smoker was wild. I couldn't believe Eric and Vin pulled it off. I partied with Chris and the gang. Got pretty tanked, to be honest. But later in the night, Chris disappeared with his girlfriend. I was left smoking a joint with mutual friends. Rarely do I feel comfortable at social events. I wonder if it's genetic. Either way, I wasn't in the mood for small talk. So I left, blaming my bladder. I trekked to the other side of the island, killing time, looking for somewhere to pee. I never got the opportunity though.

On my way, I tripped and fell over this piece of wood buried in the ground. I wasn't sure what it was. It didn't look natural. Its cut was too even, its surface too polished. Maybe I was just high. Maybe I needed something to do. But I crawled over to investigate. I tried to pull the piece out. It was stuck. I grabbed a nearby rock and dug around it. After some digging, the object became clearer. It wasn't natural at all. It was some sort of box. The lid, though deformed with age, had an intricate carving of a native in the center. Inside the box, a bright object shone through the cracks. I couldn't make out the exact item. But its glow reflected in the stars. On my hands and knees, I hovered over the box, admiring it, the joint still in my mouth. I wondered whether I was just seeing things. I didn't find out though.

Standing over me was Director Stiznik. He had come home early from his celebration. The couple who stayed back, it turned out, had squealed. Director Stiznik knew, and came to shut the Smoker down. He picked me up and marched me to the party. With help from the Supervisors, he sent everyone back to their cabins.

The next day, at a staff meeting, he fired Eric and Vin for organizing the event. He said he'd kick out every one if he could. But he couldn't. So he just kicked me out, since he caught me with a joint, and a few other kids whom he caught acting particularly rowdy. My folks didn't quite mind after I had explained what happened. Thought it was pretty unfair, actually. I just tried to forget about the whole thing. From time to time, I wondered about that box. Eventually, I stopped thinking about it, too. That is, until that day at Chris's.

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