Pennies From Heaven

By Ed Staskus

   Zenius Kazlauskas would have traded any day in the real world, reheated meatballs with his folks the drumbeat of his freshman year at St. Ed’s hanging with the boys doing nothing at Crocker Park Mall, for five minutes of summer camp. After the next two summers were come and gone, after his last year in Cabin 6, when he couldn’t be a camper anymore, he was determined to go back as a counselor. 

   “That’s a sure thing,” Zen said. “I’ll be on my way to being a senior by then and I’ll know a thing-or-two. I’ll be older and wiser. I’ll know how to handle the boys on track and off track, no wool over my eyes.”

   Camp is different than being at home. There are fewer grown-ups, which is a good thing, and nobody’s parents are there, even better. The teenage counselors are almost like their vassals. They let them run amok and hope no one dies. Everybody’s friends are together again and there are more of them than anywhere else ever. Nobody yells at you for two weeks. The counselors scream if somebody does something stupid, but nobody gets yelled at for doing something wrong just by mistake.

   “Even when it happens, it’s all over in a minute, not like back home, where it never ends,” Zen said, looking glum. “No sir, it never ends, it just goes on and on. You’re on the bottom and you’ve got to keep your trap shut.”

   The summer sky at camp is big and fresh and windy. It’s a bird in the hand. There are swallows, thrushes, woodcocks, and buffleheads. It’s way up in Canada, on the Georgian Bay, at Wasaga Beach, the world’s longest freshwater beach.  It takes all day to drive there from Lakewood, Ohio, across the border, through Toronto, up to Barrie, where you take a sharp left at Lake Simcoe.

   It’s not totally spic and span, not like the Dainava summer camp in Michigan where the righteous gather on their runty pond, but clean enough. Some boys don’t shower when they’re at camp and that’s disgusting, although nobody cares too much about it. One time somebody’s parents wouldn’t let him in the car when his two weeks were over, and he hadn’t showered even once.

   “No, go back, go hose yourself off, and brush your teeth!” his mother barked through her nose. “What is wrong with you?”

   Last year Cabin 6 had bedbugs. The boys caught them with scotch tape and flicked them into a glass jar. Zen tried to kill some of them with poison spray, because when they sucked your blood, they left itchy clusters on your skin, but the bugs didn’t seem to care. They shrugged it off. When the camp commander found out about it, he hired a sniffing dog.

   It was a Beagle, just a little bigger than Rufus, Zen’s Beagle at home. The scent hound was lean, with floppy ears and a loopy smile. He knew what was up, stepping into the cabin all-business glowing in his eyes.

   He was a scent dog, not like Rufus, who was a hearing dog. Rufus heard all, searching out BS wherever it was, like up in Jack’s room. Jack was Zen’s older half-brother who thought he knew everything and talked down to him. Rufus hair-balled it and growled. The family lived on a better-off street in Lakewood, wide tree lawns and a concrete roadway, but Rufus still stayed on his haunches on the front lawn looking both ways, ready to bark. He knew the future might not be what it used to be. He sat tight in the right now.

   The search-and-destroy flea bag was so good he sniffed out a bedbug hiding behind the plastic cover of an electric outlet. The next day everybody piled their stuff into big black garbage bags and threw them inside the cars at camp, in the hot sun, with the windows closed. 

   All the bugs died.

   Zen and his friends were in the smallest of the nine boy’s cabins. The only free floor space they had was just enough to slide back and forth to their beds. Matias Petrauskas was number one with Zen. He was shorter shiny blue eyes like buttons and stick slender. They liked to run around, not get too uptight, and soft chill at the end of the day. They had roomed together in the same cabin for seven years and knew each other best.

   Lukas Nasvytis was Zen’s second-best friend. He was a little taller, all funny smiles and chunky. He chewed green frog gummies and spit them out on the cabin floor where they got squashed flat like pancakes. By the end of camp, the floorboards were dried goo. He was strong as a bull, but not loud or belligerent. He suffered from in-grown toenails. 

   “Don’t step on them, or else!” Zen said. “It can be big trouble. One night he punched somebody who accidentally stepped on his bad toe.”

