The End of An Era

Band camp was astonishing, in so many ways. That's the best way to describe a week that broke me and built me up in ways I couldn't have imagined. After four years of pain and tears and triumph, I told a curious freshman that I wouldn't cry on the last day. But when the five senior trumpets stood in a circle once everyone had left and played this year's ballad, I couldn't help it. I cried, and it felt like I didn't truly stop crying for hours.

I was filled with so much emotional pain this morning, and then found out that my grandpa died.

Thank heavens for Janelle. She invited me over to take part in a night that settled down comfortably wrapped up in the epitome of innocent youth. After hopelessly trying to watch the middle half of the second Sherlock Holmes movie, I sat around a firepit roasting twinkies and starbursts with Janelle, Heather, Taylie, Tony, Erik, Breanne, and Brayden. We wasted the night away, talking of irritation and admiration for adults and hypocritically begrudging the existence of haters and awkwardly skirting around mentions of make out sessions and ex boyfriends. The conversation was so full of life and passion and heartache and joy; I never wanted it to end. We were just a group of punks who were behind on French packets, struggling with swearing problems, dealing with feelings of jealousy and abandonment, and accidentally hitting themselves in the face with roasting sticks. We were so imperfect and so ready to embrace our adult cards while basking in the light of adolescence. It was beautiful, and I can feel now that it was my last night of my childhood summers.

DMA, girls camp, band camp, the few nights like this. I'm glad I got to be a teenager in love and with friends and loss and hope and dreams and opportunities to try to write beautifully at least once in my life.