Read Online I Don't Have a Happy Place by Kim Korson - Free Book Online
Authors: Kim Korson
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of pink rectangles with a faint dusting of white powder, thousands of bubbles to blow. The way they set the stuff up, they were practically begging you to steal it. The sweatshirt was also begging.
I spent days strategizing on how to pilfer that sweatshirt. If I took it during the first week of camp, sheâd know it was gone. I could wait until the last day, when she wouldnât notice until she dumped the contents of her navy duffel onto her laundry room floor. But what if she wore it the last day? Then what? I needed a better plan.
I had been cast in The Childrenâs Hour as Mary Tilford, an angry girl in the 1930s who runs away from a boarding school to the safety of her grandmotherâs house. In order not to be sent back to the school, Mary makes up a story that her teachers were lesbians, which ends up ruining everybodyâs lives. I enjoyed playing the evil parts. But even more, I actually enjoyed spending the long, hot camp days in the theater rehearsing. When rehearsals were over, Iâd hide in the back of the theater, skipping the other activities I hadnât signed up for. Pam Sacks was doing props on the show, so I monitored her every move. As she organized the schoolbooks and desks, I imagined ways of stealing that sweatshirt.
Three weeks into camp, our bunk was walking to lunch when I came down with a sham stomachache. The counselor wanted to send me to the infirmary but I begged for a nap instead. Saying yes to my request was easier than dealing with me, so she acquiesced. I promised that if I woke from the nap and still felt bad I would get myself over to the nurse, which was right across from the theater, where I was scheduled to be anyway. I sat on my bottom bunk, alternately staring into Pam Sacksâs cubby and looking out the window at least three hundred times, just to make sure no one was lurking. When ready, I removed the sweatshirt from her cubby,stuffing it into my army green duffel bag under a few embarrassing sweaters my mother had insisted I bring. I shoved the whole thing back under my bed, then ran to lunch, although I couldnât eat due to jangled nerves. I wondered if there were many Jewish criminals.
The sweatshirt lived under my bed for four weeks, undetected. I didnât have a chance to wear it, lest I be noticed and removed from the premises, but just knowing it was hiding in my duffel pleased me. And then the system began to break down. Tensions were running high as summer was coming to a close and most of the girls were upset to leave their friends or boys theyâd started kissing by that secret ditch near Arts and Crafts. There was a lot of spontaneous singing and weeping and hugs but also much bickering. My play was over, my pots thrown, and my bag would soon be repacked with the requisite four pairs of shorts, three bathing suits, one rain poncho. And one far-out terrific fantastic sweatshirt that would undoubtedly change my life forever.
When Pam Sacks finished her last show ( Anything Goes ), she finally realized her perfectly worn alligator sweatshirt had gone missing. Well. Youâd have thought a child had been stolen, with all the hysterics she burst into. It started smallâjust some polite asking if anyone had seen it. Nobody had. The next logical step was to ask the counselors. They hadnât seen it either. The counselors also asked the kids, and still no one had seen it.
If it were me, at that point Iâd have just dropped the whole affair and taken one for the team. Good lord, it was just a stupid sweatshirt. But no, Pam Sacks launched an entire investigation, taking it upon herself to climb up the chain of command. She asked section heads. She asked the boysâ camp. She went to the theater and Gymnastics and the soccer field. She did everything but take an ad out in the goddamn paper. Pam Sacks couldnât just leave it alone. I mean, it was lost, all right? Stop being such a baby and let the dumb thing go.
Meanwhile, I
I spent days strategizing on how to pilfer that sweatshirt. If I took it during the first week of camp, sheâd know it was gone. I could wait until the last day, when she wouldnât notice until she dumped the contents of her navy duffel onto her laundry room floor. But what if she wore it the last day? Then what? I needed a better plan.
I had been cast in The Childrenâs Hour as Mary Tilford, an angry girl in the 1930s who runs away from a boarding school to the safety of her grandmotherâs house. In order not to be sent back to the school, Mary makes up a story that her teachers were lesbians, which ends up ruining everybodyâs lives. I enjoyed playing the evil parts. But even more, I actually enjoyed spending the long, hot camp days in the theater rehearsing. When rehearsals were over, Iâd hide in the back of the theater, skipping the other activities I hadnât signed up for. Pam Sacks was doing props on the show, so I monitored her every move. As she organized the schoolbooks and desks, I imagined ways of stealing that sweatshirt.
Three weeks into camp, our bunk was walking to lunch when I came down with a sham stomachache. The counselor wanted to send me to the infirmary but I begged for a nap instead. Saying yes to my request was easier than dealing with me, so she acquiesced. I promised that if I woke from the nap and still felt bad I would get myself over to the nurse, which was right across from the theater, where I was scheduled to be anyway. I sat on my bottom bunk, alternately staring into Pam Sacksâs cubby and looking out the window at least three hundred times, just to make sure no one was lurking. When ready, I removed the sweatshirt from her cubby,stuffing it into my army green duffel bag under a few embarrassing sweaters my mother had insisted I bring. I shoved the whole thing back under my bed, then ran to lunch, although I couldnât eat due to jangled nerves. I wondered if there were many Jewish criminals.
The sweatshirt lived under my bed for four weeks, undetected. I didnât have a chance to wear it, lest I be noticed and removed from the premises, but just knowing it was hiding in my duffel pleased me. And then the system began to break down. Tensions were running high as summer was coming to a close and most of the girls were upset to leave their friends or boys theyâd started kissing by that secret ditch near Arts and Crafts. There was a lot of spontaneous singing and weeping and hugs but also much bickering. My play was over, my pots thrown, and my bag would soon be repacked with the requisite four pairs of shorts, three bathing suits, one rain poncho. And one far-out terrific fantastic sweatshirt that would undoubtedly change my life forever.
When Pam Sacks finished her last show ( Anything Goes ), she finally realized her perfectly worn alligator sweatshirt had gone missing. Well. Youâd have thought a child had been stolen, with all the hysterics she burst into. It started smallâjust some polite asking if anyone had seen it. Nobody had. The next logical step was to ask the counselors. They hadnât seen it either. The counselors also asked the kids, and still no one had seen it.
If it were me, at that point Iâd have just dropped the whole affair and taken one for the team. Good lord, it was just a stupid sweatshirt. But no, Pam Sacks launched an entire investigation, taking it upon herself to climb up the chain of command. She asked section heads. She asked the boysâ camp. She went to the theater and Gymnastics and the soccer field. She did everything but take an ad out in the goddamn paper. Pam Sacks couldnât just leave it alone. I mean, it was lost, all right? Stop being such a baby and let the dumb thing go.
Meanwhile, I
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