   Lukas stood up and pushed the boy. “Watch out, dude!” He got punched in the stomach for it. Logan punched him back in the face, although without being mean about it. They were at the “Night of the Super Starz” in the mess hall. They were sitting there watching the show when the misstep started it, and the kid goat suddenly started bleating when Lukas did him. He had a bruise on his cheek and a black eye.

   There was a midnight mass after the show, but Lukas wasn’t allowed to stay. He had to go back to the cabin, although all that happened the next day was the counselors made him sweep the mess hall. The camp commander noticed Lukas waving a broom and thought he had volunteered. He came back with serious points pinned to his chest.

   Lukas liked being hip hop rundown. He was from Toronto and lived uptown, although Zen didn’t know where that was. He said he lived in a neighborhood of chinksters. He smoked weed sometimes, even though he wasn’t good at it. He and one of his friends went to a creek on the far end of camp one night and smoked some. He got funky and dreamed up disasters.

   “I thought I was going to die,” he said.

   Story time with Lukas at the head of the cabin his back to the door was always grins hilarity gut-busting. When he spit out a gummy, ready to go, it was a high old time. He knew a lot of dirty jokes, too.

   At night they talked about movies, TV shows, and their favorites on YouTube. They talked about girls, some of them more than others. They talked about video games a lot, even though they didn’t have any at camp. They weren’t allowed. The one boy in their cabin who didn’t talk much was Titus Lutkus, who they called Tits. 

   “He just sits in his corner all secluded,” Zen said. “He does play a video game, so I talk to him about that, sometimes, but not much. More than anybody else.”

   Nobody knew what was wrong with Titus. “We love Tits, but he’s quiet. He doesn’t do anything, which is the problem. At night when we’re all laying around in our cabin he’ll start crying. His eyes get soggy and his hair tuft goes limp. He will just sit teary-eyed on his bed, looking at the floor. When we ask him what’s wrong, he says, ‘I don’t know. My head hurts.’”

   They didn’t ignore him all the time, and they never did much of anything to him. “We punch him every once in a while, but not hard, just on the arms. Mostly when he’s looking, but sometimes when he’s not looking.”

   He got pinkeye every summer. They didn’t make fun of him, though. But then he got double pink eye. That was too much for everybody. They were all, “Damn it, Tits!” Everybody made fun of him as a joke, and he cried and got mad. but not because of that, just because he’s Titus.

   The girl cabins are on the other side of the flagpoles, up an opposite sandy hill. Amelia, who was part of Natalie’s tootsie tunes, but who can be nice and pretty, had a reddish birthmark on her face, the shape of a dog. Zen thought she was self-conscious about it because she always turned to her left whenever anybody took her picture, away from the birthmark.

   They never said anything about it to her. They dabbled about the birthmark in their own cabin, but nothing bad, although sometimes somebody said, “What’s that thing crawling on her face?” One night, Titus was laid out on his bunk in the corner while everybody was talking home stories when out of nowhere, he said, “Did somebody have their period and rub it on Amelia’s face?”

   Everybody stopped dead quiet for a minute. Who says that? Matias looked embarrassed. Then he got mad. “Shut up!” he yelled. Zen knew his best friend had the hots for Amelia. It was a brutal thing to say, especially coming from Tits. Everybody called him that because he had them. He had always been flabby and lately he was getting heavier. 

   “He doesn’t play any sports, at all, that’s his problem. He’s going to grow up a fatso.”

   Kajus Klukas slept in the corner opposite Titus. He thought he could play guitar, but all he did was play the same part of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ over and over. Who needs that? Everybody except Titus was always yelling at him to stop. Zen and Lukas finally took matters into their own hands and broke his guitar, but the cabin blew it off. They all knew it was a piece of junk, anyway.

   They broke the new fan his parents got him, too. Lukas was frustrated, and angry, his toes hurt, and he started taking it out on the fan. They took it out behind the cabin and beat it with a hockey stick. It was hanging on rags when they were done. The spiny part was smashed, chunks were missing, but they just kept beating it. They threw bottles of water at it, finally.

   Kajus wasn’t happy when he found out. He scowled and gave them the sour look. He pushed the busted fan under his bed.

