The Mason List (23 page)

Darcy’s
pulled in another drag, waiting for my reaction.  The girl scared me a little,
like an angry, fighting pit bull, latching on teeth and nails.  The smoke blew
out of her noise as she laughed.  “I’m just messin’ with you.”

“People
don’t hook up there?”

“Nah,
they do.  You’re just fun to talk to because I can’t shock many people
anymore.  You get this petrified look.  Kinda fun.”

I trotted
along beside Darcy.  She took me to the back corner of the bunks.  Under her
bed, she pulled out a wood crate.  My eyes grew wide seeing the contents
inside.

“Now Lexie,
if you’re plannin’ to come to these things, you’ll have to contribute.  Can’t
have you moochin’ on all the good stuff.”

“Ok,” I
swallowed.

The party
provided a glimpse into the darker and wilder side of camp.  Rochellas was a
college student’s hazy summer job and the worse nightmare of a camper's
parents, if they knew the morality of those who cared for their precious,
undisciplined offspring.

Seven of
the staff met up on the docks to partake in a tub of hard liquor and large
amount of pot, consumed in joints, as well as a few bongs.  As it turns out,
Brecken was preoccupied during our dinner in the mess hall. 
High as shit in
the trees
was the term Dutch used.  He swore it was just a summer thing for
most of them, except for Brecken. 

As the
newest invitee to the dock, I listened as the group swapped stories from past
years.  Brecken, who supervised archery, chose not to shower all summer. 
If
you smelled like shit, the little shitters kept their distance
.  He used
his idea to drive the campers away so he could sip on a flask and take midday
naps against a tree.

I
cringed, listening to Darcy’s story.  Last summer the group had one party that
got a little out of hand.  The staff faced the next day hung over and irritable
as hell.  Darcy slipped the kids Benadryl, and then loaded them up on the boat
for a ride out to the middle of the lake.  She passed out across the steering
wheel, nursing one hell of a hangover, while the kids took a nap on top of a
pile of life jackets.  They floated for hours, almost reaching the other side
of the lake shore.

Darcy
said something regarding Dutch, but Brecken shut her down fast.  Actually, he
gave her a slight push that ended with one big splash in the lake.  She clawed
up the side, pulling his lawn chair over backwards.  Water sprayed up while
angry words echoed from the black pool.

“That’s
not fair, you know.  I didn’t hear your worst camp story,” I teased Dutch,
looking into his brown eyes.  He leaned forward and kissed me instead of
answering.  His lips tasted slightly of bitter tea.  It was different than
kissing Jess; the confused thoughts drifted through my mind.  It was different
but good.  I wanted Dutch to kiss me again because it was easy with him. 

The days
flew by with the turnover of new campers every two weeks.  I ate every meal
with Dutch, Darcy, and Brecken.  As a person who once survived on vending
machine drivel, I never complained about the lack of gourmet food while the
others ripped the shit out of the mess hall staff.

Several
nights each week, my new friends held an invitation-only party on the docks.  I
stayed clear of the drugs even though it was tempting to fade into the smoky
escape.  Those nights offered a relaxing time in the summer away from our kid
duties.

Darcy
taught me how to play quarters and I got pretty good at a few drinking games. 
Other nights, the group gambled cleaning duties by playing Texas Hold ‘Em.  I
cleaned the toilets for days in a row until Brecken taught me how to cheat.

Sometimes
we just chilled out on the dock drinking, or in the case of the others,
smoking.  Once in a while, we hooked up Darcy’s iPod.  She liked to dance all
swanky and nasty in the humid air.  I danced with her a few times.  My father
would have yanked me right off those wooden boards if he saw me.  Dutch, on the
other hand, liked to watch us.

I knew
these people were crazy and unconventional as hell, but they were nice to me,
with minimal pressure to partake in their recreational drug use.   I preferred
to think of it that way instead of the reality; my friends were high more often
than sober but they made me feel welcome.  That’s what mattered most at camp. 

Everyone
lived by Dutch’s unwritten rule of Rochellas. 
Never talk about the world
outside the red arched sign because it ruined the high. 
I didn’t know
majors, hometowns, or even the colleges attended by most of the staff.  I
didn’t know their families or even if they had siblings.  The most important
piece: they didn’t know a single thing about Alex Tanner.

One night
as I sat on the boat dock, it occurred to me; most of these people assumed I
really was
Lexie
.  I never bothered to correct the nicknamed dubbed by
Dutch’s attempt to flirt on the day we met.  This summer, I
could
be
someone else.  The idea felt new and invigorating, like an Etch-a-Sketch shaken
until clean.

