So, the Nokia phone lasted me the entire week, obviously, but it died when I got off the bus that was taking me back home. More on that later.
On the fourth day of camp, a huge windstorm started and clothes on the clothesline were flying everywhere. Except for mine of course — because I’d decided to not wash them and I was storing the sweaty and used ones in a big blue plastic bag.
I distinctly remember this guy running out of a washroom with a bar of soap in his hand, holding the railing of the corridor, and struggling to walk towards our room, because the wind was insane. I’m not exaggerating, it was actually a storm. He got into the room safely. We later found out that everyone’s clothes had ended up on one side of the camp and were all muddy and wet. I was proud of myself for being smart enough to not wash my clothes then.
On the second last day of camp, we had a “Sports Day” and we paired up with people and had fun. I remember running in my first three-legged race and winning at lemon-spoon and sucking at football, as usual. I finally made some friends that evening and that felt weird because the camp was going to be over the next day.
The next morning, we packed all our stuff up, got ready, and climbed aboard the bus that was to take us back home. When we reached my school, I got off along with a few other people.
I was supposed to call my dad so he could send a taxi to get me, but I wanted to pee real bad and my phone was dead. Home was a 15-minute walk, so I trudged back home with my luggage — a black bag that originally had all my stuff in it and a blue plastic bag that contained all my used, sweaty clothes now. The black bag was practically empty.
Once I was at the door, I banged on it a few times. Apparently, my mom had gone for a bath. I held my pee, shifting from foot to foot, shouting for her to open the door.
She came out after what felt like an eternity and gave me a quick hug. Too “pee-occupied” for all this emotional stuff, I ran inside.
“My bathroom!” I shouted as I closed the door behind me and had the best pee in seven days. Judge me all you want, but you know what that feels like too.
When I walked back outside, I could smell the stench of sweat and saw my mother’s disgusted face.
“What is this?” she asked, pointing at the now open blue plastic bag.
“Clothes I didn’t wash because they wouldn’t dry properly enough,” I replied cheerfully.
“And you just — kept them like that?”
“Yep”, I said, walking into my room and flopping onto the bed.
I woke up to the sound of the washing machine whirring in the distance and the smell of home-cooked food.
I never went to a camp again.