Dear baby Jesus. It’s been getting so cold outside these last couple of days/weeks/fuck I don’t even know how long it’s been, that I can actually feel my piss freezing inside of my bladder. No, that’s a lie. It’s like 15 degrees Celsius out right now, but when you are of Jamaican descent and have poor blood circulation, you miss summer like I’m sure Taylor Swift misses all of her 10+ exes as she makes millions of dollars off her deplorable song-writing abilities.
Too bad I live in a country where God decided it’s cool for people to have a six-month winter. My summer this year was amazing. I worked at camp again, where I renewed my love of counseling and children. It’s also where I renewed my knowledge that if people live within close proximity of each other for a while, they will want anything between a full-blown and unabashedly unrealistic “The Notebook”-type romance and a no strings attached fling like the ones we see in high school.
This wouldn’t be so bad if the campers didn’t do this shit, too. Sadly, the psychology of us humans and how we are dumbasses is even prevalent in the very young. It’s like being a stupid fuck is linked to some sort of hallucinogen in the water we drink.
One of the campers in my cabin in particular had a habit of developing crushes at camp in previous years. We’ll call him Sid. Normally this wasn’t too much of a problem for Sid because he usually did not do anything about his quickly fleeting feelings and those feelings were always restricted to other campers. No such luck this year. Sid’s tastes had graduated from pre-adolescent girlishness to womanhood.
Mine in particular. God must hate me.
Because I am an ever kind and tolerant soul, I kept my understanding of Sid’s obvious crush on me outside his realm of knowledge as not to embarrass him. It was even more awkward and sensitive because Sid has a learning disability. I informed the appropriate staff so we could properly monitor the situation and that nothing would get out of hand. Everything seemed to be under control like a well-oiled machine.
The universe did not want this.
On one of the last days of camp for Sid, our cabin was at our out-tripping period making fires and carving sticks. My co-counsellors and I supervised the teenage boys holding knives with a watchful eye as to make sure the little shits didn’t cut off their hands. Or stab us.
Sid was occupied with helping build the fire so when it got started he came up to me and gave me a hug. No problem. However, the hug lasted more than 5 seconds and the rule at camp (so that we can teach them social cues) is to gently say, “1, 2, 3, release!” I executed the child-you-best-get-the-fuck-up-off-me prompt but Sid kept holding on like a Class-5 clinger. A very slight problem. “Sid,” I said. “I want you to let go of me now, please. The hug is over.” Sid did not budge. In fact, the teenaged boy squeezed me tighter. “Sid, I need you to let go now,” I prompted again to his selective hearing, stubborn-ass ears. Sid shifted his head so his mouth was aligned with my right ear.
“I love you, Timmi,” he whispered. And then he kissed my cheek. A teenaged boy kissed me. Christ, what did I do wrong in a past life?
“Whoa!” I exclaimed as I backed right the fuck up from Sid with all the grace of a walrus performing ballet as it takes a shit. “That makes me uncomfortable, Sid.”
I wish this was an isolated situation with Sid. It was not. Even though Sid profusely apologized for trying to get his love connection on with me, he continued to do weird shit for the rest of camp. Like calling me “his chocolate pudding”. Why do white people insist on giving me nicknames that involve chocolate? I am a person. Made of carbon. Sid also enjoyed activities like staring at my breasts and trying to prevent me from putting on a sweater when I noticed. Or telling me everyday that I am a beautiful woman. My favourite was when he kept rubbing his face against my arm because my skin is just “so soft”.
Then buy some fucking cocoa butter and yours will be, too. Jesus.