   When his parents came mid-week from Toronto, they asked him what happened to it. He told them Zen and Lukas did it, but they didn’t believe him. When they left, he tipped a Mountain Dew over on Zen’s bunk. Zen grabbed it and poured the rest on Kajus’s bed, pushing and shoving started, Kajus elbowed Zen, he elbowed him back harder but not crazy hard, and Kajus stopped.

   There was a food-eating contest every summer after the “Counselor Staff Show.” The tots had to go to bed, but the boys and girls stayed up late to play the game. Whoever volunteers are blindfolded and has to eat whatever is on the plate. Everybody has to keep their hands behind their backs and lap it up like a dog. Sometimes the others puked, but Zen never threw up.

   There were bowls of moldy Rice Krispies with ketchup mustard strawberry jelly lots of salt and all mashed together like potatoes. It was horrible. It was like eating last place on one of his stepmom’s cooking shows on TV. Everybody cheered the belly brave and they had to eat as fast as they could if they wanted to win.

   The counselors woke the camp up every morning at seven-thirty for calisthenics. They marched everybody to the sports field and made them do a butt load of jumping jacks, push-ups and crunches, and the boys and girls had to run the track, even though the sun was barely breaking the tops of the trees. The tots got to do their own thing, whatever that was.

   If the counselors saw you were tired and slacking, they made you do more. Everybody jumped on the used tire jungle gym and messed around whenever they could, having fun. The counselors made whoever overstayed their welcome do pull-ups on it, but it was a small price to pay.

   “We get up every morning to music,” Zen said. “It’s always Katy Perry or Duck Sauce, or whatever the big cheeses want, played from loudspeakers hidden in the trees. Sometimes I don’t hear it because I’m fast asleep. The counselors carry water shooters. If they say you have twenty seconds to wake up, and you don’t jump right out of bed, they start squirting you. They shake your bed and jump on you, and scream, but they’re always going to the next bed, so it doesn’t last long.”

   After they were done exercising, they went back to their cabins, cleaned up, and raised the flags before breakfast. There are three flags, American, Canadian, and Lithuanian. 

   “But sometimes we’re too tired to clean up and instead fall right back asleep in our cabins and are late for the flag-raising. When that happens it’s time to swallow the pill. Whoever is late has to step out into the middle of everybody on the parade ground and do the chicken dance. All the boys on their side of the parade ground do the chop, swiveling their arms like tomahawks and chanting. Nobody knows what it means, but they all do it, and the girls stand there watching. Then they do their own dance, like cheerleaders, except they aren’t cheering for you.”

   Everybody got their fair share.

   All the cabins had to keep a diary for the two weeks of camp. Everybody got graded on it every day. If anybody wrote something stupid, like “Ugi Ugi Ugi” or anything that didn’t make sense, they got a bad grade. The counselors told them to “Be yourselves, be sincere.”

   “What does that mean?” Lukas asked, but they just laughed.

   Matias always wrote their diary because everybody else agreed they were all retards. Titus wrote something dumb once, even though he said it was sincere, and at the flag lowering that night they all had to do the Rambo, running down the slope to the flagpoles with no shirts on and singing “Cha Cha Cha” while everyone did the chop.

   That night, in the middle of the night, they rolled Titus down the slope wrapped up in a scratchy old blanket.

   They wrestled in the oldest boy’s cabin. It was the biggest cabin, too, so it had space for fighting. They moved the beds and duct taped a sleeping bag to the wood floor. There was no punching allowed, no hammer blows, but kicking and throwing each other on the ground was fair game.

   They weren’t supposed to fight, because the camp commander didn’t like it, but everybody wrestled and got poked bruised blooded.

   One night at their Wrestlemania World Tour, Donatas and Arunas were locked up when Donny grabbed Arnie’s head and flipped him over. Arnie slammed hard into a bedpost and got knocked out. They let him lay there, but when he didn’t wake up, even though they screamed in his face, they threw dirt on him. He jumped up and was fine after that.

   The next day they were walking to New Wasaga Beach, which is where the whole camp went every afternoon for a swim, and Arnie jumped on Donny’s back and almost cracked it. But they didn’t punch each other. It was just a couple of seconds of retaliation. They weren’t haters. Besides, the counselors were watching, and that would have been trouble. They always said “Only we can get physical.”

