Beast and the Beauty
I saw you sitting there, the amber flames of the bonfire dancing in your hazel eyes. You were seated on a piece of driftwood, surrounded by conversations but partaking in none. You merely watched the flames lick the charring wood with eyes slightly accented at the corners, revealing your Asian ancestry. The fire was so bright that the words “Camp Chakwa” on your sweatshirt were legible from where I was sitting.
Camp Chakwa was a summer camp for older high-school and college students in the heart of the Alaskan wilderness. For a couple hundred dollars plus airfare, your summer came complete with white water rafting, hiking through countless trails and forests, camping under the stars and no access to technology whatsoever – the latter always took some getting used to.
I had been coming here for a couple years now, saving up money throughout the year to do so. Due to Camp Chakwa’s rather steep price tag and anonymity, the same people had been in attendance every year since I could remember and I had gotten to know my fellow campers quite well: their personalities, idiosyncrasies and mannerisms. Rarely did a newcomer throw themself into the mix. That’s why it came as a pleasant surprise to see you there – you were new. I could see, however, that not all of my fellow campmates felt the same sentiment; most ignored and avoided you. To them, you were an intruder of sorts.
Although you were green in regards to your years of camp experience, I didn’t know why you stood out to me. You were attractive, but of all the girls there, you were far from the most beautiful – your features were rather modest. Maybe it was the way your isolation caused you to seem more approachable. Maybe it was how you charmingly bit your lip in thought as the stick in your hand hung loosely from your fingers over the open flame; the marshmallow on the tip slowly inflating from the heat. Or maybe it was the style in which the light played off your pale skin, providing you with a welcoming glow. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating.
Go talk to her, commanded the Beast inside my head. He always seemed to chime in at the perfectly wrong moment.
Are you kidding me? No one talks to the newcomer on the first day, I countered. It had become tradition at Camp Chawka that no one was to talk to the newbie on the first day. It was our form of hazing, and while it was a bit barbaric, who was I to mess with tradition?
Oh who cares about that stupid custom? It’s time someone did away with it anyways.
Well let it be someone else – I’m not going to commit social suicide. Plus, I don’t even know her. She’d just think me strange if I just popped up and started talking to her out of the blue.
Hey idiot, she doesn’t know anyone here. Of course she wouldn’t think you weird, she’d just be excited that someone was actually talking to her.
Why do you want me to talk to her so badly anyways?
Because you said it yourself: you know nothing about this girl. She could be the girl of your dreams and you wouldn’t even know it. And you’re not going to find out unless you talk to her.
Girl of my dreams? What on earth was he talking about? This is why I hated talking to the Beast. He had never actually called himself “the Beast,” it was just the name I had given him because he was always telling me to do things that were downright moronic sometimes. It had been going on for a couple years now and I had been unable to shut him up. He was my beast of burden.
I might’ve worried the state of my sanity due to this talking voice in my head, but I had come to accept it – I already knew I was crazy. However, I had to admit that the Beast had a point: unless I actually went and talked to you, you would just remain a pretty face in my eyes, an enigma.
I’ll talk to her first thing tomorrow, I told myself. But even as I said this, I couldn’t help but wonder who you were: what kind of person were you, what were your hobbies?
My imagination, all too willingly, began to connect the dots that my mind lacked connections for. I imagined that the creases in your gray Vans shoes were a result of the numerous walks you took while you pondered the philosophical meanings of love, life and happiness, while the calluses on your fingers were caused by the hours you practiced on your polished, ebony guitar, creating wondrous music that anyone had yet to hear.
I’m impressed with what your mind can make do with the little observations you’ve made. Now she’s Socrates with a guitar. That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? Considering you have yet to even say one word to her, said the Beast.
Shut up, I didn’t say any of that, I said.
No, but you thought it. And I can read your thoughts.
Great. I have a wise-cracking psychic living in my head. That’s exactly what I need right now.
The Beast would have probably countered with something just as sarcastic but he was interrupted by a shout that came from someone standing outside the perimeter of the bonfire.
“Howdy everyone,” L yelled, stepping next to the fire so she was visible to everyone. However, being of rather small stature, the flames from the fire reached higher than her head, causing sniggers of amusement to arise.
L was the head camp counselor for Camp Chakwa. While we all knew that her real name was not limited to only one letter of the alphabet, she refused to tell us what it was, despite our incessant questioning. Rumor had it that after a falling out with her mom – whom she was named after, according to the rumor – she refused to go by her real name and had legally changed it to L. Tall-Tale Tom even claimed that he had discovered her name to be Lael but no one had yet to take him seriously because, as his name suggested, he exaggerated more often than not. What I did know was that L was as feisty as she was short, she lived in Texas and of all the 24 million Texans, no one was prouder of their accent than her.
