Camp School and Dick's Stories
I feel a deep pain in my body because I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age. If only you were here, you could butter me up a hot piece of toast in the morning----I’d stuff it down my shirt to keep warm on my walk to Camp School (school in which I learn how to go to camp). “Dress smartly,” you’d say, “don’t you want to impress the other young adults at Camp School with your keen sartorial sense?” And I’d say, “That word-a-day calendar is really paying off, Hannah! Now stuff my shirt with buttered bread!” And I’d leave and forget my lunch.
Camp School is going well, by the by. I just took an examination for my “Late Night Bunk Bed Oversharing” class, and I’ll be attending a lecture tomorrow on “Who To Exclude From Your Camp Clique, And Why”. I’m quite good at all this, I guess I have a knack for camp. Although I will admit my hands are sore from my Fire Starting class, but flicking a lighter all day will do that to a person. Also, a nearby neighborhood is now ash.
I’m enjoying all of it but yesterday I needed a break, I had to get away from all the “get away from it all” camp attitude. So I went to the library. It was quiet in there----too quiet. No, actually it was just quiet enough. A little too quiet enough.
I went to my favorite spot, Sharing Corner, and plopped down on a beanbag with some kids and moms. Dick Hushes was reading from his book of short stories. Dick is considered by some to be a recluse, but his true nature comes out when he reads to kids. He’s warm, his voice comforting; his aura is that of a serene lake on warm day, willows dangling gently in the water. He also has occasional angry outbursts.
Dick doesn’t let anyone proofread his work so it’s riddled with spelling and grammatical errors. He was telling a nice story about a young man at a swimming hole (I think he was mostly improvising) and he became cross when a titless shrew corrected his grammar. “Stay outta this, y’old crone!” he yelled at the mom and stormed off through the bean bags flailing his book furiously.
Today I read in the Daily Newspoppins that Dick boarded up his small cottage. Outside hangs a crooked sign with jagged letters painted in red, “NO MOR DICK STOREYS FUR YOU! KIP OWT!” Perhaps, with your encouragement, Hannah, I can take over as the new Dick Hushes and read those young boys and girls tales of my love for you. I do love you deeply Hannah, it definitely feels like we’ve met more than once----which of course we haven’t!