Echo

Annie was my best friend thirty years ago in 1986 when we were sixteen-year-old waitresses at Camp Aviv, a Jewish camp in Belgrade, Maine.  She was from Newton, Massachusetts, and she liked all the weird things about me. She thought it was hysterical I farted while jogging and that I sometimes talked in my sleep. She found it cute when I obsessed every night about what to wear to canteen and when I sniffed my armpits before we left the bunk.   I could be myself with her and not worry. She had such a cool way about her, with her long, straight sandy-blond hair she often wore in a ballerina bun, olive skin, and huge brown eyes. Her legs were so long, they draped over her twin bed when she slept. She would somersault on the grass in front of our bunk, her hair cascading to the grass like an open fan. She was tall and graceful.  Annie tried to teach me somersaults and was patient with me when I got dizzy.

We hit it off with Marcy and Sara. We hung out with them all the time, though it was understood that Annie and I were best friends and Marcy and Sara were a two-some.  Summer was our time. We lived in different towns in New York, New Jersey, and Massachusetts and attended different Jewish Day Schools, waiting all year for summer. We knew each other’s patterns, waking and sleeping, the toothbrushes we used, the smell of each other’s shampoo and conditioner, whether one slept with tampons at night.  We watched each other pop our zits and then apply Oxy to the wounded residue. We bleached our mustaches in front of each other and shaved our bikini lines. We applied Noxzema to our faces – smelling like vapor and virtue – and mousse to our hair. 

Every day of summer we woke up at 7:00 am, dragged ourselves out of bed still wearing sweats and stumbled to the dining room, where we were waitresses and served breakfast for no pay. We thought we were the ones with the better deal; we had a free place to hang out together away from home.  We rolled our eyes as we stacked the dishes and bowls and spoons that smelled like 80-year-old sponges. We held our noses as we poured congealed oatmeal into serving bowls. When we were done, we hoped to see our crushes, the staff at camp, who were 18 or 19-years-olds. Only the four of us knew each other’s obsessions.  Marcy liked David and Ben. Sara liked Steve and Ari, Annie liked Adam and Ephraim, and I liked Yoni and Dov. I sort of had a little thing for Eitan too. But if one of them were to like us back, it would be fun, but scary. If Sara and Ari were a couple, then nothing could happen with Steve. Having all these crushes was like having a waiter present all the dessert options on a cart.  You could admire them and imagine and anticipate how great each would taste. But once you chose one, the others were taken away. The possibilities and their potential were more delicious than truly tasting them. 

After breakfast, we were free all day. We went back to our bunk and changed into each other’s clothing. We hardly ever wore our own outfits. We wandered around camp and hoped to bump into one of our crushes. I was always looking for Yoni.  Yoni with his olive skin that became very tan in summer, thick, wavy, light-brown hair, and turquoise eyes.

We usually watched the waiters and sports staff play basketball or hockey.  We sat for hours at a time, watching game after game, never wanting it to be over. Every look, every smile that the players threw our way was our reward.   If we weren’t watching them, we were waiting for the next time we would see them. Always waiting, anticipating, pining. When I think back to those days, I think we loved to yearn, and spoke of our yearning and basked in it. 

I felt I yearned a little more.  And I had to hide it. Sometimes at night when everyone was asleep, I would lie in bed, think about Yoni or Dov, and touch my nipples over my t-shirt until they became hard as pebbles.  I would slip my fingers under my underwear and touch myself. I was free, floating, and in touch with the something else.  A couple of times I was close to coming and I felt I could have if only I was alone and could release my moans.

We often skipped lunch and suntanned on the dock by the lake after having doused ourselves in baby oil.  We ignored the sweat that slid between our breasts and settled at the center of our bikini tops. We ignored the heat and the mosquitos that bit our legs, because we knew we would look great that night at canteen, wearing our white Champion sweatshirts in stark contrast with our tans, and our frosty light-pink lipstick that made our tans even more pronounced.  As we lay there, we listened to Alphaville’s “Forever Young” again and again, our heads light from sun and dehydration. We sang along and felt so earnest. 

Sometimes at lunch, instead of lying in the sun, we skinny-dipped across the lake to Camp Golan with our friend Stacey trailing us in a rowboat just in case we got tired.  Well, all of us except for Annie, who kept her bathing suit on. When we got to Camp Golan, we put on our tops and hoped to meet some hot lifeguards on their docks. But most of the time the only lifeguards were girls or one not-hot-guy called Yitzchak, so pale and sunburned that all I could think when he flirted with us was how if you pushed a finger into his red chest it would probably turn as white as a baby’s tush and how his back must hurt when he lay down in bed. 

