Lovely On The Water, Part I, entry 3

The walk to the registration tent was about a quarter of a mile.

As we stood in line behind six other women, I said to Leslie, “I feel as if someone is going to tell me my bunk number and introduce me to my counselors.”

The young man handing out what looked like forms and booklets was about twenty five.  Older than my students, but younger than I.

“Leslie,” I tapped her on the shoulder, “how old will they be?”

“Any age you like.”

The woman ahead of us took the form and booklet and sat down in an unfinished pine chair with a goosedown cushion.

“Hey, Leslie,” the young man said, “how’s it going?”

“Fine, Bobby. How’s everything with you?”


“I’ve brought a first-time guest with me,” Leslie said. “Bobby, this is Freddie.”

“Pleased to meet you.”  He shook my hand and handed me what appeared to be a longer version of an income tax form.

“I have to fill all this out?”

“Hell, no,” he said. “Most of it’s regulations and suggestions. You just fill out the first two pages.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

I sat down next to Leslie. “Does Bobby, uh, work here? ” I whispered.

Leslie said, “Bobby, Alfreda wants to know if you work here.”

“They pay me for this,” Bobby said, indicating the forms. “That’s all I ask.”

“No, no,” Leslie said. “She wants to know if you work inside.”


I hid behind my booklet and started to fill the form.


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