“Now, there are no rules for today’s activity,” I tell them, “but wearegoing to have a competition for the most creative castles, which I will judge at the end.” And everyone is going to win a prize, because I am not a monster.
There are cheers and excited babbles at my declaration, and I gesture to the pile of buckets, spades, and plastic molds in the middle of the loose semi-circle formed by the group of seven Littles and their accompanying caregivers. “There are plenty of toys to share…and that is the operative word, okay?Share.We are all sharing today.”
This gets a round of slightly less enthusiastic agreement, and then the chaos of seven Littles in headspace diving for castle-building supplies ensues. Everyone babbles as they scoop sand and ferry water from the edge of the lake to their castle sites, with caregivers helping fill molds and pack sand into a range of shapes. There are squeals and giggles and calls across the group, and it makes my heart sing.
I wander around, complimenting towers and sprawling castle foundations, oohing and ahhing at decorations formed from stones, grass, and the occasional broken shell. I chat with Littles and caregivers about the camp and what they’ve enjoyed most so far, and as our hour begins to come to a close, I realize I’m sad that it’s ending so quickly.
Still, I force additional cheer into my voice when I complete my final inspection of all their castles. Some are leaning over, some have half-crumbled (causing tears until I say that Ilovethe historic vibes), and a couple are actually really impressive — tall, detailed and immaculate.
“I honestly can’t choose a single winner,” I declare, grabbing my backpack which is filled with candy. “They’re allwaytoo good. You tricked me! You’re all professional sandcastle architects, aren’t you?” There are giggles and ‘no, silly’s from the Littles, all seven sets of eyes focused on the backpack in my hands. I sigh dramatically. “Well, I guesseveryonewins today. So you can reach in and choosea candy each — one for yourselves, and one for your Mommies and Daddies, too.”
I didn’t think this part through all that well, I realize when sand-covered hands reach into my backpack. But oh well; I’ll just clean it out properly when I get back to my cabin.
“Hey,” Connor, who attended with his two ridiculously cute assigned Littles, squeezes my shoulder as I gather all the sandy castle-building equipment. He bends to help me, waving his Littles towards the water and assuring them he’ll swim with them in a minute. “You okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” I answer, then I sigh at his raised eyebrow as I drop an armful of the used toys into a plastic crate for washing them later. “I just really enjoyed that.”
He smiles back at me. “That was a fun activity. Could have done without plying my Littles with sugar, though.”
“Ah, but that’s the best part of my role in all this. I get to have fun, be the cool camp counselor with the toys and the candy, and not have to deal with any of the sugar crashes.”
“Asshole,” he snorts. “If you ever get a Boy of your own, I’m mailing him five pounds of candy, courtesy of his Uncle Connor.”
For some bizarre reason, I can’t shake the thought of how wired Benji would be if given a pound or two of pure sugar and food dye.
I haven’t even seen him since our painting activity and the fun which followed, so I have no idea why that’s the path my brain has chosen to prance down.
And,no, I wasn’t disappointed to realize that he wasn’t going to be in my group today, thanks very much. I wasn’t. Because that would be weird. Plus, he said it himself: he’s not really Little very often, so there wouldn’t be any reason for him to turn up to a Littles activity.
Clearing my throat, I reply, “That seems a little extreme — I only gave your Littles a sucker each.”
“Yeah, but I have two Littles to wind down from a sugar high, so there’s inflation to consider.”
“Dude, none of what you just said makes any sense,” I chuckle.
Connor’s smirk turns into a wide grin. “But it got you to laugh.”
I’m really going to miss this guy, I think as I shake my head. But at least this time, the melancholy isn’t quite as sharp. Giving him a playful nudge, I gesture towards his Littles, who are now making out in waist-deep lake water. “Go entertain your Littles, you lucky asshole.”
He salutes me and jogs away to do just that.
Chapter Eight
Iskipped all the activities today and explored the camp on my own. A small part of me feels a bit like I’ve let that mean Mommy counselor and Sasha win by voluntarily excluding myself, but I also enjoyed the solitude. It does feel a littler counter-intuitive to be at an age-regression camp and to have spent the entire day in my adult headspace, but after going for a short hike, then a swim in the lake, I’m definitely more relaxed than I was last night or when I woke up this morning.
But now I’m feeling that brain itching boredom again.
That never leads to anything good for me, as yesterday’s events prove well.
“Hey, Benji,” Tess’s voice startles me from my thoughts as I walk towards the mess hall for dinner, “are you liking the camp?”
She’s just as chipper as she was when I met her the other day and it’s hard not to smile when her hair is framing her face in two long braids and her round cheeks are rosy with exuberance and maybe a little bit of sunburn. She’s just too sweet to be pessimistic with.
So, instead of being completely honest, I lift the corner of my mouth a little and answer, “It’s…nice.”
Okay, somaybeI still sound a bit snarky, because she pouts. “Uh-oh. You’re not having fun?”
“It’s had its ups and downs,” I admit, scuffing the toe of my sneaker along the edge of the path. I kick a small stone free, and it skitters across the pavement ahead of us for a few beats, clicking and clacking pleasantly. “I didn’t like the activity I went to yesterday, and everyone else is paired up, so I bailed on the activities today.”
