How are you? You remember how we promised to go back to Camp Weenahaw? Well I am going to do it! I am packing my things tonight and I will leave at dawn! I can’t stand it here any longer! You live closer, so you will probably get there first! Let’s meet up at our secret tree okay? See you there!
Mary looked at the letter a second time, then a third. She ran to the foot of the stairs and called up.
No answer. Mary could hear the shower running, so she sat down on the stairs to look at the letter again. “See you there!” She looked out the window and shuddered. The last of the leaves had fallen from the trees, like the last of the Camp Weenahaw scabs on her knees. Her summer freckles had mostly faded away, and the cut on her thumb was now nothing but a thin white line. That was from when she and Aggie made the blood oath to return to Weenahaw.
She stuffed the letter back in its envelope and tucked it into her hoodie pocket just as her mother was stepping out of the bathroom.
“Were you calling me, sweetie?”
Aggie folded up the Pop Tart wrapper and stuffed it into her backpack. “Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints,” she muttered to herself. Not that she had a camera. It was a Camp Weenahaw expression, and it gave her the “warm fuzzies,” as Mary used to call them; Aggie needed all the warm fuzzies she could get just now. Remembering the phrase “warm fuzzies” gave her the warm fuzzies all over again, so it was doubly helpful.
“Well, it looks like it’s getting dark, so we’d better pitch camp! Right, Aggie?” She paused before answering herself. “Yep! Better bunker down for the night!” As luck would have it, there was a tattered old couch lying alongside the tracks. “Score!” She pushed it out of sight into the trees and brush, checked for snakes, and unrolled her sleeping bag on it. After that, she started digging through her backpack.
There were more Pop Tarts, a box of band-aids, a lot of Burger King barbeque sauce packets (for any rabbits or venison that she and Mary would catch), a kitchen knife wrapped in a towel, extra socks, wet wipes, $38, a Nalgene bottle with a Weenahaw bumper sticker on it, a road atlas, and a picture of her little brother. She’d have taken him, too, if Camp Weenahaw weren’t a girl’s camp. Finally, she found her toothpaste and toothbrush.
Aggie spat. “Show you who’s a little shit, dad. I’m going to Weenahaw.”