At
Rochellas, this Lexie never lost a mother to cancer.  She never watched the
world pick through her belongings as the sky fell all around her.  This
fun-filled girl was never dragged to another town, only to be homeless.  She
never experienced the glares, taunts, or pity from a place that survived on
gossip.  Most importantly, this camp never heard of a Mason and this
Lexie
owed
them absolutely nothing.  I was free of everything.

I spent
most of that free time at the pool, laughing at Dutch.  I wasn’t under the
delusion our friendship was exclusive.  My intensions were strictly platonic,
which blurred occasionally as time went on at camp. 

Friends
with flirting benefits
,
at least that’s what he called it.  Every time he kissed me, I enjoyed it. 
Dutch was just so damn good at sucking me into his irrational thoughts; a
seamless transition from laughing to flirting to being touched by a guy who was
intoxicating with experience. 

Deep
down, I knew he didn’t care about me.  He just liked having fun and pulled you
along for the ride.  That’s all I wanted too, but I made it very clear; friends
with flirting benefits included absolutely no sex. 

Even with
that one little rule, I still had fun with Dutch, at least until my past invaded
my present.  Those were the days when I called Jess and my problems came right
back to haunt me.  We didn’t talk much while I was at camp since it required a
short hike to a clearing in the swampy woods to get cell phone reception.

He was
always sweet on the phone; his familiar voice grabbing me right in the chest. 
Most of the calls were much of the same.  Jess said Arlis sucked without me. 
The town’s notorious were up to their usual.  Skeeter Rawlins got drunk in the
middle of a Tuesday and fell off Nickel Bridge, breaking an arm and a few
ribs.  My father’s proposal to Caroline over Memorial Weekend, still traveled
around in some circles as the latest news.  The residents counted down the days
to the fall wedding and the lucrative invite to a party at Sprayberry.

The grass
fires north of Arlis, filled Jeeter’s and the feed store with ongoing
conversations about those affected by the blaze.  Jess promised he was nowhere
near the area with fireworks.  He ran into a few of our classmates, including
Ashley.  She was driving down Main Street one afternoon, and he flipped her off
just because it made him feel better.

Every
time we talked, the warmth of his voice and familiarity of our words became
harder to bear.  It was inevitable I would miss Jess, but I didn’t expect it to
be this difficult hearing him on the phone.  I knew him too well.  I knew the
words that caused his eyebrows to wrinkle up.  I knew when Jess sounded
frustrated; he pushed the hair off his forehead.  I knew the exact way his
tongue absently licked his upper lip when he talked about eating a hamburger
from Jeeter’s.  I knew the way Jess smiled as he teased me from hundreds of
miles away. 

Sometimes
I think it was just easier when the bars on my cell phone showed no service.  I
didn’t have to deal with the awful pain he caused in my chest.

The
weekend after Fourth of July, I left with Dutch and a few others for a much
needed sabbatical and my first trip to New Orleans.  Bourbon Street looked
exactly how I imagined; fun and booze and sex.  We hit the strip, crawling
between the bars, leaving a trail of alcohol tabs for those twenty-one or in
the possession of fake IDs.  My plastic Texas license held a picture of
twenty-three year old Lexie Carter from Nacogdoches.  Dutch set up my new ID two
weeks ago when he mailed a picture, along with my two hundred bucks, to someone
he knew in Houston.

As we
entered a small club, I was already drunk from the shots I pounded in the last
two bars.  Dutch pulled me to the middle of the cramped dance floor.  He smiled
an intoxicating grin as we intertwined in a dirty grind. 

Usher’s
smooth voice drifted through the bar as I pressed my back into Dutch’s chest. 
He leaned in, kissing my neck as his fingers slid across my stomach and over my
hips, pulling me hard against his body.  We danced under strobe lights; it was
hot and sweaty and sexy.  I turned around, tasting his rum coated lips as he
slipped his tongue in my mouth.  The alcohol moved through my body and the room
got a little hazy, making me forget people could see us.

Dutch
dipped me low to the floor, slowly grinding against my hips to a Timberlake
song.  “Lex…you have to stay with me,” Dutch whispered in my ear. 

I shook
my head,
no
.

“Come on,
baby.  It’s our night.  You can't leave me hangin’ like this.  You want it
too.  I can feel it.”

“I'm
staying with Darcy.  You know that already.”

“Darcy is
not staying in your room tonight.  She’ll be tied up with whoever the hell has
his hand up her shirt over there.”

“Matt.”

“Good for
you.  More than Darcy will bother to know.  Come on, we shouldn't both be
lonely.  I could just stay in your room and talk, Lexie…” His soft, caressing
use of my nickname always made me feel a little wilder.  Dutch inched his hand
over the back of my jeans, his fingers tracing the edge of the pocket.

“Is that
what you’re calling it now? I’m not
talking
with you tonight.” I pulled
back, watching his face turn into a pout.  “Come on, let’s keep dancing.”