   The grown-up vadovai stood near and far in the water and made sure nobody drowned. The boys and girls and tots never noticed. They were busy splashing swimming splurging on the sunshine.

   Every year another year went by and when Zenius was back at summer camp it was like he had never left. As soon as he got there, he unloaded everything he’d brought, his clothes flip flops sleeping bag. All his stuff had his initials written on it with a Sharpie. Everybody found their cabins and claimed their beds, and then all the parents were gone before anybody knew it. 

   They saw their friends again, everybody in their cabin, and everybody they had ever camped with. “What’s up dude!” There were high-fives knuckle-touches bro-hugs all around. They fake punched each other and laughed it up.

   They reunited with the girls and get overdue hugs from them. When all the moms and dads that nobody in his right mind thought about from that moment on were gone, they had sandwiches in the mess hall. The priest said a prayer and the camp commander made a speech. He wrote the camp rules in big block letters on a chalkboard.

   He was big on shaming the boys but not the girls when his rules were broken. There is a bonfire most nights, they acted out skits, sang songs, whooped it up, but if you were on his list, he called you out in front of everybody and you had to try to explain why you did what you did when you did it. Most of the time the explanations were lame as diarrhea. Zen believed in never explain, never complain, although it was hard to do.

   The best night of summer camp is every night, but the best night was the night they played their manhunt game. Sometimes it was called Fugitive or Stealing Sticks or Capture the Flag. It’s always the same, although it was always different. Lukas told everybody he saw a movie about Jews fighting against the Nazis, chases in the dark and shoot-outs, but nobody could understand what he was talking about. Nobody else had seen the movie. 

   He said, “Let’s play it that way.” 

   Everybody said, “OK, that’s what it is.” They were the good guys, and the counselors were the bad guys. Some of the counselors thought it.was sketchy but didn’t disagree. It was as much fun as ever. It was like Bunnytrack with no holds barred. 

   Titus never played, and he didn’t play Nazis and Jews, either. He said it was wrong and started explaining about Lithuania, where all of their parents and grandparents were from, and how terrible things had happened there. He said it was a holocaust, not a stupid camp run around, but they told him to shut up, and he got sulky. Nobody knows what’s wrong with Titus. Zen knew what was wrong with him. 

   “Titus knows he’s low man on the totem pole and nobody cares what he says.”

   The game started when the counselors led them to the mess hall. They turned the lights off and made everybody sit on the damp concrete floor. After they left it got super quiet. It was eerie.

   When the counselors came back, they were dressed in black, charcoal from the cold bonfire rubbed on their faces. They split everybody into groups and spit out the rules. They had to find books and save them from being burned. They weren’t real books, just pieces of paper. The more papers they dug up the more Liberty Dollars they got for the next day’s auction. The more of them in their group who got caught the more their Liberty Dollars were taken away.

   The papers were scattered around the camp in the hands of three counselors, who were hidden in the woods, and who kept moving around. They had to find them and when they did, they were supposed to hand over the prize. But sometimes the runners had to beg them for it. Other times they had to fight tooth and nail for the paper.

   If the counselors who were the hunters caught anyone, they took the paper away, ripped it up, and it was back to square one. Many of the boys and girls hid them in their shoes, or their underwear, or different places no one would look.

   “It gets dirty, in more ways than one,” Zen said. “The dirtiest I got was when I was by myself, not far from the sports field, but on the edge of the woods. One of the counselors came walking past and I dropped flat fast. I lay in a bunch of crap, leaves, twigs, mud, bugs, worms, and moldy stuff. Oh, man, but he just walked right past me.”

   Anybody can try to get away when the counselors catch somebody, but it’s hard to do because the ones who catch you are the strong ones, while the other ones can’t catch a breath. The strong ones don’t like it when anybody makes them look bad by breaking away. It doesn’t matter what the other ones think. The bold quick can try to break free when no one’s looking, but if they snatch you then you have to stay longer in the lock-up. The longer you sit the less chance you have to win Liberty Dollars.

   Matilda Varnaite, who plays for a college basketball team, decked Zen, blind-siding him out of the blue, just when he thought he was home free. At first, he wasn’t sure what happened. When he got up, he tripped her, and started running away. When she caught him, he fell on the ground like he was wiped out. She was forced to drag him by arms and legs. While she was dragging him, he noticed a large lump on her chest. When he asked her what it was, she gave him a sharp look.

