Disconnected

Chapter One

Summer 2007 - 6 years old

"Mom!" I shout while peaking through the blinds of the camper window, "Sheldon is using his spy toy to eavesdrop on us!". Mom tells me to just ignore him, he just wants attention. He is so annoying, I say in my head. That boy has always made my blood boil—still does. This spy toy, oddly worked. I remember Easton, his younger brother, letting me try it the day before and I could hear conversations inside nearby campers.
We camped at a family site right on the lake and lived there every year between the months of June and August. We went home to do laundry and then drove into town to stock up on food once a week. In one row on the camping lot my grandparents had a camper, behind them was our camper, and behind us was my cousins camper. We had swimming lessons, monkey bars to play on, a bush to play in, and a chip stand. My parents did work but all my aunts and uncles were teachers off for the summer, so someone was always around to watch my brother and I. Every night we had camp fires and all my cousins would come visit for a game of manhunt on the camp ground. Of course, I was too young for the manhunt games. Chad wasn't. I was so jealous.
But life was perfect.
My biggest stressor at this point was the fact all my cousins were older than me and I wanted to be like them. I wanted them to like me. Casey and Melanie were around Chad's age so they always played together. Myself, Sheldon, and Easton were around the same ages, so we got grouped together. I hated it, I wanted to hang out with my cool big brother. Don't even get me started on my —out of town cousins, who visit once a summer—Jennifer and James. They were twice my age; they were my idols. Honestly, it makes me sad that I spent so much time stressing about my cousins liking me.
One day, Melanie and Jennifer invited me to ride bikes down to the chip stand. It was a narrow sand path that cars had to drive down at three kilometres per hour to get to their camper or cabin.
"Yes!" I shout, then run to find my helmet. Suddenly, I really have to pee, but they are waiting for me. If I stop and go, they will think I got distracted doing something else and leave without me. I can hold it, I tell myself.
We are riding down the sandy car path, there are so many bumps. Earlier that day, we were little assholes and dug holes along the path (the sand would change colours the deeper we dug, it was cool, okay?). I cannot hold it anymore and barely halfway to the chip stand, I pee my pants....on my bike.
The tears are wilting, I am wearing light pink pants so it is clear that I have peed in them. I turn around before they see me. I speed back to the camper, praying that none of my relatives are sitting on the lawn chairs drinking coffee. They all are, of course, but I speed by and might have went unnoticed. I get changed and throw my pants into the dirty clothes hamper, praying they dry before Mom sees it later.
I got yelled at that night. She smelt it, found it buried, and told me I should know better. "You get too goddamn excited!" she tells me, "Just pee before you go next time."
Why was I so anxious about making my cousins wait? I still don't understand it to this day. But I often apologize for making someone wait for me to use the restroom before we go somewhere.
What? Dad always said he wasn't waiting around for that shit! I sigh, Mom and Dad are so confusing.
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It's around 9pm. Mom just made our beds in the camper, I come inside from the fire and get ready to call it a night. Chad is still out with my cousins, Dad is still drinking beer at the fire. Mom tells me to get changed into my pyjamas and says she'll be inside soon. I'm alone in the camper, half naked, and suddenly the lights go out. I scream and start to cry. I hate the dark, especially in the camper. There's no night or backup lights. Dad is probably six beers in by now, but I am too young to understand what that does to him. He comes running into the camper like someone is trying to kill me.

"What wrong?! What happened?!" He shouts, wide eyed and shaky. His energy scares me even more. I am always scared of Dad when he is drunk; but at that age I interrupt it as mood swings. Dad is in a mood, and I've set him off. Mom comes into the camper telling Dad to calm down. She's trying to explain to him it was the owner of the site working on the power circuit across the lot. 

"Martin! He was just flipping switches because someone else's power went out, it was an accident." Mom is rubbing my back as she says this, attempting to soothe me. Dad makes an animalistic sound then charges outside towards the man. Mom chases him, "Stay inside!" her finger points at me. I finish getting dressed and run outside. I don't understand what just happened, why did I upset Dad? In the glow of the fire, I see Dad on the ground wrestling the man at the power circuit. I think it's dogs for a moment but Mom is screaming at them. It is Dad.

"Your children are watching this! What are you doing?!!" She screams. 

That's all I remember. As of many of my childhood memories, some of them end abruptly like that. I don't remember when the fight broke up. I don't remember if the cops were called. Part of me remembers the red and blue lights on the road and a part of me remembers Mom scolding Dad that he was lucky the guy didn't call the cops. I do remember Dad's language outside the camper after the altercation. I was standing outside still in shock that Dad just attacked someone. The curse words that I dare wouldn't say at six years old, spilled out of his mouth for ten minutes straight.  

I do know, the next day the man and Dad shook hands and apologized. I still couldn't believe that my reaction made Dad attack a man. I felt it was my fault. If I didn't scream, Dad wouldn't have panicked.

I acted like I wasn't afraid whenever the power goes out for the rest of my life. I am embarrassed.

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