A Summer To Remember

One

If you had asked me, Caroline Miller, if I thought camp would be as "amazing" or as "life changing" as everyone else said, I would tell you I think it's bullshit. I would say it's just a way for big organizations to get money from sponsors. Overall they'd make a huge profit, and in return, give you an ok experience. I would say, who wants to live in cabins hotter than hell? Who wants to be a snack to annoying ass bugs 24/7? Who wants to meet spoiled and privileged rich kids (like myself), who are annoying and bratty and have no interest in you? Not me that's for damn sure. So you can probably guess I was ecstatic to go to camp for two freakin months, and make my life a living hell. Yay. You can bet your ass I begged and pleaded not to go. I'm not usually like that, but I was desperate. I didn't want to leave my air conditioned room for two months, or trade my kitchen for shitty camp food. But most of all, I didn't want to leave my music. My bass was like my best friend. That sounds hella pathetic, I know, but it's the truth. She was my most prized possession. I'd like to think I'm an expert guitarist. I'd also like to think I'm an ok singer. I have no talent when it comes to writing, but I love singing covers. It's not like I had anyone else to sing with or anything like a band. I had really longed for some people with the same interests. No one really wanted to befriend me. I mean, I had my best friend Liz, but she wasn't into music like me. I longed for a band of some sort, or people to play with. I guess you could say I'm not really approachable. It wasn't like I was goth or anything, I just had what everyone today calls a "resting bitch face." I wasn't the nicest person either at first. In fact, in order to hide my anxiousness when meeting new people, I'd cover it up with sarcasm as a defense mechanism. I'm pathetic, I know right? My blond hair that was parted to one side was always the same. I was just the same. I was me. No one really liked me. And sometimes it didn't bother me, but on some days, my loneliness burned inside of me. This was very obvious to my parents and my aunt, who made it her goal in life to get me to meet people, which is where we are now. Summer Camp. My annoying self wanted friends but was terrible at making them. My mom saw this camp as an opportunity to make friends, even with my music. (Plus my aunt worked there so it was free, and that's always a plus in my mom's book). I wasn't looking forward to it. I still remember driving in my car, both earbuds in, ignoring my family. All my stuff was packed in the trunk. My clothes, everything. I was cherishing my last moments with my phone, even though I really didn't have anyone that would call me or text me in the two months I'd be gone. Liz would probably write every now and then, but other than that, no one else. I remember being annoyed, anxious, and all around pissed off. But then again there was nothing I could do. If you asked me that moment in the car, if I was looking forward to camp, I would've said hell no. I was so wrong.