   “It’s a tumor. I have cancer,” she said.

   “I couldn’t believe it. She seemed so healthy. I jumped to my feet so she wouldn’t have to drag me. While we were walking the tumor started to jerk back and forth. I didn’t know what to do. Was she going to fall down and die? Then, just as we walked up to the lock-up, her baby gerbil poked its head out of her bra.”

   One summer the lock-up was inside the art house, where supplies and costumes are stored. It’s at the farthest end from the sand dunes. Makayla Katiliute was the guard, and although she wasn’t musclebound, she was strong and determined.

   There were two rooms. She had to patrol both of them by herself.  She carried a broom, pacing back and forth, her head swiveling this way and that. Everybody had to sit in straight chairs and be quiet. If you talked too much you had to sit there longer. If you got up from your chair you had to stay longer. If you messed with her in any way you had to stay longer.

   You could try to escape, but it wasn’t easy. Makayla would hit you, not really hard, but hard enough. She hit everybody with her broom, but usually with the soft twine end. But when anybody got nervy, she jabbed the broom down on them and yelled, “Shut the hell up!”

   It was not a good idea to try escaping too many times, because if anybody tried a couple of times and they caught you both times, they would kick you out of the game. It wasn’t fair, but that’s what they did if they got annoyed about it. If you sat there quietly and sweet-talked Makayla, “I’ll be good,” she would smile and let you out before the others. That’s what Zen did.

   “I was good. I play it smart. It’s the only way.”

   Zen broke off from his group right away. He had planned to run with his Cabin 6 friends, anyway. They made it to one of the storage sheds and hid there, catching their breath, and then started running around. They searched for the counselors with the scraps of paper and dodged all the others.

   “The counselors are fast,” Zen said. “Make no mistake about it. They aren’t sludges and even the sludges have some fast up their sleeves if they need it. The girl counselors can catch you if you don’t see them right away and they are already sprinting straight at you. You can push counselors away, but not punch them, although you can punch them, just not all of them, only the ones who don’t care. Your friends can help you, and if the counselor is alone, you have a good chance of getting away. He can’t catch both of you at the same time, no matter how big and fast he is.”

   The counselors tackle hard when they want to. They can be bottle rockets and they don’t mess around. If somebody is your cabin’s counselor, they’ll cut you some slack. They’ll use you as a distraction. The trick is to act like you’re getting caught when someone else is walking by, yelling, “Help me!” Then your counselor will throw you to the side and get them, instead.

   Another summer the lock-up was the boy’s bathroom. They took out the light bulbs. It was dark dank clammy soggy. There was only one door, so it was hard to escape. They had to sit in there with the bad smells and daddy long-legs crawling all over them. Titus stayed snug in the cabin with a package of Oreos.

   The summer they played Nazis and Jews the lock-up was on the edge of the sports field under a pole lamp. It was a pressboard box used to store basketball backboards. The box wasn’t big, the size of a dining room table, but high and deep going backwards.

   The counselors squeezed them in, around the edges, and then made more of them stand in the middle like cattle. They nailed two-by-fours to the sides so they wouldn’t spill out. Everybody was packed tight like rats. Somebody could try to crawl out, but they would have already gotten you by then, dragging you back.

   Cabin 6 escaped when counselors nabbed a pack of new runners and were bringing them in, but there wasn’t any room because it was so crowded. They got pushed sideways to make room. They had a couple of seconds of daylight. There weren’t enough counselors to grab everybody again that same instant, so they ran into the woods to the Hill of Crosses.

   It is on a small sandy hill. There isn’t anything there but crosses, dozens of them, some bigger than the boys. Everybody’s parents knew all about it. It had something to do with their past, the old country, back in Lithuania, where there are tens of thousands of them on a big hill somewhere. There is a white fence around the Hill of Crosses at camp and a gate, but it’s never locked. They went there for horseplay sometimes, because almost no one ever went there anymore. It’s secluded and private. Everything has its good points, Zen thought.

