Usually when I go on a big trip or attend something amazing, it takes a week or so to process everything and see which memories stick. The same is true for The Spot, though I will tell you now it was practically perfect and incredible medicine for the soul. Things like that are hard to describe right off the bat.
There IS one story that I have to tell you immediately. It seems silly to share it because I’ve probably already told it to everyone who would appreciate it.* But it’s just… well, here:
So the first night was very low-key and relaxed. There were maybe 15 of us? There were 20 or 30 counting the band, who visited us from time to time but mostly stayed by the stockade.
Okay. Okay so…
We’re sitting around the campfire and I notice a tall boy making goo goo eyes at me. And shoot, I’m sitting in the woods all muddy and gross; I’ll take goo goo eyes for sure. So that went on for a few beers-ish.
He mentioned that he had never been to the stockade (which is this crazy gigantic fort hidden in the back of the property) so Jen and I decided to show it off. He flirted with me during the long walk through the woods and he seemed relatively interesting. More importantly, tall with goo goo eyes.
Okay. Um. So you guys. I was trying to decide if I should have a crush on him? I have learned my lesson after all; from now on my crushes need to be informed decisions. So as we were exploring the top of the stockade, I decided to get the deets and kick off a conversation: “So, how do you know Ron?”
“Through my brother,” he said, just as we reached the firemen’s pole in the corner. “Well, my half-brother.”
“Oh, really? Who’s your brother?”
Yes. Yes he did.
He said the worst name possible. The reason I almost stayed home. The guy I dated for 6 months, who broke my little heart in July.
Then he flashed a horrifically-familiar smile. Then he slid down the firemen’s pole, hitting the ground a few seconds after my stomach and my jaw.
I think The Spot is built directly over an Ancient Indian Burial Ground composed entirely of my great-great-grandmother’s ex-boyfriends. I mean, it’s gotten to the point where it’s almost art.
*Really, at this point my only reason for living is to make my friends simultaneously groan and laugh when I tell them about my day. You know that noise that starts with a scream and then echoes off into guffaws and giggles? It is the soundtrack of my life. I LOVE THAT NOISE.
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