Though we spent all our time together, Annie and I were different. When I think back to my friendship with Annie, I imagine us watching a movie together.  While she is content to observe, I have an urge to jump in. She would admire the look of the bunny rabbits at the nature center, but I had to pet the bunnies and feel their fur.  We both might think the cake they served for dessert looked dry, but I would taste it to make sure. She was less hungry, less restless than I was.   

At night, we would steal junk food from the younger girls bunks while they were at a night activity, and take it to the boathouse where we’d smoke pot and drink the beer we had bought on our days off and stashed in a hole we dug behind the boathouse.  It was dark in the boathouse and the waterfront, so we felt safe that no one would see us. One night in the boathouse we heard voices approaching. The “basketball guys,” 18-year-old lifeguards and sports staff, had just finished playing in the gym. They played every night, but never came to the boathouse. 

“Anyone in here?” It sounded like Yoni.

We remained frozen.  If they came in, they would smell the pot and alcohol and see the empty beer cans and joint butts on the floor. Yoni wouldn’t care, but maybe he was with his side-kick, Jeff, who had a big mouth. Would they leave? Yoni had a flashlight and shined it on us as we huddled in the corner.

“Well, well, what have we here.  It’s Charlie’s Angels plus one.” Which angel was I? I wondered. I hoped for Chrissie. Okay, just not Sabrina. Yoni wore a faded red t-shirt that was drenched with sweat and clung to him. 

“Hi, “ I said.

“You smell like a bar, you girlies.”

Yoni looked at me and I noticed the sweat dripping from his forehead.  Through his T-shirt I could see his heart pounding from his basketball game.

“Who’s with you?”  I didn’t know what else to say. 

“Julia, who are you hoping for?”

“Just tell me. We’re just hanging out in here.”

“Pot and beer.  Naughty girls.”

“Stay out. It’s too crowded in here,” Annie said.

I was able to make out the other guys:  Michael, Dan, and Jeff. Shit, Jeff. Michael was short and skinny. He looked a few years younger than he was. He had dimples and was cute, despite his size.  Dan was chubby and quiet. The guys loved him, but he never spoke to girls. Jeff was tall for a Jewish kid and was pale with freckles and black hair. When I look back at this night, no matter how many times I try to reframe the story to make myself feel better, in all my memories, I am more excited than afraid. 

“You know, you girls can get in trouble for drinking and smoking,” Yoni said.  He looked down at us as he cradled the basketball under his arm, and I noticed his bicep flex, powerful. I imagined his arms touching me. 

“But we won’t tell,” he continued, “if you give us something.”

“Don’t be a pig,” Annie said as she stood with her hands on her hips.  

Marcy and Sara crossed their arms and huddled together in the back corner of the room. 

“Well, I imagine you don’t want to be kicked out of camp. I’d love to see all of your boobs,” Yoni said. 

This wasn’t how I’d imagined it.

Michael chimed in. “Maybe you girls can make out.  I’d love to watch. Isn’t that why people come to the boathouse anyway?”

“You guys are gross,” Marcy said.  “Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay.  Have it your way.” 

“I guess I’ll have to tell my uncle Chief of Camp Joe what I saw,” Jeff said. 

“You didn’t see anything!” I said. It was too dark for him to see the evidence. 

“But we can smell it all over you little girlies,” Yoni said.

“If you report us . . . we’ll report you for forcing us to strip,” Sara said.

“Smoking pot and drinking are clear violations of Camp Aviv. Looking at someone’s boobs is thankfully not,” Jeff said. “And no one is forcing you.  It’s your choice. Make a deal with us or don’t.”

The guys all laughed. 

Marcy whispered to me, in the corner, “Shit. What’s the big deal. Let’s just show them our boobs.”  

“No way,” Annie said as she folded her arms. My mind slipped back to the rest of us skinny-dipping across the lake, Annie’s refusal to take off her top, her shyness even in front of us girls. 

“It’s no big deal,” said Marcy,  “It’s not like we have to blow them or something gross.  Let’s just do it.”

“I don’t care,” added Sara, “I’ll do it. I don’t want to get kicked out.  It’s only the middle of July. My parents will kill me.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s go for it,” Annie said. I nodded.

“Wait,” Marcy asked Jeff, “You’re really going to tell?  Or do you just want to see our boobs?”

“No, we’ll tell,” Jeff said. The guys all laughed.

So we looked at each other and the four of us lifted up our large champion sweatshirts at the same time.  

“Take off your bras,” Jeff said. I noticed his grey T-shirt was drenched in sweat. He smelled like a mildewy towel.

