I've worked summer camps for many summers now. Getting only two hours off a day over 2 week cycles can be very tiring. But between sessions we had thirty-six hours to relax and get ourselves ready for the next wave of campers to arrive. My first summer working at sleep away camp, I was only seventeen years old and as a minor was not allowed to be on camp during those thirty-six with no guardian. And my parents had their own travels to tend to and did not wish to spend four out of thirty-six hours driving me to and from New Hampshire. Because of this, I was forced to find places to stay nearby. One such weekend I stayed with a friend in town (Peterborough, NH the on which Thornton Wilder's Our Town is based) who I had befriended three summers previous when I was still a camper. Friday night was a calm casual night of rental movies and video games which made the next day all the more surreal. I awoke to the arrival of her grandmother who had come to plant blueberry bushes in their garden. I was a little less than stoked at this wake up preferring to sleep more or do anything more suited to my interests. I was an annoying seventeen year old exhausted after a long week but it was an interesting start to the day. We made plans to go to the Vermont Renaissance Festival later but had to wait for her boyfriend to show up and he was busy with other engagements. We passed the time playing with their dogs and watching more television. Shortly after he arrived we found out the tragic news that his father had run over one of the small dogs as he backed out of the winding uphill driveway. The two dogs had the crazy habit of running along side any of the cars coming and going, usually keeping a mere foot away. This time proved to be fatal. The three of us were tasked with taking the corpse in a plastic bag off into the woods and burying. We walked about fifteen minutes jokingly worried that some horror movie was about to start. Three teens wandering into the woods with a corpse and a shovel, one of us in tie dye, camo pants, and big combat boots. Surreal for reality but basically a cliché opener to some slasher flick. We said a few words after the burial and headed back to the house to depart for Vermont. After an hour or two drive, during which I was admittedly cranky from hunger and fatigue we made it to the town the fair was supposedly in. Navigating through side streets we pull up to the address. It was a small house in a knight-free neighborhood. You can imagine our confusion, but upon a closer examination of the flyer we found that this house was just the office and the fair was being held in Massachusetts. We were all less than pleased as we moved with haste to Northfield hoping to make the last few hours of the festival. Just shy of four we pulled the big van into the parking lot excited to finally be there and relieved to be off the road in time to enjoy ourselves. Most things had started winding down to be done by 5, but my friends were nice enough to buy me a dagger to match the one that he had bought making us dagger brothers. It made me feel much better and ashamed about how I had treated them the whole day. This concluded my crazy weekend as we headed back to New Hampshire tired and content. Never have I had a more bizarre weekend bringing things to life, and burying the dead then traveling all over New England. Now 5 years later, after enduring a strange weekend with me they are getting married and I wish the best for both of them. DuCiel and Ben, this post is for you.
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