Page 79 of Lovebug
“Yup! It was a performing arts and nature camp. Calliope starred in the plays, and I was her costumer. The year she wasReally Rosie, I handmade her a boa out of duck droppings. Feathers, not poop.”
“Sure, that’s an important distinction,” Louise says as she adjusts some seaweed sprays.
“I’m not sure why camp made the cut for my parents as far as extracurricular activities went, but hey, I certainly wasn’t going to complain or question it. Oh, Lou, I loved it so much! That’s probably why I still ‘go to camp’ every year for work. It’s day camp, but still. Twenty-four years old and I still get that rush when I arrive each morning and see all the kids gathering in their groups. Every summer feels like a new beginning. Each year, I launched myself into the season like a-a-a… friendship-seeking missile, so eager for buddies you would think my parents locked me in my room for the other nine months out of the year.” I recognize how bad that sounds. “They didn’t, though. My parents are wonderful. They’re the best friends I have.”
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a time or two.” Louise smiles.
“Gotcha. So. Week one of camp, I’d always be surrounded by new friends. It was heaven. But then by week two? I’d, um… well, I’d always find myself alone again. Took me years to understand why, but in hindsight, I think my over-eagerness made the other kids skittish. Even now, as an adult, I find it hard to shake that energy in me. People don’t always trust enthusiasm. I’ve been told that people think I’m ‘fake’ more times than I can count. Apparently ‘no one can actually be that happy.’ BUT I AM, OKAY? I’M FREAKING HAPPY!”
My volume has gone up a few decibels, and my breathing is starting to feel choppy.
“Mabel, is that a tear rolling down your cheek?”
“NO WAY, IT’S JUST EYE SWEAT!” I shout.
“Eye sweat.” She nods. “Okay.”
“Anyway,” I continue and swipe at the moisture on my face. “I guess this is my long-winded way of saying that when you’re used to being left out, it can be pretty intoxicating when you’re finally chosen. Bert… chose me.”
I pause as a realization hits me and say, “Aaaand apparently upward of thirty to forty other girls along the way.”
Not sure why, but this strikes me as hilarious at that moment. Louise just watches me spiral, not sure what to do.
“Hahahahaha! My one-hundred-forty-five-pound fiancé who collects vintage Beanie Babies for fun and waxes his body hair—and I do meanallhis body hair—has been lying to me and cheating on me for months, boinking his way through a pyramid scheme, and I had no idea! Hahahahaha! And listen to me just blabbing away about his virtues! ‘He’s a gentleman, he’s kind, my parents love him…’ Blabbity blab blab blab! Hahahaha! Ohmygosh!”
“You okay, Mabes?” Louise asks tentatively.
I keep laughing. “Fine, yes! I’m fine. Mabel McGonigle is always fine!”
“You’re not fine, lady. And you’re not blabbing,” Lou says. “You’re sharing. That’s good.”
It takes a minute or so, but when I finally get my laughter under control, I sigh. “I guess. Let’s drop it. Can we drop it?”
“Sure, we can drop it.”
“Great. Thank you.”
I go through the motions and put the finishing touches on my honeycomb display, a little embarrassed I let myself get so emotional. I spread out my pamphlets while listening to the sounds of vendors setting up their stands filled with local artisanal cheeses, woven baskets, and handblown glass art.
Listen,” she says as she drops a starfish into the touch tank. “I’m probably the last person who should be doling out advice on self-worth and getting the relationships you deserve, but that’s exactly what—”
“So what did you do for the Fourth?” I try abruptly changing the subject. “Bummer that the fireworks got rained out, huh?”
“Mabel, you’re avoiding an important discussion that could really help you, and—”
“Heck yes, I’m avoiding it!” I surprise myself with how vehement my voice sounds. “I thought we were going to drop it. And anyway, Lou, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Why not?”
“You’re gorgeous. You’re confident. Your social media feed is a constant onslaught of fans and friends. And level with me for a minute, will ya? Are you at ‘da clubs’ every night? Because I’ve never seen so many selfies of someone wearing sequined halter tops and tiny black dresses in all my life! It’s inspiring!”
She seems a bit defensive when she says, “Noteverynight, no. And please don’t call them ‘da clubs.’” She mimics the goofy way I said it a moment ago. “Besides, I’m letting go of that lifestyle moving forward.”
“Why? The endless adoration and attention from guys getting you down?” I huff.
“Whoa.” Louise’s head jerks back in surprise.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m…”I take a moment to regroup. “Clearly, I’m super out of sorts today, and I appreciate you letting me vent.”