I looked at Annie and she nodded. We all looked at each other in agreement.  We unhooked our bras and took them off with our sweatshirts still on -- Flashdance style.  We dropped our bras to the floor and stood there with our sweatshirts raised. We were lined up, side by side.  Michael smiled with his arms crossed and his dimples showing. Dan just stared and kept a poker face like he’d seen this before. Yoni and Jeff came too close to us and just stared like we were statues or photos in a magazine.  All the while, Yoni still nonchalantly cradled the basketball in his arm. Like this was just something he was casually checking out on the way back from his basketball game. After a few seconds, Marcy let her sweatshirt fall over her breasts. 

“Longer, Marcy,” Dan said.

“We did it.  You asked and we did it. Enough!” Marcy said.

Annie let her sweatshirt fall over her breasts. 

Sarah and I followed.

“I want a minute.  Sixty seconds,” Jeff said.  “Or I’ll talk.”

“Okay, guys.  Let’s just do this for a minute,” I whispered to the girls.  They nodded. We all lifted our sweatshirts and Yoni looked at his watch.

“And go . . . we have a full minute.”

I stood up straight, with my shoulders back so my boobs would look bigger.  I knew mine were bigger than Annie’s and Marcy’s. I wasn’t sure about Sarah’s. I tried to look scared and upset. Angry. I wouldn’t look at them in the eyes, I told myself.  I couldn’t. But despite my pretensions, I glanced at Yoni. He was smiling and staring at our boobs, not our faces. So he didn’t even notice I was looking at him. I worried my sweatshirt wasn’t high enough. I wanted to be sure he could see everything.  I looked at the others. Annie and Sarah had their eyes closed, their long hair shielding them a bit. Marcy hung her head down, and she looked even smaller in the dark. I looked ahead blankly and chose to stare at the shadow on the wall in front, willing myself not to look at Yoni. 

They came closer and surveyed us. 

“Okay! Enough!” Annie said.  

“It’s only been twenty seconds,” Yoni said.

“I’m cold,” Marcy said quietly.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Can we touch them?” asked Yoni.

“No fucking way!” said Annie as she moved back. 

Jeff said, “But we can come closer, guys. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Annie said and looked at me. 

She still held her sweatshirt up, exposing her breasts.  Her large brown eyes were even wider with fear. They were the same eyes that looked at me every Friday afternoon and asked which of two or three dresses she should wear to Shabbat dinner, that calmed me down when I got my first yeast infection, that showed up at my doorway in New Jersey to surprise me for my 15th birthday. Annie had even confided in me that her parents had separated when no one else knew.  I wanted to hug her and reassure her that it was okay. She was making a big deal of nothing. It was just fun. She should relax.  Only I knew it wasn’t. I knew I should join her. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I looked away. 

“Listen Annie,” Jeff said, “You leave before a minute is up, I sing.”

“I’m out of here,” Annie said and ran out.  

The rest of us stayed, and the guys continued to stare at us from only inches away.

Yoni raised his hand a few inches from me.

“Don’t!”  I had to say. 

“Trust me, darling. I’m just looking.  But you do look excited, Julia. Your nipples are getting harder.”  The other guys laughed.

“Okay. Time is up,” said Sara. 

Yoni glanced down at his watch. “You’re right.” Then he looked me in the eye.  He was so good-looking with his tanned skin and shoulder-length light brown wavy hair. His turquoise eyes.

Marcy and Sara leaned over and put their bras back on underneath their sweatshirts.

“Thank you, girlies. You have lovely tits,” Yoni said as he looked at me. 

“As promised, we won’t say a word.  About the three of you.” He continued to look at me and I didn’t move.

“Don’t say anything about Annie,” I said.

“Why not? She broke her word,” Jeff said.

“Don’t be a dick!” I said.

“We won’t,” Yoni said.  We continued to stare at each other. 

Marcy ran out, Sara followed, and I just stood there transfixed by Yoni’s eyes.  I couldn’t look away.

“Guys, I’ll see you later. I’m going to stay here for a while,” Yoni said to the other basketball guys.  They laughed and left the boathouse. He finally put the basketball down on the floor. 

Yoni closed the door after them and continued to stare at me.  He walked closer to me.

“Can I see them again?” he asked softly.

I lifted my sweatshirt, and he raised his hands and came an inch from my boobs.  But he didn’t touch me. I breathed in and sighed.

“You want me to touch them, don’t you?”  His eyes looked hungry and greedy. Focused. Their striking turquoise blueness made him look menacing. 

I didn’t answer.

“You do, Julia. Look how excited your nipples are getting.  Ask me to.”

“What?”

“Ask me to touch them.”

“Touch them.”

“Please.”

“Please.”

