The crackle of the fire drew my attention in further as I watched the embers of the wood flare up, casting burning red shapes and figures in between the flames. Men riding atop horses, spears pointed forwards - always forwards, galloping towards a threat unseen. The rise up of a building, similar to the ones I'd passed daily in New York. An angry woman with a head wrap emerged from the flames, her screams of agony reverberating through me in its silence. The smell of poppies and sage as a woman knelt in the fields, wailing.
Image after image tumbled forward, presenting themselves in the embers only to be erased through flame, a new one taking its place. It could have been a play.
I tugged my sleeves down over my wrists, self conscious of the fact that my sweater was a name brand and no one around me even knew the brand. My stomach sank as I finally acknowledged that I didn't fit in here - I didn't even fit in at Summer Camp, which - from all my research - was the one place I was supposed to be able to find my clique - my people.
Perhaps if I was a better dancer. The thought sat morbidly at the forefront of my mind.
The auburn haired boy stared into the fire, his hands making soft sweeping movements in the shadows. I shuddered at the strangeness of it all - the strangeness of him. But even his strangeness didn't seem to deter those from him. He was constantly surrounded by people - surrounded by friends. It only made me more broken.
The girl next to me pushed her dark curls out of her face. Her caramel skin was gleaming in the flickering flames, highlighting the deep scowl etched into her face as she glared at the fire. I wondered if she saw people dancing in the flames like I did, or if she saw something else entirely.
"And now," the camp counselor's voice was strained as he handed out the mandatory marshmallow on a stick as if he was frightened of us, "we will be going around the circle where each of us will take a moment to introduce ourselves."
My stomach plummeted. What would I even say? I wasn't sure I had any redeeming qualities that they would like - nothing about me was interesting.
I was so consumed in the self doubt pinging through my mind that I missed most of the introductions. I hurriedly emerged from my thoughts to hear the names 'Zoey' and 'Marie' thrown around. My first thought had been - Marie from Aristocats? But I doubted voicing such a thought would have gone down well.
And suddenly it was my turn to introduce myself. I knew it was coming, but I had been so consumed with my own inner turmoil that it had somehow snuck up on me. My hands felt clammy, my breathing shallow. It felt like a rubber band had been wrapped around my chest, constricting my very will out of me.
"Corinne," I blurted out when the counselor asked my name. The blonde girl across from me snickered, rolling her eyes.
"What kind of name is that anyway," she whispered to her friend, but her whisper was loud enough to carry across the campfire.
"An old one," the auburn-haired boy spoke. His lanky body was completely out of proportion, and yet, somehow it didn't look bad on him.
The blonde girl pressed her lips together in disdain, and that small action alone immediately reminded me of my mother - so much so that I instantly disliked her.
"Old names have power," the auburn-haired boy said, and suddenly I liked him a little bit more.
"Um, sure," the counselor sounded hesitant as he attempted to regain control of the situation.
"Corinne," he strained, "can you tell us something about yourself - what you enjoy doing maybe?"
Even from this distance, the beads of sweat were visible on the counselors forehead.
"I like music," I declared, hoping that my small statement would be enough.
The pale girl with sky blue eyes turned towards me, even in the firelight her hair looked more white than blonde. She looked like what I imagined a pixie to look like.
"My grandmother always said that there was Magick in music," she grinned conspiratorially.
I liked her instantly, an answering grin crept on my face.
"Thank you for that bit of insight, Marie," the counselor said before moving on.
We were all young when we met. Most of us were in our early teens. I was fourteen. That impressionable age where boys meant more than books. That summer I had finally convinced my parents to let me attend a normal Summer Camp. I'd watched all the shows around what to expect while I was there, and to my fourteen year old mind, this was the place where you met a boy and had a summer romance. I was trying to prepare myself for my first kiss and the idea of actually rowing on a lake. But more than anything, I think I was just looking for a place that I could fit in - a place I belonged. A place where I was judged for who I was and not for who my parents were and what they expected of me.
I wanted a break from the dance recitals, the piano lessons, and practicing French. I wanted to not always have to maintain the family motto of "excellence first." I guess I just wanted a normal teenage experience - something that was wholly my own. I wanted a space where I could plaster all the boy band posters on my wall that I liked or simply talk to someone about the band itself.
In truth, at the time, I was more concerned with how I should look and act around boys, rather than the life changing events that would set me on a different path entirely. But that's hindsight for you. I spent hours researching different bands - other than the ones I liked - just so that I knew what music to discuss when the topic arose because I was fairly certain that no one at Summer Camp would want to hear all about the remastered versions of Bach, which was one of the few topics I was well versed in. It wasn't a hardship though, I had always found solace in melody.
And all that prep I did made zero difference. Because in the end, when I fell in love, it wasn’t with a boy, but with Magick. And if I’m honest, I fell so deep that I never looked back.
The sound of pebbles against my window wasn't anything I had expected or imagined it to be. The small log cabins that were neatly scattered around the lake served as housing for attendees. My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I recalled the whispers and looks of disdain from some of the girls around the fire. I didn't want to stay there for longer than was required, and so I fled to my cabin - the same cabin I shared with two other girls, but none of them were here.
"You know you can just knock, right?" A young male voice spoke outside my window.
`"Yeah, but it's more fun this way. It makes our group feel more secret and stuff," a girl countered.