It was a year and a half ago now. I wouldn’t have believed it, except here is the calendar on the wall and the date on the lock screen on my phone, and the snow outside the window, and the changed and older face in the mirror, and the new scars on my skin, to back up that claim. It feels like everything that happened then shouldn’t be that far lost to time, it really shouldn’t be that long ago, because it still feels like it was just yesterday that I was still at summer camp.

I get up and move to the window. I put my cold hand against the cold pane, and when I exhale a bit of the glass in front of my eyes fogs up. The world gets fuzzy for a minute until the precipitation fades from the window. Everything outside is painted in shades of gray like a washed-out old photo, or one of those eerie monochromatic paintings. I close my eyes. I remember a time when the world looked different. I remember the time when the world was as bright as an Imax screen to today’s grainy black-and-white display.

It started off on a train platform. It was stiflingly hot and sticky, and I wasn’t used to it because one of the things Coloradoans don’t appreciate or understand is the blessing of our dry heat. It’s infinitely better than the stifling, soggy, roasting blanket of humid heat that I was faced with here. I could feel sweat trickling down the side of my neck. My hair, usually flat and well-behaved, was bristling at the weather conditions and straining against the bobby pins I was using to attempt to tame it. My feet were sliding around in my new flip flops. My mom was walking right next to me, determined to see me onto the train despite my pleas that I was fine, and I was fifteen not seven and no one else was going to have a parent chaperone. But what I would never have admitted to anyone was that, fifteen though I was, there was something comforting in having my mother there next to me. I was grateful for her presence as I lugged by bags toward the platform; even with her there, I was nervous and shy and biting my lip until I tasted blood. 

There were people in front of me, in the direction that I was supposed to be heading. People who were my age, and who I was probably going to summer camp with and I was going to spend three weeks in the presence of. The usual heat flooded my face upon seeing so many strangers, except one of the benefits of the weather was that no one could see me blush. I faltered a bit but I kept walking in their direction, and they all turned to look at me. I smiled (and prayed that it resembled a smile and not a grimace) and introduced myself, without stammering or making an idiot of myself. I hugged my mom goodbye quickly and much less nervously than I would have even thirty seconds earlier, and then the train came and she turned around and left. The sharp sound of brakes cut thought the air and made me cringe a little. It quieted. The train stopped. Everyone crowded toward the doors. I followed the rest of my group and tugged my baggage behind me through the narrow train corridors until we found our cabin and all sat down. I kept on talking to those people, and laughing with them, and making friends with them. Outside blurred past, first a cement cityscape, then a green countryside with picturesque meadows and verdant forest. I wasn’t nervous anymore. When the train started to slow down the only thing I felt was excitement for what was about to happen.

The heat of the seaside was even worse than the weather at the train station. Leaving the station and walking out onto the street, I felt like I was gonna choke on the thickness and the humidity, and throw into that mix cigarette smoke, car exhaust, and the stench of trash bags left on the roadside in the summer heat and I really did feel like coughing.  And of course the vehicle picking us up had gotten a flat tire or something and was desperately late, so my new friends and I were all clustered in the scanty shade offered by a dead-looking tree. But I didn’t really mind, because I hadn’t made a fool of myself yet and said something wrong or done something humiliating. I was cool to them. I was talking in their presence with the same level of comfort I showed with my friends back home. So we were chatting, and I was describing Colorado and the United States as a whole and they were talking about wherever they were from in Europe and questioning me about America. Weather aside, it was a good feeling, socializing with people my age.

The place, the resort, was very pretty. The rooms were spacious and the views from them onto the beach were spectacular. Each of the rooms had a porch that was connected to all the other porches if not for a low barrier that was easy to climb over. The accommodations would have been great if there had been any air conditioning. Yeah, a seaside resort without air conditioning- that was one of the key differences between America and Europe. In America no resort would have been able to operate in such heat without providing everyone with a livable temperature. But not here. So we left the windows open, except that there were no screens and within a matter of days we were all covered in itchy mosquito welts. But whatever. It was all part of the experience and we were all in it together.

Yeah, together. It was a weird feeling, being one of the “cool” kids. Back at home, I’m always the shadow, the quiet one, but here I was enjoying being one of them. I knew these friendships wouldn’t last much longer than the last day of camp, but while they lasted, I was finding out how nice it was to have a lot of friends. In fact, the idea of belonging and being surrounded by these people who liked my company was one of the best, most flattering things to have ever happened to me.

Besides that, we did lots of fun things. We swam in the ocean and tanned on the beach almost every day, and when we weren’t on the beach we were doing other amazing things. We toured castles and old cities and windsurfed and spent the cooler evenings around a campfire singing rude camp songs or in the dining hall doing karaoke, and the initial heat wave broke after the first week, making it so that the weather for the rest of the trip was pleasantly hot in the day and then cool and wonderful at night. Furthermore, all the activity made me lose six pounds so that I looked better than ever at the end of the trip, all tanned and lean. Every day felt like a new adventure, a new chance to make memories and live in the moment.

And it was a summer camp of firsts: first kiss, first all-nighter with friends, first time away from home for so long, first time in my life when I didn’t feel like a freak and an outcast.

This is the time of my life, I thought. This feeling- that’s how I want to feel for the rest of my life. Heck, I can if I want to.

I can make this the best year ever, I vowed to the night sky. I vowed it to the cool ocean and the hot sand. I vowed it to this person summer camp had turned me into.

Of course, all too soon, it ended. We dragged our bags outside in the drizzle and I could feel the clammy cold drenching my bags that I had stacked on the pavement. I shivered- this was the first cold day so far on the trip, and it would undoubtedly be the last. We took the same train back, passing through the same villages and forests and peaceful countrysides and industrialized grey cities. All too soon, it was all over. I hauled my things onto the station ground and hugged everyone and then I turned and left, missing everything and everyone immediately.

I lost contact with everyone after maybe four months of living eight time zones apart. I went back to my nonexistent social life and my precarious standing with my peers. Everything at home felt like it always did- dull, pointless, repetitive, etc. But something about me changed. I knew what life could feel like, if I wanted it. I knew I could feel happy and accepted.

I knew I could turn my life around, if I just worked hard enough.

I open my eyes. I’m back in my room in my house, which is buried under snow and clouds and a foggy grey winter. I don’t feel so sad anymore, though. I look at a photo on my corkboard, of me in shorts and a tank top making goofy faces with five other people, and I know life can be like that again. I know my scars will fade. I know I’ll be okay.