“Settle down everybody. I know this here’s the first day of camp and y’all are enjoyin’ the fire, eatin’ s’mores and talkin’ with friends ya haven’ seen in a year, but I’m gonna ask ya to put that on hold fer a sec.”
The once clangorous sounds of chatter and laughing began to die down and all eyes turned to L.
“Alrighty. So now that I got y’all’s attention, I just wanna ask somethin’. Does everybody know everyone else here?”
The thirty-or-so faces clustered together began to scan the faces of the people around, searching for any they did not recognize. There were actually quite a few new faces that year, so while there were a few quiet murmurs of “yes,” the majority of the voices that spoke up gave a resounding “no.”
“Good, cause I wanna start of this camp with an ice breaker, which wouldn’ work if y’all knew each other, now would it?” Several people shifted uncomfortably in their seats. An ice breaker? We’d never had one of those before. “So if y’all wouldn’ mind, I’d like us to go around the circle and say our name, age, and where we’re from just so we can all get introduced.”
L gaged the reactions of the crowd; she was met with stone silence.
“Alrighty, looks like I’m gonna go first. The name’s L, I’m twenty-five years young and I’m from Texas, the greatest place on Earth.” When she finished, she thrust her arms in the air as if to say “ta-da.” “See? Not that hard. Now yer turn,” she said to the girl on her left.
One-by-one, we all stood and spoke our piece – albeit, a bit reluctantly. The introductions turned out to be less informative and more like robotic chants of names, ages and hometowns. I quickly found myself zoning out and mindlessly breaking off kindling from the driftwood log I was sitting on, tossing them into the fire and watching them get eaten by the insatiable inferno.
It was only when it came your turn to stand and speak, however, that the wood flinging stopped and my ears immediately perked up in attention.
“Hey everyone. My name is Mary-Jo, I’m eighteen and I’m from Alberta, Canada.” Your voice was shy but sweet and the halves of your unzipped, sapphire sweatshirt flapped in the breeze like a pair of clipped wings feebly attempting to make their escape. “I just want to say that I’m looking forward to meeting you all.” As you said this, you carefully surveyed the crowd before you. When your gaze passed over me, our eyes met. I felt my pulse quicken briefly before your eyes moved on, breaking contact.
Mary-Jo, I repeated mentally.
Pretty name, huh? chimed in the Beast.
So what if it is? I snapped back.
Don’t get snippy, it’s not like you weren’t already thinking the same thing. Anyways, I still think you should talk to her.
Why? Why do you want me to talk to her so badly? And don’t feed me that ‘girl of your dreams’ line. We both know that’s a load of crap.
The Beast made a harsh sound that was either a grunt or a laugh – I could never tell the difference.
Ha! I suppose you know me too well, said the Beast. Fine, you want the truth? You want her, I can tell. With her doe-like eyes and pretty smile who could resist? And the best part is, you can have her. A quiet and innocent girl like her, caught in a strange and foreign place like this, is just waiting anxiously for a cute boy to shower her with attention. Be sweet on her, lay out a little charm and you’ll have her eating out of your manipulative little palm.
You’re disgusting, I said in disbelief.
I’m you. You’re me. We’re one in the same.
Don’t remind me.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what the Beast had said. Did I really wish to exploit you like that? Did I really want to do something so vile and perverted?
No, I told myself. He may be a part of me, but he doesn’t speak for all of me.
I was so distracted by the debate that was being conducted in my head that I didn’t notice when it came time for me to introduce myself. And when I finally did stand to give my spiel, my memory lapsed like a dead horse when I tried to remember my age, causing a random few, including you, to giggle quietly at my expense. When I finished, I quickly sat back down, scarlet-faced, vilifying myself for my absent-mindedness.
Smooth move, teased the Beast.
Do you have something sarcastic to say about everything I do?
Almost, said the Beast, adding to his sarcasm streak. At least that brief episode of amnesia won’t hurt your chances of hooking up with Mary-Jo too much.
I don’t want to hook up with her.
Sure you do. Why else would you have conjured me up in your mind? To help you get with girls like her.
I didn’t conjure you up; you came without permission, like an annoying cold. Actually, I would take a cold over you any day – at least those eventually go away.
Keep telling yourself that. You’ll realize the truth soon enough.
To my surprise, the Beast said nothing more about the matter. There was peace and quiet in my mind for the first time that day. I prayed that it would last at least until the next morning.
Once everyone had cycled through their introductions, L appeared from behind the fire to address us once again.