   They were cutting through, talking about what they were going to do next, when Loose Goose Lovett, who was pale fit and fast, jumped out of a sand dune. He was waving a big flashlight like a crazy man. Somebody smashed into him. He singled out Nojus Silenas for it, running after him. Everybody flipped, scattering, none of them going the same way.

   Dovydas Bielskus sprinted to the border of the camp where there was an old crappy barbed wire fence. It was his first year at camp and he didn’t know it was there. When he tried to jump it, he got tangled up. He ended up stuck, his t-shirt ripped, and his hands were scratched. He couldn’t get off the sharp wire.

   Later, when they found each other, they saw Lovett again with his flashlight. He was still looking for Nojus. Everybody lay down in the sand, nervous, but quiet like moles, and he ran right past them. They stayed behind a little hill where they hung their clothes after coming back from the beach, and later snuck back into Cabin 6. All of them were sitting on their beds, laughing it up in the dark, when Nojus started freaking out.

   “See what happens,” Titus said.

   Nojus was so worked up he got down on his knees, put his hands together in front of his bunk bed, and started praying. He was praying out loud, crying, and saying “I don’t feel good” when Lovett walked in with the flashlight stuck in his back pocket.

   “What’s wrong with him?” he asked.

   “I don’t feel good,” Nojus said, walking outside the cabin and throwing up.

   He tried to throw up in the trashcan, but his aim was way off. The next morning, everybody heckled him about it, but all he wanted to say was he just didn’t feel good during the manhunt and didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

   Zen almost broke his neck playing that night. It happened when Big Algimantas started chasing him. He was ripped out of his mind and jacked up. He climbed trees and survived out on the tundra. Zen had been jogging lazily away from Ned, who is lard and slow, when Big Al jumped him. Zen screamed and went into adrenaline mode. When he saw Big Al’s bigger girlfriend waiting at the fork in the path, he sprinted the other way into the woods.

   He got away clean, but it was when he lost Big Al that Gintaras Mockus came out of nowhere and found him. He was wearing a bandana and waving a basketball in his hands. Zen knew he was going to throw it straight at his shins, because that’s what he was doing to a lot of boys. It was a basketball Ginty had inflated crazy hard. He could sling it a blue streak. It smashed boys on the legs. Runners were face planting and giving up.

   Zen was running all out and jumped when Ginty threw the ball. He jumped right into the low-lying branch of a pine tree. It smashed him, the branch raking across his neck. It felt like his artery was going to pop.

   “That really hurt!” Zen cried out.

   “I kept running, but I was suddenly scared, so I stopped. My neck was all scraped up gashed and bleeding, but not gushing blood, thank God. When Ginty found me, he took his bandana off and wrapped it around my neck.”

   “You’ll be fine,” Ginty said.

   “Then he grabbed me and tried to drag me to the lock-up. You can always trust a counselor to be a sly dog. But I got away. I kept the bandana wrapped around my neck so he couldn’t track me down by any drops of blood. I made sure the rolled-up paper scraps I had collected were still in my pocket. I slept with them curled up in my fist and my fist tucked under my pillow.”

   The next morning, he ran to the front row of the manhunt auction. The camp commander stood at a podium with a wooden mallet. There was a pegboard behind him full of a boat load of the things you could get, and everybody started bidding. There were t-shirts and baseball hats, breakfast in bed, and true blue counselors having to clean your cabin.

   There’s stargazing with another cabin of your choice.  But Zen put everything he had, every one of his Liberty Dollars on the first shower of the night. It was the big night of the end of camp dance in the mess hall and he wanted to look his best for it. He made absolutely sure nobody outbid him because it was do-or-die for the hot water.

   You got to shower first, all by yourself, for as long as you wanted. The camp commander posted a counselor to stand guard at the door and they didn’t let anyone in except you. It was only you and a bar of soap and you could stream as much of the hot water as there was. There was only so much of it at camp, the tanks weren’t the best, and you could take it all. Everybody else was left with the cold leftovers.

   “Oh, yeah, that’s what you always do, because everybody else would do it to you.”

Ed Staskus posts feature stories on Red Island http://www.redislandpei.com Paperback Yoga http://www.paperbackyoga.com 147 Stanley Street http://www.147stanleystreet.com and Lithuanian Journal http://www.lithuanianjournal.com. To get the site’s monthly feature in your in-box click on “Follow.”