I felt myself getting heated at that last comment. What did he have against me anyway? It’s not like I bumped into him on purpose. I collected myself with a single silent breath. “In what—my apology or helping dry your shirt off?” I joked, hoping it would ease the growing tension.
“In either,” he snapped.
Stunned at his sudden tone, I looked at him blankly and hesitated. He took this moment to turn back to his group as they were gathering for their warm-up. The rest of the classes had headed out of the gym to start their activities as Sarah and Ruth gathered the forms and folders and headed to their air-conditioned office.
I tried hard, but I couldn’t just leave it like this. I had to figure out what this guy’s problem was.
I watched my class approach me with their packed art supplies and decided to stall for a minute. “You know what? We’re going to be taking a bit of a hike to our first site. Maybe you guys should take five minutes to stretch.” I watched them absently for a minute as they all went about their personal choice of stretching and took the moment to think. Finally, I walked over to Rick, who was helping some of the kids reach their max stretch points. He looked past me, noticing my troop in their exercises.
“An art class that requires a physical warm-up,” he said mockingly, nodding in the direction of my group. “You wouldn’t want them pulling a hamstring when they’re painting a tree.”
Although annoyed at his sarcasm, I was begrudgingly amused. “Look, I really wasn’t trying to be rude the other morning.”
“And inconsiderate,” he added.
I continued, ignoring his comment. “I just hadn’t really settled in yet and didn’t know anybody. I’d barely even got the job here before yesterday afternoon,” I admitted.
“Ah, so you weren’t even on staff here before you went off being rude and inconsiderate to random people you ran into.”
I shrugged. “You just assume that I’m being rude to everyone here.”
“How would I know? I’m just calling it like I see it,” he said with the same critical inflection I’d said to the Bum who’d saved me from lunging into the pool. He glared at me as if I’d been a long-time rival. Suddenly, I felt a flood of heat rise from my neck, turning my face, as I was sure of it, a brilliant red.
“You’re the guy from the pool,” I muttered, staring back at him. Everything I said and thought about him prejudging me came crashing back at me like the surf. He watched me as it all sank in.
“That’s not even the funny part,” he said finally, “What’s ironic is that you were kicking me out of a place where I had more authority to be at than you did.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but between his aggressive tone and the sheer embarrassment, I was at a loss for words.
“Was really great meeting you,” he finished, with a wide smile and then turned back to his group.
My crew of seven trailed behind me as we approached our first nature site. After my call with Sarah, where she had told me my background and application cleared and had confirmed my lifeguard license was valid, I asked her for the allowed distance off camp grounds that we could trail. She gave me the breakdown per age group, and I had spent the rest of Sunday afternoon walking around town and taking notes. Exhausted by Sunday night, I emailed Sarah my list, and, except for two sites, they were all approved. She’d become excited about the new activity for the campers and had already updated the camp website, with a special introduction to their “adventurous new camp counselor, artist, and nature enthusiast from Colorado.” I smiled as I read the words on my screen.
The two sites that weren’t approved were mainly due to distance. One was a small farm I’d found just along the other side of the lake. This lake was just a few miles south of the beach and was fairly small compared to other nearby bodies of water. Sarah explained that was where they held the camp’s kayaking class. They had even rented a small cabin there every summer, which they used for equipment storage and changing. The hike from the cabin to the farm was just over two miles, and because you’d have to go around the lake, it took thirty-three minutes just to get there. That wouldn’t leave much time for art, considering they’d still need time to find an inspirational focus point. So that was out. And, since I wasn’t authorized for any water sports, I couldn’t take them kayaking across to save us time, either.
We arrived at the spot I had reserved for this group. It was a small river just under a mile from the camp. The sun hadn’t made its way to this part of the area yet. Its strong, beaming rays wouldn’t be a distraction, and I wouldn’t risk anyone getting overheated. I asked them to take a few moments to observe their surroundings before starting. The campers, each carrying clipboards, found a spot and settled in.
The clipboards, which I must say were the best invention since the pencil box, were made of frosty-white plastic. They measured approximately fifteen inches on all sides and opened to a compartment containing all the essential art supplies. There was a section for plain, colored, and charcoal pencils, a small box with a set of ten nontoxic paint tubes and brushes, and finally, a large clip holding a thick sketch pad.
“Nature is a messy art, guys, so don’t worry too much about straight lines,” I advised after noticing one kid use a ruler to draw a tree branch.
I scanned my group and noticed the slender, dark-haired boy, Kevin, was looking around at all the other kids. He seemed to notice that the rest of the group had found their inspiration point and had started sketching and brushing away. He looked down at his own blank and blindingly white sheet and just stared at it.
I spotted a seat next to him and did my best nonchalant stride toward him, picking out a clean sheet of paper from my clipboard. Without looking in his direction, I sat about a foot away from him. I had my pencil positioned on the paper and looked out into the river for a long moment.
“Aren’t you going to draw something?” Kevin asked.
I glanced at him, then back to the river. “You know, I’m not sure I’ve decided what I want to draw yet. Sometimes I can just sit here for twenty minutes and forget that I’m trying to draw anything.”
I wasn’t sure if I was making any sense to him, but at least it was honest. I’d learned a long time ago that kids will never remember any of the crap you tell them. But honesty stays with them, even if they don’t understand it when they hear it.
“Yeah, I’m not sure where to start either…” His eyes drifted back to his blank paper.
“What you do usually like to draw?”
“Well, it’s nothing specific. I just like to draw different shapes and patterns and mix them all together. It actually ends up looking pretty good.” I saw a hint of pride in the way he’d described his art.
“Oh, that’s called abstract art,” I said. “You know, if you prefer to use abstract, you can just use the colors that you see around you in your patterns. It doesn’t have to be a picture or the scenery. Everything you see around you is meant to inspire you to do something.”