“Now that we all know each other a bit better, I wanted to do a lil experiment. I know we all love to hang out with our friends, but part of coming to camp is to make new friends, right? So when I say so, I want y’all to get up and sit next to someone ya don’t already know or haven’t talked to in quite some time. Can ya do that fer me?” She paused for a moment, most likely waiting for us to answer her with enthusiasm. However, all she got in return were a few half-hearted nods. For the years that we had been coming to Camp Chakwa, the cliques had developed and were now etched in stone – enthusiasm was the last emotion we all felt at that moment. To her credit, faced with enough blank stares to make a circus clown break a sweat, L did not lose her traditional camp counselor composure. “Alright, go make a new friend!”
The rustle and groans of the thirty-plus campers pulling themselves to their feet filled the air. Once standing, we meandered around like a group of chickens who had suddenly been released from their coup, not knowing what to do or where to go. Eventually, people began plopping themselves in spots they had not previously occupied, trusting that someone new and amicable would sit next to them.
I peered around and saw that you had already taken the spot closest to the fire, no doubt to garner some much needed heat on that cold evening. The place directly to your right remained empty. For some reason I cannot explain, that seat seemed more inviting than any other.
Sit next to her, whispered the Beast.
Upon hearing the Beast’s gruff voice, I sighed in disappointment. So much for his silence.
Shut up, I retorted.
Sit next to her.
No.
Sit next to her, damn it. You know you want to.
Leave me alone.
Using the unclipped nails of my right thumb and index finger, I pinched the skin on my left forearm as forcefully as I could. The screams of my nerve-endings easily drowned out the Beast’s taunts. Until I was able to find a more permanent solution to his constant interruptions, that was how I had learned to deal with them.
Despite my denial, I knew the Beast was right about my desire to sit next to you. However, I wasn’t going to admit it to myself. I wasn’t going to let him win, because I knew if I gave him any rope, he was sure to hang me with it.
I deferred my attention away from you and went in search of a different seat – one as far from you as possible. I spotted one of the outskirts of the circle and rushed towards it. As luck should have it, just as I was only a mere foot away¸ I found myself staring in the eyes of a fellow camper who had gotten to it before me.
This occurred several more times. Any empty seat that came into my sights would get filled with another pair of buttocks before I even got a chance to get near it. Soon, there was only one seat left – I don’t need even need to say which one that was. With some reluctance, I softly sat on the same dry log that you had made yourself comfortable on. As I did this, the Beast’s mocking laughing filled my ears. Did I mention how much I loathed him?
You were so mesmerized by the roaring fire that you did not even notice when I took the vacant seat next to you. You were positioned so close to it that each flame was a tentacle, trying to reach out and grab the sweet flesh of your arm. You played along, teasing each tendril of fierce heat by sticking your arm out and quickly withdrawing whenever the flame got too close. I was thankful for your distracted attention – it meant I could avoid speaking to you for the time being.
“Now that we’re all settled and sittin’ next to your potential new friends, I’d like to announce to that we have plenty o’ fun activities planned for y’all this evenin’. Y’all are going to have a heap o’ fun,” claimed L excitedly. This was met with thunderous applause and sincere hollers of excitement. “But first, we’re gonna to start off the evenin’ with a personal favorite o’ mine. Campfire songs!”
The applause was immediately replaced with groans of disappointment, mainly originating from the male campers, myself included.
“Oh c’mon ya guys, tough-it-up. It’s tradition!”
It may have been tradition, but it was a tradition I despised. After countless years of campfires, reciting the same old songs over and over again, I had discovered two things about my singing voice: I could only reach two notes – high and low – and it was as bland as eating stale rich cakes, but far less nutritious.
While all of us got to our feet in order to sing, L and a couple other volunteers passed out some song books bond in cheap plastic. The same songbooks had been in use for years and many of the plastic covers were beginning to peel away.
There were not enough to be passed around to everyone. When the last songbook had been handed out, I overheard the camper behind me, Mike, sigh in relief, no doubt thanking the heavens that he would not have to sing afterall. Not wanting someone to evade the same torture I would have to suffer, I turned around, and with feigned generosity, offered him the songbook that I held in my hand.
“Here you go. You can use this one,” I said with a cheeky smile.
He glowered at me, seeing through my selfless façade.
“Thanks Jake,” he said, sarcasm filling his voice. He accepted the book by pinching a corner with his fingers, handling it like it was a bag full of dog feces.
“No problem Mike. I always got your back,” I said with a coy wink.
When I turned back to face the fire, you were staring directly at me, an amused expression painted on your face. Apparently my buffoonery had not gone unnoticed.
