Page 31 of Camp Help Falling

“I’m leaving.”

On the walk up here, I imagined gasps and protests. My mother emphatically telling me that I can’t leave, that she’s loved having me here, and I’d be letting down the staff. I’d be letting down Sadie, is what she wouldn’t say, but the implication would be there.

But she doesn’t. She leans back on the edge of the bed and crosses her hands on her lap. Dad sets one of his hands on top of hers, covering them and holding them tightly. Her lips turn upward in a sad smile as she nods.

“I know you don’t do anything without a reason, so are you going to enlighten us?” Mom steadily holds my gaze and Dad waits patiently for me to explain.

“You remember Cameron Price, my old mentor?” Cameron was the licensed architect I worked under at Woolsey-Marshall Architecture. When he left, Mr. Woolsey decided to let me go instead of moving me underneath one of the other architects at the firm.

My parents both nod. Despite my mom’s joke to Sadie that first night about never calling, I do keep them regularly appraised about my life.

“I got an email from him yesterday and he wants to meet with me about a job opportunity.”

Mom’s face brightens, but her excitement is bittersweet. She understands what this means. That this really is the end of my time at Camp Brower.

I continue on before my mom can convince me to stay, “I think this is what we need for the camp. Cameron works for a firm that specializes in renovations and restorations. Not new builds, like I worked in before. His firm is based out of Salt Lake City and it ticks all the boxes for what you’re looking for.”

Mom’s sad smile returns. “Have you talked to Sadie about it?”

She’s too perceptive for my own good, and I look away, trying to work past the lump that suddenly forms in my throat.

“We…talked,” I begin, speaking slowly to give myself enough time to find the right words, “but it didn’t go how I planned.” I finally find the courage to look my mother in the eye, where I see my exhaustion reflected back at me. “With…everything…” Mom nods knowingly. “It’s better that I leave now.”

Silence falls, giving us all to process the last few minutes, before Mom speaks again.

“I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.”

And like she reads my mind, she opens her arms wide, and I fall into them, letting her squeeze me tightly around the middle. I soak in the kind of hug only a mother can give and let it wash away all my fears and worries and aches and pains. Mom’s embrace fills me with love and hope and confidence and peace. When I step back, I feel like a new man. There’s pieces of my turmoil that still linger, but I feel lighter. Ready to move forward.

“You go do what you need to do, and we’ll hold down the fort here.” Mom squeezes my hands tightly before letting go, sort of like one last burst of reassurance.

“I’ll keep you updated,” I promise, walking backwards to the door. “Ask—” I want to tell them to ask Sadie about Cell Phone Rock so they can get texts from me, but I hurt her enough tonight. There’s no need to break her confidence about her special place. “I’ll email you so you can pull it up on the camp computer.”

My parents nod and I give them a final wave before slipping out and retracing my steps to my bags. It’s time to put Camp Brower behind me and move forward. I carry my things to my rental car and slide them into the trunk, shutting it as quietly as I can.

Yanking open the door, I pause, one foot in and one foot out. I look back out across the quiet, dark camp one last time, whispering, “I’m sorry,” and hoping that the gentle breeze takes my apology straight to Sadie’s ears.

Adjusting back to the city is not what I was expecting. Putting on a button up and slacks, something I’ve done nearly every day for years, feels foreign. I button my cuffs and sigh when I fumble the buttons, already missing the ease and simplicity of my camp staff t-shirts. My slacks, while well-fitting and comfortable, don’t have the ridiculous amount of pockets I’ve come to rely on. And there’s certainly no need for me to carry around my pocket knife anymore, even though I want to tuck it into a pocket. Just in case.

While these clothes still feel like me—they represent a career I’m passionate about and have worked hard for—they don’t define all of me anymore. There’s a new piece that no longer wants to be stuffed in fancy shoes and put behind a desk for eight hours a day.

Camp Brower changed me.

And I want to get back to that piece of me I didn’t know I needed, but first, I have a meeting with Cameron Price.

My mentor is unmistakable when I walk inside the restaurant. With thick black hair with bits of salt and pepper at the temples, wide shoulders, and gray-blue eyes that are hawkishly observant, Cameron stands a few inches shorter than me, but always seems to feel like he’s the tallest one in the room. He’s a few years older than my dad, and over the last few years, he’s looked after me like my own father while we’ve worked together on projects and with clients.

It’s good to see him, and despite the nerves I feel about what’s resting on my shoulders, I smile broadly as I shake hands with the man I’ve worked under since finishing my masters. I expect him to jump right into the business talk as we sit down, but he surprises me by asking, “How have you been?”

We spend the whole lunch talking like two old friends, our conversation wandering from a vague recap of my last days at Woolsey-Marshall to Cameron’s wife’s opinion about Utah’s new NHL hockey team, to our favorite architecture projects we’ve worked on together in the past.

When we finish with our meals, Cameron leans back in his chair, looking younger than he seemed at Woolsey-Marshall. He’s always had graying temples and wrinkles around his eyes, but he looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, allowing his back to remain straighter, his face to be free of stress and strain.

“You know, my wife and I moved out here to be closer to her parents who’ve needed a little extra help the last couple years. Our two kids are grown and flown. And there’s something in the air out here that’s good for the soul.”

I nod along with him, my mind wandering away to the paths of Camp Brower.

“It looks like you’ve had a taste of it, too.” Cameron smiles as I come back to the present.

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