Y O U T H (scomiche)

trent the straight persona

The check in time was at 8:00 the next morning, so we had to leave at 6:30 the night before. My mom got the pleasure of driving me there after dinner. To avoid any talk of homosexuals, I snuck a melatonin from the medicine cabinet while grabbing a water, and made some vanilla chamomile tea. If anything knocks you out, that does.

"Mitchell, is your suitcase in the trunk?"

"Yes, it is, father."

"Thank you, son." He hates it when I call him father. It's almost a force of habit now, I call him "Mike" around everyone else. But I think if I called him Mike, he would come the closest he ever has to stabbing me.

They demanded to keep my phone in their possession for the week, so I took out the carrier sim card and changed the passcode so they couldn't get into it.

"Could you bring it with you when you pick me up?"

"Sure, honey."

I sent Scott an "I love you" before shutting it off and hiding the sim card in an altoid box. By the time we left my neighborhood and my head was on the window, I was asleep. When I woke up again, it was six am, and my mom was on her third cup of coffee.

"You okay to drive the rest? I can if you want me to."

"I've made it nearly twelve hours already, I think I can make it another hour and a half."

"Okay. And you can make it back alright?"

"Honey, after I gave birth to you-"

"You stayed up for four days straight at least every week."

"See!"

"Alright, fine. Just promise that if you're too tired, you'll pull over?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

"Thank you."

I dozed off again for another hour, waking up again as we took a sharp turn into the parking lot. We were obviously one of the few people there right at the break of check-in. We walked into the building the man with the bullhorn directed us to, and were greeted by several people who looked just a little too excited to be there.

"Hi there! Welcome! Are you here for registration or check-in?"

"Checking in! I called last night, my son is Mitchell Grassi."

"Yes! Right here. This file, here, is for you, Mitchell! It has your schedule, cabin assignment, and daily arm bands our campers need to wear."

"Got it." I peeked in the file.

"And, mom, we need you to fill out this form for us, and that'll be all!"

She quickly put down all of my health information and I was directed to my cabin. I walked my mom to her car and grabbed my suitcase out of the trunk. She kissed me on the forehead.

"Please feel better, sweetie. Know we're only doing this for your own good."

"Okay, mom."

"Alright, I'll leave you alone. Make a friend!" I rolled my eyes.

"Bye, mom!"

She started the car and watched me walk to my "cabin." It was more like a motel building put in the middle of a cheap couples resort, that just so happened to hold church camp each year. All of the doors were open so the kids could just walk in, and I was the first in my cabin. There were two queen sized beds, a bunk bed, a closed off bathroom area, a sink, and a dresser with a TV on top. I could only assume we were not going to be watching. I decided to keep my clothes in my suitcase and slid it under my bed, taking the bottom bunk, and reading a book until other campers started showing up.

A man in his twenties wearing a tank top and cargo shorts walked in with a suitcase about ten minutes later. I dog-eared the page I was on, set it aside, and crawled out from the bed to introduce myself.

"Hi there! I'm your counselor. What's your name?"

"I'm Mitch."

"Ah, Mitchell?"

"Yeah, but I go by Mitch."

"Gotcha. I'm Rod, it's nice to meet you!" He took an attendance sheet out of his slightly larger file, set it on top of the dresser, and checked off my name.

"We have four campers, so I think I'll take the bed closest to the door. You seem pretty situated there." He threw his suitcase on his bed and I went back to my book, hoping he wouldn't want any conversation.

"So, any particular reason you're here?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"You just like the camp?"

"I guess."

"Nice. I came here every year when I was a kid, it's great at restoring your faith, or making it stronger. My parents took me here when I told them I was athiest, and I never looked back after that week."

"Nice."

Another camper walked in, taking his attention away from me. The new camper took the side of the queen bed closest to me, and shoved his suitcase under his bed.

"Hey, I'm Russel."

"Mitch." He reached out to shake my hand and I took it.

I smiled and went back to my book. He, thankfully, took the hint that I didn't want to talk, and pulled out a book of sudoku puzzles. The other campers piled in within twenty minutes or so, introducing themselves as they came in, and leaving each other alone. Rod wasn't exactly happy, and went to talk to another camp counselor about it.

"Oh my god, I thought he'd never leave." Russel's bed-mate said. We all laughed.

"He's the actual personification of a straight guy." I added.

"I can hear his sandals from here!" Top-bunk said.

"Okay, so, you're all here 'cause you're gay too?" Said the guy from the other side of the queen. There was an echo of 'yeah's and 'oh yes's.

"Yeah, they usually room them with me. Well, I'll just tell you this. I get sent here every year for being gay, and heres how I get through it. You make yourself a straight persona. Go the whole week as your straight persona, and then your parents will leave you alone."

"What's the name of your straight character?" I said.

"Well, I haven't really named him."

"Hm."

"I wanna name mine Rod." Russel said, imitating exactly how Rod talked.

"Nice one. I'm gonna go with J.T."

"That's symbolic." I said.

"Huh?"

"Like, your name is T.J., so, the backwards version of yourself is the straight you? Nevermind." He laughed.

"That's cute!"

"Thank you."

"Mitch, what's yours?"

"Um, Trent."

"Trent?"

"Yeah. Uh, we out here. We got the NBA game goin' on." I said in the straightest voice possible. I got all of them practically rolling. Rod walked in while we were all mid-laughter, with a smile on his face.

"Alright, guys, time for breakfast at the main hall!"

We all piled out of the room, clinging together instantly.