I gave you a polite smile in return but I felt my pulse race the same way it had when our eyes had briefly crossed paths only a couple minutes before. I tried to think up something clever to say, but my mind failed me; I merely stood there in a staunch silence.
To my relief, you saved me from my inept tongue. Without saying a word, you positioned the songbook you held in your heads in-between us so we both could read it clearly. While I was in no particular need of it – I had memorized nearly every song that it contained – I was deeply flattered by your gesture. I took ahold of the right-hand page, relieving you of the need to awkwardly hold it with both your hands while also causing me to take a step closer to you, our shoulders brushing against each other. My heartbeat pounded deafeningly in my ear like a miniature mallet played practicing his percussion lines on my eardrums. I was somewhat surprised you couldn’t hear it.
The aroma of burnt pine and woody smoke, mixed with a tinge of sweat, wafted from your clothes. Normally, your rustic scent would have been off-putting to me; however, surrounded on one-side by the Alaskan wilderness and a glistening beach on the other, it came as a comforting reminder of just how far I was from the exhaust fumes and cigarette exhalations that typically polluted my nostrils back home.
As I sat there and lavished in your essence, I dreamed of a simpler life. Neanderthals never knew how good they had it.
“Any song suggestions?” L asked aloud to no one in particular.
After some deliberation – which mainly consisted of song titles being shouted out at random until enough voices began yelling the same one to form a consensus – L led us in a less-than-rousing rendition of “Eight Days a Week.” Not really in the mood to listen to myself butcher one of my favorite Beatles’ tunes, I merely hummed the melody to myself, letting my thoughts, along with my eyes, to wander aimlessly.
To my annoyance, I caught myself staring you while you sang. I couldn’t hear your voice – it blended in too well with the overall chorus of voices – but watching your mouth form the lyrics you read on the page amused me nonetheless. However, I immediately turned my gaze away, worried you would become aware of my ogling and find it invasive.
I hastily scanned my surroundings, trying to find anything to take my mind off you: the leaves on the trees softly rustling in the light breeze; the irritatingly high-pitched buzz of mosquitoes drifting past my ears as they attempted to impregnate themselves with my blood; the intentionally off-key singing of a groups of boys to my right – I winced whenever one of them tried for the upper-register, causing his voice to crack pubescently.
What ended up capturing my scrutiny, however, was a small fly that had perched itself upon my shirt. Blowing and flapping my shirt did nothing to cause its departure; it was indifferent to my existence. I had never observed a fly at such a close proximity before. I could clearly distinguish its six needle-thin legs, the venation on its transparent wings and even the minute hairs covering the majority of its abdomen. From time to time, for no reason in particular, the fly would lift its two front legs and rub them together methodically. It was almost comical, as if it were a mad scientist in a campy B-film, rubbing its hands together sinisterly as it plotted its scheme for world domination.
That’s how I imagined the Beast would look if he were tangible: small, obscene, hairy and devious; a gremlin. He was the gremlin in my head, wreaking havoc on my subconscious while attempting to implant mischievousness in my mind.
You know that gremlins only turn evil when they’re fed after midnight, right? asked the Beast.
Well you’ve had plenty to eat.
And what is it you think I’ve been feeding on all these years?
My sanity.
Oh quit being so melodramatic.
I will once you shut it, I said as I used my fingernails to pinch him into silence for a second time.
During my brief interaction with the Beast, the fly had caught on that it had been spotted and, in fear of being squished, decided to preemptively make its escape. With my last method of distraction flying away from me, I immediately became aware of your close presence once again; my body going rigid every time your arm nonchalantly brushed past mine whenever you went to turn the page. In an effort to distract myself one last time, I dropped my eyes and watched my toes wiggle under the tongs of my sandals.
Look at her, insisted the Beast.
Why don’t you give it up? I’m not going to listen to you.
And why don’t you stop being such a little whiny bitch. You’re such a coward when it comes to women.
Harsh.
The truth hurts, said the Beast. So you’re telling me you’d rather stare at a bug than the gorgeous girl sitting next to you? What’s the harm in just looking at her?
I did not want to admit it out loud, even in my head, but I couldn’t help agreeing with him. I looked at people every day – some I know and some I don’t. What would it matter if I glanced at you? Pretty or no, you were just like everyone else at the campfire, just another face in the crowd.
Except you weren’t like everyone else. To me, you were something special. So as I peeked at you from the corner of my eye, I began to observe you, to study you, like I had the fly. I wanted to know you. Learn things about you that no one else knew, that no one would even bother to know.
How far down the page did you read before turning to the next one? Were there any traces of grout or grime under your fingernails? Were you sporting any cosmetics (the camp had a rule that no girl was to bring any make-up, but it wasn’t strictly enforced and many girls insisted on bringing some anyways)?