He put his hands on them and squeezed.   I leaned forward and kissed him. He kissed me back and we made out like that for a long time.  I liked the way it felt to be so desired. Though I knew I was probably making things too easy for him, I didn’t care enough to stop.  This felt like a prize for wanting so fully, for all the waiting. I was observing us as it was happening. Like I was watching a movie where the girl finally gets the guy. 

He held my hand and walked me back to girls’ campus.   I remember walking into the bunk with a skip to my step, feeling proud and so alive!  I was excited to give Annie and the others a play by play. I finally had a story to tell.  And then I saw Annie on her bed crying. Marcy and Sarah sat on the edge of her bed and were comforting her.  

“How could you stay?”  Marcy said.

“I . . .” For a moment I was confused. 

Nobody said a word. They just sat there and faced Annie, stroked her back.

“I don’t understand you,” Annie sat up from her bed. Her face was wet with tears. “They practically raped us. And you stayed?”

“It’s fine. They won’t tell on you. I asked them not to —”

“They won’t tell on me?  Is that what you’re focusing on?  I never showed my boobs to anyone before!”

Her eyes were red and she was gulping for air.

“You said we should.  We all agreed to,” I said desperately.  

“I felt like I had to.  . . . But then it was too much.  Now they’re here,” she motioned to Marcy and Sara.  “But you actually stayed with him. At first we were worried about you, that something happened, but we started to go back to look for you, and we ran into Jeff and Steve and Dan. They told us you were just fine, that we shouldn’t ruin your fun.  Julia, what is the matter with you?”

I didn’t know what to say. I was confused. They acted like I was dirty and easy, but wasn’t that just part of the games we played?  Wasn’t that just part of fooling around? So I left the bunk and wandered around, my exciting story untold. And when I got back, they were all asleep.

The next day Annie was gone. And Yoni and I were an item.  When I first heard the news about Annie, I felt relieved. Relieved that I wasn’t also in trouble for smoking and drinking.  I felt lucky, like I got away with something, vindicated. But then I found a note Annie left under my pillow, saying she had had enough of camp, and she was going home. So she wasn’t kicked out. She chose to leave.  

Marcy and Sara were upset the day Annie left, but then they moved on. Apparently, Annie had woken them up early that morning and told them she was leaving.  I didn’t hang out with them anymore, though sometimes we’d talk on the way to breakfast, straining to make it feel okay. Besides, my nights were with Yoni. At first, Marcy and Sara were always together and cold towards me.  But soon after, I noticed they weren’t as close, and I had the sense they felt a certain shame in each other’s company.  

As the days passed, Annie’s absence made me sick to my stomach, guilty.   I would look to my right at night at Annie’s empty bed and miss her terribly.  There was an emptiness, a loneliness in my gut that I feared would never go away.  I was too embarrassed and ashamed to call her. But there was Yoni. My time with him helped dull all the bad feelings until they were only puffs of clouds in an otherwise clear blue sky.  I was having so much fun with him. Though looking back, I’m not sure I even liked him. I began to miss Annie only when I wanted to share my excitement over Yoni and tell her my stories. I was doing what we always wanted to do, and I wished I could tell her. 

* * *

A couple of weeks later, I was on ‘night duty’ for the kids whose counselors had the night off.  I sat alone in the hut at the center of girls’ campus with time to do nothing but think. I remembered the summer after 8th grade when I had my first boyfriend, my first kiss with Adam Steinberg. At the beginning of that summer, Annie had hung out with Adam and me all the time, and then she had abruptly stopped. I never knew why.   At the end of summer, my friend let it slip that one night Adam had told Annie that he liked her more than me and would rather go out with her. But Annie never told me. The funny thing is, when I heard this, I wasn’t hurt or angry. I didn’t feel diminished. No, I was grateful that Annie hadn’t told me, that she hadn’t ruined my fun with Adam. Because if she had, I wouldn’t have had my first boyfriend, my first kiss, my first real experience.  I never said anything to Annie. I never told her I knew.  If she’d have found out, I’m sure she wouldn’t have respected me for keeping silent. She’d have viewed my silence as a sign of weakness. But even if it was a weakness, it was one I couldn’t help but embrace. 

Sitting in the hut, I listened to the cicadas sing and felt the chill in the air that descends from the mountains in late August.  The chill that makes you aware of the fleeting days, the vanishing sunshine, the dwindling nights that had to be seized before they disappeared.  Moments later, my replacement came to relieve me of my duty. I walked to canteen as fast as I could to be with Yoni. 

Tamar Gribetz teaches writing and advocacy at Pace Law, where she also serves as the Writing Specialist. Tamar's previous fiction has appeared in Rumble Fish Quarterly and Poetica Magazine.  She lives with her family in Westchester, N.Y., where she is at work on more short fiction.