Page 24 of Camp Help Falling

All of the teenagers in our group nod in understanding. We didn’t have any problems last week, but this is a new group of kids. They’ve been great at camp, but you can never be too careful where no touching rules apply.

Cough, cough.

“As a reminder, it does stay around 40 degrees Fahrenheit in the cave year-round, so if you have jackets, you might want to put them on now.” Naomi pauses, waiting for all of us to be ready before she proceeds.

Sadie follows the tour guide into the wide mouth of the cave, leading all of the participants while I take up the rear. The initial part of the cave tour, I remember from last week’s excursion, is a quick decline where the temperature drops quickly from warm summer day to cold clammy cave. I can hardly hear the guide from back here as she explains how the cave entrance was found, so I encourage the teenagers in front of me to get a little closer so they can hear.

I was as unimpressed as some of these teens last week. It’s a cave, what can be so cool about that, right?

I was wrong.

The group follows Naomi down into the first room, where she talks about the man who discovered the cave and the initial expansion and development of the cave. As we gather around, Sadie steps back to allow the younger campers the front row to the in-cave laser show as the guide points out certain formations in the rock around us.

That proceeds to give me a better view of Sadie, and suddenly I’m glad I listened so raptly during last week’s tour. She’s wearing her old CU hoodie again, and it makes me think of our sunrise hike last Sunday. The last time I touched her in more than a passing bump or foot tap underneath the lunch table. The way her eyes sparkle as she listens to the guide, even though I’m sure she’s heard this information so many times she could give the presentation herself, makes me wish I were on the other side of the room, close enough to brush arms with her, if that’s all we’re allowed to do in front of the participants.

Thwarted by the Purple Rule, even off Camp Brower property.

I shake myself out of my thoughts as the group begins to move again—up the stairs that will be the biggest part of the climb during this tour. We only walk about half a mile into the cave, but there are 444 steps—both up and down—during that trek. Overall, it’s not too strenuous of a walk, but I’m glad I only have to do it once a week instead of multiple times a day.

Every time we stop, Naomi tells us about the history of the cave and the myriad of formations that can be found here. The stalactites, stalagmites, and columns. The soda straws, cave popcorn, and cave bacon.

“This tour is making me hungry,” jokes one of the teenage boys in front of me when the guide stops and points out a piece of cave bacon that’s twenty feet long.

It’s an easy thing to marvel at this living, growing place. Before coming to Camp Brower, I had never experienced anything like this. Never even thought that something like this could exist outside of my middle school science book. And maybe—if I hadn’t said yes to my mom—maybe I would never have experienced it at all.

For forty-five minutes, we walk up and down, start and stop, while the group listens to the stories of the formations. And every time we stop, my eyes are pulled to Sadie, who looks like she’s enjoying this for her first time and not her hundredth.

As we funnel into the last room of the cave, Sadie hangs back to make sure that all the kids enter the room. She sidles up next to me as the tour guide starts talking about how the cave continues down a tiny crevice.

“This room is my favorite,” Sadie says quietly while we listen. Naomi explains the concept of complete darkness and how, this far into the cave, there is no natural light, so if she were to turn off the lights, you wouldn’t be able to see your hand, even if it were an inch in front of your face.

“Why?” I ask Sadie, maintaining a respectful gap between our arms, even though I want to press her into my side.

The tour guide asks if any of the participants have a phobia of the dark and if everyone is comfortable with turning off the lights. The teenagers pipe up at the chance to experience complete darkness, making me smile. I remember how disorienting it was last week—cool, but unnerving. But with Sadie here next to me, I don’t think it will be as bad.

“Okay, I’m going to turn off the light in three…two…”

Sadie looks up at me and beckons me closer, like she wants to whisper a secret to me. I oblige.

“One.”

The lights go out.

A few yelps sound from the group, from the kids who were skeptical that it would actually be that dark, but I’m not listening to any of them.

Because Sadie’s soft hand reaches up, grasping the back of my neck, and pulls me down to her. And in complete darkness, she kisses me.

And I kiss her back.

In the cooler temperature of the cave, Sadie’s lips are warm and soft. Her kiss is barely a touch until my hand finds her waist and I pull her closer to me.

Her hand on my neck slides higher. Her fingers tangle into the hair on the back of my head, sending a prickling wave over my scalp. I clamp down on the moan that almost makes it past my lips, not wanting to alert anyone to our violaceous activities.

My second hand finds her waist and slips up her back, anchoring her to me as our heads tilt, granting each other better access. I tentatively brush my tongue against her lips, which part for me at the same time her free hand fists the fabric of my shirt.

She is the fresh mountain breeze, the shush of quaking aspen leaves, the sparkling light across the lake. She is every good thing about camp and I am greedily hoarding my seconds with her before light and reality slips back in.

I know it’s a stolen moment. One that has a literal timer on it. But if this is the only chance I get to touch Sadie until I can find a way to get out of camp—out and away from the campers—I’ll take it.

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