I had no training in Sherlock Holmes-esque observational psychology, but I figured those details must reveal some aspect of your personality. Maybe the fact that you left one or two lines unread before turning the page meant you were slightly impatient, while the reason you did not wear any trace of make-up but had a degree of dirt under each of your fingernails showed you liked to maintain a simple, low-maintenance appearance and were not afraid to get your hands dirty – all of which only made you more attractive in my eyes. So much so that when a light breeze came and blew a couple strands of your long and wavy auburn hair in front of your eyes, I nearly had to restrain myself from impulsively reaching up and gently brushing them from your face.
I knew you liked her, claimed the Beast. Now, for the last time, grow a pair and talk to the damn girl.
My patience was beginning to wane more and more with each of the Beast’s intrusions into my head. Eight Days a Week came to an end and several voices began shouting out the titles of songs they wanted to sing next. You closed the songbook while we waited for the next song to be selected.
And what if I do want to talk to her? You’re making it seem like that to do so would be a sin. She seems like a cool girl and I want to talk to her to get to know her and maybe become friends. All this talk about her being my dream girl is non-sense.
Oh c’mon. We both know that you could never be her friend.
And why’s that?
Look at her: cute smile, dazzling eyes, and creamy pale skin. She’s out of your league. Hell, she’s out of every guy’s league at this camp. But the thing is, she’s too modest and humble to know it. She’s nervous around you, afraid of you almost. And that’s what makes her attainable.
And I thought I was the crazy one, I said with a chuckle. I haven’t even said one word with her, how on earth can you make all those assumptions with any confidence?
Well while you were busy staring at bugs, studying her fingernails and engaging in moronic inner monologues, you failed to notice her. Really look at her.
Following the Beast’s suggestion, I peeked over at you through the corner of my eye, mainly using my peripheral vision.
Now look at the way she’s staring at the fire, said the Beast.
At first glance, all seemed normal. Although you had stopped taunting the fire since we began singing, you still watched it intently as you had the entire evening. I was about to rebuke the Beast for making false assumptions when I noticed that there was something about your eyes that was…different. The burning fascination was gone from them, and while they still held a degree of excitement, they had grown tired, causing the excitement to seem forced. It was as if the only reason you were marveling the fire was to avoid eye contact with something. Or someone
And at her hands.
I lowered my gaze to discover that you were vigorously rubbing and massaging your hands together. From time to time your right hand would shoot up and stroke the back of your neck nervously while you stole subtle, shy glances at me out of the corner of your eye – I didn’t need Sherlock Holmes to tell me the significance of that. Could the Beast be right? Could I really be making you that nervous? Why would that be? I hadn’t done anything to cause such an anxious reaction from you.
My guess would be low self-esteem issues. I’ll bet, when she was growing up, she was constantly getting stared at by boys in the hallway and at the supermarket, yet none of them ever went and actually talked to her and she could never guess why. She probably began to think it was because she was so unapproachably hideous, while the truth was that boys were too intimidated by radiance to get a word out. Toss some daddy issues into the mix and your result is a girl wrought with low self-esteem.
So what’s this have to do with me not being about to be friends with her? I asked.
Because, while her aesthetics are leaps and bounds above your own, her innocence and naivety make her attainable. You didn’t notice the expression on her face when you sat next to her, but I did. There was surprise and fear, but also a hint of joy that you, a boy, had actually chosen to sit next to her Deny it all you want but I know you’ll never been able to settle for just being friends when you know you could be so much more.
At that moment, there was nothing I hated more than the Beast. I despised how he delved into my mind like an unwanted scavenger, discovering my insecurities and exploited them. I hated how he manipulated my emotions and threw them back in my face. But what irked me most of all was that everything the Beast had said up to this point rang true to me.
Seeing you had stirred emotions in the pit of my stomach that I had not felt in a very long time. Feelings of longing and desire coursed through every inch of me as I stood close enough to you to see the faint puffs of steam escaping from your mouth every time you exhaled. It had been a long time since I had felt romantic feelings for another person. Not long enough, however, to have forgotten the joy that such affections brought when they were reciprocated.
With this renewed yearning for attachment, I knew that any conversations I struck up with you, if I so got the courage, would have an ulterior motive of quenching the sense of loneliness that had risen within me. But then again, wasn’t the purpose of conversation – on a primal level, at least – to create a feeling of rapport between the people involved?
Philosophical rhetoric aside, I did see one glaring flaw in the Beast’s plan.
Y’know, your whole idea of winning this girl over is based on the assumption that I’ll be able to smooth talk her in the first place. I think you’re overestimating my talents of seduction, I said.
