Camp Damascus(17)
The shortest sentence in the Bible is two words. Do you know what they are?
What are your biggest fears?
Most of the partiers are holding red cups, but these plastic goblets are full of root beer, not beer beer, and the safe yet faintly abrasive music is upbeat Christian pop-punk with a positive message.
I love it.
Suffice to say, this whole experience is a lot less intimidating than I expected.
Of course, half these kids are members of the congregation anyway, people I’ve known since I was a child. The other half are Neverton citizens who may not be Kingdom of the Pine members, but they’re God-fearing enough for our parents to approve.
Neverton is quaint in size, but strong in Christian presence thanks to Camp Damascus. While Kingdom of the Pine remains a modest sect internationally, this town is chock-full of believers, a stronghold of faith.
Despite the chaos yesterday, I actually find myself feeling pretty normal again, happy to begrudgingly accept these strange events as nothing more than a natural buildup of stress in a young, exhausted mind.
“Hey” comes a familiar voice.
I glance over to find Isaiah, the man of the hour, sliding up beside me. He hoists his plastic cup and the two of us give a hearty cheers, taking large sips of the carbonated beverage.
Root beer was created in 1866 and first commercially available in 1875. It was sold in syrup form and made from sassafras root, which has since been banned for causing cancer. The plan was to call it “root tea,” but the name was changed last minute in an attempt to capture the Pennsylvania coal miner market.
That one’s not from the card. I just know my root beer.
“Thanks for coming,” Isaiah continues, yanking me back from my journey into beverage history. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it after the way I acted.”
“It’s fine,” I offer, still gazing across the party.
“No, it’s not,” Isaiah continues.
I turn to face the birthday boy, giving him my full attention and making sure he believes I’ve genuinely accepted his apology. Truth be told, this little moment of forgiveness is the last thing on my conscious mind. “Thank you for saying something,” I reply, struggling to give my voice enough emotional weight so we can finally move on.
The regret in my friend’s expression melts away, gradually transforming into a smile.
We stand a moment, sipping our drinks and gazing out across the party. The music does a great job filling in space between the break in our conversation, but I’m still not all that comfortable just standing here.
“The word ‘muscle’ is derived from a Latin term that means ‘little mouse,’” I blurt.
“What?” Isaiah asks, although I’m not sure if he couldn’t hear me, or if he could hear me and doesn’t know how to respond.
I stare at him blankly, my mind seizing up.
“Hey, come with me,” Isaiah finally offers, shifting gears.
The next thing I know he’s taking me by the hand and leading me through the open floorplan of this crowded basement. Peers immediately turn and watch us go, whispering to one another with looks of tittering excitement.
Soon enough, we’re making our way down a dark hallway, the music growing quieter and the raucous atmosphere evolving into relative calm. We reach a door, and Isaiah pushes through to reveal a small circle of friends sitting cross-legged on the floor. A television is on behind them, playing Christian music videos and casting the proceedings in an eerie dancing light. It’s muted.
“Wanna play truth or dare?” Isaiah asks.
My first instinct is to decline and retreat, disappearing back into the wash of the party, but before I get the chance I catch sight of Martina chatting away within the circle. Immediately, my demeanor changes, and I struggle to act natural as I heartily accept.
“Yeah!” I chirp, climbing down to join the others. “Sounds fun!”
I’ve never played truth or dare, and to be honest, the prospect sounds terrifying. Still, I find myself compelled to sit. Martina is one of the coolest people I know, and maybe spending a little more time around her will help some of that innate coolness rub off on me.
It appears the game has already started when Isaiah and I join, the group loosened up after several rounds of wild dares and raunchy questions. Morgan, a guy I know from school, has just completed his dare and is now tasked with selecting another target.
His eyes slowly move around the circle, drifting from person to person. He’s careful not to rush this important decision, finally arriving on the last option I’d ever want: me.
“Rose. Truth or dare?” Morgan asks, a mischievous flicker in his eye.
A hush falls over the crowd as I take on their undivided attention.
It’s a simple enough decision, only two possible outcomes presented and each one just as mysterious as the other, yet I find myself utterly tongue-tied.
When the awkward silence becomes truly unbearable, I somehow manage to spit out a single word. “Truth.”
Morgan nods, a pleased king who has formally accepted my response. “Alright, alright,” he offers, chewing his lip as he considers the query. Morgan has suddenly been thrust into a position of incredible power, and he wants to make the most of it.
Along with the expected tension of this moment, I get the feeling something else is going on behind the scenes, some inside joke I’m clearly not a part of. While most eyes remain trained on me, other kids are quietly shooting glances at Isaiah.