Welcome To Correcamp

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The signs of early spring in the air begin to fade as the subtle warmth of the late afternoon air condenses to a crisp, cooler breeze, bringing about a moisture which hangs aloofly in the air. The sun has only just begun its submersion beneath the horizon, panting the clouds in soft pastel hues of pinks and oranges and yellow.

A bird glides soundlessly over my head, gracefully settling to roost in a nearby tree. I watch as it noisily flaps about the branches, coming to settle on top of a heap of interwoven twigs, nestled carefully between two wide branches of the tree which stretch skywards to form a small canopy, far above my head. There are more trees like this that pattern the sidewalk. The pattern extends as far as I can see along this long, straight road. Neil and I pass tree after tree as we course along the road -- his hand in mine as we converse tranquilly.

We walk with a casual gait. I take the lead, more accustomed to this route to Havenlee College than he is as I've walked this way a couple times before -- the college is favoured by many religious students as it not only offers courses in theology, but also evangelical services that appeal to their faith. My dad is a lecturer here, and often speaks at these services, especially with the convenience of the other college where I perform being so close. Two birds, one stone: he can drop me off at my rehearsals or whatever I'm doing at the Yellow Wood Academy College's theatre, then attend an after-hours seminar at Havenlee and pick me up afterwards. Sometimes I'll finish earlier than him, so I'll just walk down to Havenlee and sit in the lobby of the building he's in (which is conveniently just beyond the parking lot where his silver Toyota Tundra would be parked).

As we walk, we talk about nothing and everything. Neil tells me he's been playing football since he was eight. His father introduced the sport to him and encouraged him to do well, and his untimely death when Neil was only twelve just motivated him to do even better. I don't push on the topic of his dad's death as I sense it's sensitive. Instead I tell him that my parents tried to introduce me to sport to control my energy as I was a wild child, but it didn't get very far as I was never really committed to it, nor even good at it, to say the least.

They tried to get me into music, but I was always really clumsy with the instruments. They even got me singing lessons, but I never took it seriously. When I was ten my school held a play and since they heard about my singing lessons, they casted me as one of the leads. I loved it and my passion for it didn't go unnoticed. The school (and I) urged my parents to let me join the drama club. They easily obliged, eager to get me into some extracurricular activity. And so started my passion for theatre.

The conversation flows to topics about our siblings: he tells me he has a pair of twin sisters about six years younger than him. I tell him I don't have any siblings, that the closest I have to siblings are two cousins, but we don't see much of each other.

Before our conversation shifts to discussing the amount of dust particles in Saturn's rings or the efficiency of a table's legs, I look up to see the all-too-familiar parking lot just ahead of us. Whatever sentence Neil is busy conjugating is swiftly interrupted as we hear shouts and loud, slurred discussions coming from the direction of the parking lot.

"That's probably them," Neil says, quickening his pace and taking the lead. In a few strides we find ourselves standing before a group of six burly boys all sitting on the curb, clearly hammered as they look up at us through heavy eyelids, with wide, lazy smiles, and -- despite the muscles that most of them flaunt with their tank tops -- some of them depend on each other's shoulders to keep them sitting upright.

Neil hastily lets go of my hand before any of his friends notice. From his haste I can only deduce that Neil probably isn't out yet about being gay.