The Beast barked with laughter
You’re right. You’ll probably faint the second she says one word to you. That’s why I had no intention of letting you be the one to talk to her.
What was he getting at?
So if I’m not going to talk to her, then who is?
Me.
But you’re part of me.
Yes, I am. The part of you that isn’t an insufferable puss. If you just heed my advice: say what I tell you to say, do what I tell you to do – in essence, let me run things – she’ll be yours before you know it.
The Beast’s offer sounded genuine, but I was reluctant.
So you’d take over my mind or something?
Don’t be stupid – this isn’t Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I would only help you say the right things and make the right moves. To you, it’d seem natural. Instinctual. As if you had known what to do all along.
So why haven’t you made me into this Casanova yet if it’s so simple?
Because I can’t just do it, you have to let me do it.
I was still hesitant. Something still didn’t seem to add up.
I don’t know. This thing between you and me, it isn’t normal. I feel like I’m going crazy.
Why? Do you think you’re the only person with something like me inside their head?
Well I don’t see anyone else engrossed in an inner dialogue with themself.
That’s only because you are more aware of me than most others are. Rest assured: everyone has a little voice in their head speaking to them.
Even her? I asked, pointing to you with my eyes.
Of course she does. Look at the way she’s admiring the fire. I would be willing to bet you that there is a voice imploring her to stick her hand in the fire, just to see what would happen.
How do you know?
‘Cause that’s what I would do.
Well it’s good to know you’re looking out got my best interests, I said sarcastically
Look, any idea I put in your head, deep down, you’ve already thought about. All I do is shed some light on them. I’m the embodiment all your suppressed emotions and wishes, things you secretly want to do or say, but don’t because you view them as taboo. Psychologists call me the Id. Theologists know me as the Little Devil on your shoulder. Personally, I much prefer the name you have given me. “The Beast” makes me seem so domineering, he said endearingly.
So what are you, exactly? I asked
Well that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? You already said it yourself, I’m a part of you. Every desire and predilection you have, I have too. Everytime you feel alone, isolated, or neglected, I’m right there with you. And I get the worst of it because while you can distract yourself from your thoughts and feelings through various physical tasks, I have no such luxury. I am pure thought and emotion. I’m trapped, tortured with every wish and longing that passes through your mind. My only saving grace is trying to talk you into actually acting on some of your urges in order to lessen the load.
So what does all of this have to do with Mary-Jo?
Have I not spelt it out already? You want her, which means that I want her too. All these sappy, love-sick emotions flowing through your mind are driving me insane. Seeing as how you’re too shy to talk to her, let me do it. She’ll be so wrapped around your little finger that you won’t have to worry about being alone for quite a while, if you know what I mean.
I knew that, in his own strange way, the Beast was trying to help me, but his last statement had let a sour taste in my mouth. While the more feral side of me was fine with using you to satisfy my testosterone-fueled impulses, the rest of me wasn’t.
I’m not going to let you try and make some innocent girl fall in love with you, or me, or whatever, just so you can get your rocks off. This is an actual person we’re talking about, not a target for you to hit with your poisoned Cupid arrow.
The Beast sighed in disappointment.
You may think that now, but you’ll come to understand. Sooner or later, most likely sooner, my proposal will become more and more appealing to you, the Beast prophesized.
Chills, like spiders, crept up my spine.
The rest of the evening passed by rather uneventfully – in regards to the Beast, that is. After issuing his final prophetic statement, he didn’t utter another peep, allowing me to enjoy some peace of mind.
In terms of the camp, however, the remainder of the evening was quite entertaining. Once the camp fire songs finished and my off-key humming came to a rest (of which my ears were quite thankful), L led us through various games, which included Capture the Flag and Dodgeball. Unlike with the singing, the other campers and I were more than happy to participate.
Save for a few passing glances, I refrained from looking at you for the entire evening; I was far too focused on finding a clear lane to the flag and catching rubber balls being thrown at me from every direction. With my complete attention concentrated elsewhere, you easily slipped from my mind.
When the moon had finally budged the evening sun from the sky and the faint twinkling of stars millions of lightyears away became visible in the night sky, L called an end to the evening’s activities.
“Alright everyone, hush up. It’s getting’ perty late; it’s already nine-thirty in the P.M. I want y’all to gather up in the vans ya came in and we’ll make our way back to the cabins. Hot chocolate and the remaining s’more supplies will be available in the Dinin’ Cabin. Lights out by midnight and no later. I don’ wan’ ta have ta waste an hour roundin’ up campers who think it’s funny to hide in the woods,” said L, tossing a nasty leer at a handful of boys grouped together. The sound of stifled snickers buzzed from with the group.
By the time I trudged my way across the beach to where the vans were parked, sand was spilling out of every hole in my worn through Vans sneakers and my legs ached from the hours of exercise I had gone through on the transient sandy terrain. Needless to say, I was looking forward to some much needed R-and-R waiting for me back at the cabins.
The van I had come in was a beige fifteen-seater ironically named Speedy – it was the slowest vehicle I had ever ridden in. With two hubcaps missing, dirt caked on the sides and a crack running the length of the windshield, Speedy was the van that had seen the harshest winters of any of the vans in use. However, because of the newly refurbished interior, which was so comfortable that memory foam felt like a bed of nails in comparison, it was the most sought after van at camp.
Thirteen campers and the driver of the Bullet were already grouped next to van by the time I arrived.
“Is everyone here?” asked the driver. I scanned the faces of everyone gathered in our little group. I recognized every tired face, but there was still one missing.
“Where’s Mary-Jo?” I asked.
“Who?” asked the camper to my right, Linda.
“The short Asian girl with the green jacket” I explained.
Linda merely shrugged in response.
A small sense of pride welled up in me, the same pride music buffs feel when they uncover a band that no one else has heard of.
I had noticed you. While everyone else was too busy with themselves or their friends to pay any mind to you as you isolated yourself, I noticed. You weren’t alone, you weren’t ignored, you weren’t neglected. You did mean something special to someone.
I knew it was irrational to think these thoughts – there was a slim chance I was actually the only one to have taken notice of you, but I didn’t care. The idea that I have been the only one was too elating to give up. So for a brief moment I indulged those thoughts swimming through my mind, allowing my pride to swell unrestrained.
“Oh wait, do you mean that girl over there?” Linda asked, pointing over my shoulder. I turned to see that she had indeed spotted you walking up the beach. You were only about fifty feet away, and you weren’t alone. Mike was walking beside you, matching you stride for stride. He was speaking, and although I couldn’t hear what he was saying, I knew it must have been something humorous by the way you were giggling playfully.
A pang of jealousy shot through me so fast that the pride I had felt not a moment before was expunged instantaneously. I couldn’t see my eyes, but I was sure they had turned a shade greener. Mike had broken the newcomer tradition and now he was making a move on you.
You feel it, don’t you? asked the Beast, finally breaking his silence.
Feel what? I asked back, although I knew perfectly well what he was referring to.
That jealousy. That burning anger boiling in the pit of your stomach because someone is stealing your girl. The girl that you saw first. The girl that you supposedly just want to be friends with, said the Beast with a taunting laugh.
I didn’t bother to answer him. I knew that denying it would just make me sound defensive and weak; and I sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the smug satisfaction of agreeing with him.
When you two finally arrived in front of the van where we were all huddled, Mike said his goodbyes and went to join up with his own group, looking rather pleased with himself. I wanted to smack that shit-eating grin right off his face.
Will you just admit it already?
What’re you babbling about now? I groaned.
You need me. I usually only play the field from the back of your mind and tease your subconscious, but you actually brought me to the forefront of your conscious mind. You want me to goad you into talking to her. You want her.
I answered him with a calm silence, hoping he would take it as a hint to shut up. Unfortunately, he saw it as an invitation to continue blabbering.
Why do you think you came to this place in the first place and continue to return every year? It ain’t for the s’mores and campfire songs, I can tell you that much.
My silence continued
Look around you. Miles of lush green wilderness. A night sky full of radiant stars unadulterated by city lights. A vast, pristine beach on which ocean waves lap, like a tongue savoring the taste of its sandy perfection and forever coming back for more— ”
Well aren’t we the poet, I remarked snarkily, but the Beast kept talking as if I had not interrupted.
This place is every girl’s ideal romantic setting. Even a snobby city girl would find solace here. It’s a place to lose yourself to, to let your guard down and throw caution to the wind. That’s where you come in, to take advantage of their complacency.
Answer me this: if I’ve been coming to this camp because, subconsciously, I want to seduce someone while I’m here, why hasn’t it happened yet?
Because you’re too pussyfoot to actually do anything besides stare and drool. That’s why I’m here. I can make Mary-Jo fall in love with you.
At this point I let out an audible snort of laughter, causing some of those around me to eye me curiously
Love? I exclaimed in disbelief. This whole time you’ve been talking about “hooking up” and “taking advantage” of her. That’s lust, not love.
You have to start somewhere.
I felt a familiar wave of disgust wash over me. This time, however, I realized that my disgust was not directed towards the Beast but at myself. While he had been spewing about conscious and unconscious desires, I had been nodding subtly in agreement – this is, until I caught myself and put an end to it. However, the damage was done. Despite my staunch denial, I knew he had convinced me.
“Alright everyone, load on up, we’re heading back to the cabins,” said the driver.
Like a pack of tired and obedient drones, we crammed into the van – I made myself comfortable in the back row next to the window. After everyone had settled in, I peered to see who occupied the seat directly in front of me. Familiar strands of wavy brown hair met my gaze.
My throat clenched, causing my breathing to quicken and shallow. I waited for the Beast to make some pseudo-psychological comment about how my change in breathing was a result of my undeniable affections for you, but he kept his silence. Instead, my body spoke out in the Beast’s stead.
The spot on my shoulder where we had brushed up against each other now tingled like a hundred tiny needle pricks. The same sensation was felt in my lips, which were slowly forming the words that were flying through my head – words that I would’ve said had it not been for the resistance from my lungs to give them a voice. The desire to talk to you filled me to the point that I feared it would spill from my mouth in a cacophony of babbles and nonsensical sounds.
Finally, after taking a couple deep breaths to confirm that my lungs worked properly, I reached up my hand, which was jittering with adrenaline, and tapped you on the shoulder. To my nervous mind, however, the taps felt as heavy as hammer strikes – I was afraid you would be angered by them. You immediately tensed up and slowly turned your head to face me, but to my relief, you showed no sign of annoyance, just a shy curiosity.
“Y-your names M-Mary-Jo, right?” I asked, my tongue tripping over itself as it tried to get the words out. I silently seethed at myself; the Beast was right, I did suck at talking to women. Several other campers turned to face me upon hearing my voice, surprised that I too was breaking the newcomer tradition. At this point, however, I was far past caring what they thought of it.
“Mhm…and isn’t your name Jake?” you asked quietly. I could tell that you were hesitant to speak to me, but hearing your voice caused the wheels in the back of my mind to chug and churn. The tension in my chest immediately eased and was replaced with a strange and ineffable confidence. I had never before described myself with adjectives like “smooth,” “suave” or “debonair,” but in that moment, I felt like I had never been anything else. I had been replaced with, or rather, transformed into a Casanova.
“Yep, that’s me,” I said, my voice brimming elation by the fact that you remembered my name. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I just don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. Is it your first time coming to Camp Chawkwa?”
“Oh, it’s no bother. And yes, this is my first time here.”
“Well allow to say, ‘Welcome.’ You’re going to have the time of your life.”
You once tense demeanor began to relax as you gave me a toothy smile that shined even in the dimly lit van.
“Thank you,” you said, the uncertainty fading from your voice. “Y’know, you’re actually the first person to say that. I was beginning to think the people here weren’t as cordial as I had been told.” You laughed softly and I followed suit, chuckling along with you.
“Yeah I suppose we can seem like an inhospitable bunch at times to newcomers. But didn’t Mike already welcome you? I saw you two talking together.”
“Not so much. While we were all talking back towards the vans, he accidently stepped on my foot, for which he promptly apologized. Then he told me a story about how he had accidently stepped on Brad Pitt’s foot when he saw him at a movie premiere or something like that. It was plenty funny, but not really the welcome I was looking for. To be honest, my foot still hurts.”
Idiot, I thought to myself. “Well I hope you can forgive all the guys around here, me included. We tend to clam up in the presence of pretty girls.” The words came out before I had a chance to censor myself. In my mind, the words had sounded incredibly trite and I never would’ve imagined saying them to a girl I just met. But something had told me it’d be the right thing to say.
My words had the desired effect. Although you tried to hide it, I saw your cheeks turn rouge.
“Well you seem to be talking to me just fine,” you said.
“Yeah, and it only took all evening to summon the courage to do so,” I said jokingly. Your rouge evolved into a deep blush – I didn’t know the truth would sound so flattering.
I would’ve continued to compliment you, but I had a feeling that I would come off too desperate, so I quickly changed the subject.
“This is a beautiful place, don’t you think?” I asked, pointing out the window of the van.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous, I’ve never been to a place like this,” you confessed.
Deepening my voice and speaking with bravado like a TV announcer, I said, “A place infused with magic and beauty, far from the confines of society. A place where your heart can wander and anything can happen.”
You laughed a handsome laugh that rang in my ears like wind-swept chimes.
“Anything can happen,” you said, imitating the voice I had used. “That’s so corny.”
But even as you said this, you flashed me another of your toothsome smiles, assuring me that you did not find it quite as corny as you let on. If your face had ever expressed dread at the sight of me, as the Beast had said, it was gone now – the only emotion I could see was affection.
Like a lion having captured its prey, the Beast purred with content.
