Camp Nurse Read Free Page B

As camp nurse, was it my role to put an end to their fun? Probably. But it wasn’t much of a stretch to dial up my own inner teenager and remember what I was like. I, too, had loved to cut loose and be wild. A part of me wanted to join in on the fun with them, but reluctantly, I headed back to my cabin and slept for what seemed like a few minutes.
    The next thing I knew it was morning. The sun was blazing and music blared from scratchy speakers that had been placed in the trees. I stood on the porch of the infirmary to get a daytime overview of the camp from my vantage point on top of the hill. I’d been wrong: in the clear morning light of day, the place looked worse, much worse. It was a dump. The cabins were ramshackle and the mess hall, with its caved-in roof and crumbling porch, looked like a condemned building. There was garbage and empty beer bottles littered all over the ground from the party the night before. The campers’ wood cabins were rundown, dilapidated shacks spread out helter-skelter in a valley. The “Nature Shack” was wind-blown, and the arts-and-crafts tent appeared to be sinking into the mud. Down, down the entire camp slumped to the one jewel of the place: the waterfront. With Camp Na-Gee-La situated on beautiful Lost Loon Lake with its sandy beach and protected cove, it made me wonder why Zack and Mike had been swimming in a pond in the backwoods.
    On the porch outside the mess hall, a counsellor was strumming “Stairway to Heaven” and singing soulfully. It was way too early in the day for that intense song, but preferable, I supposed, to last night’s head-banging lullabies. Other counsellors were on the grass, tossing Frisbees, and unbelievably, a few counsellors were stretched out on the lawn, covered in baby oil, “catching some early morning rays,” they told me. I made a note to self to talk with them later about sun safety practices. Meanwhile, Harry and Max were amusing themselves while we all waited for breakfast.
    Mike came over. “Hey, Nurse Tilda. Rough night? You look wrecked. Not a good look for you – no offence! That was your last chance to rest. The kids arrive this afternoon, so you’d better pace yourself. Did you manage to get any sleep?”
    I shook my head.
    “Ahh, that sucks.”
    “Is there coffee?” I asked.
    Mike led me to the kitchen for a cup of hot tap water poured over instant decaffeinated crystals. He introduced me to the cook, a man who was a bit older than the others, which put him in his mid-twenties. He had a scruffy beard and spiky, geometric tattoos depicting daggers and jagged wires along his arms. “You must be the nurse dude,” he said. “My name is Gord, but everyone calls me Sarge.”
    I looked around Sarge’s kitchen. A young woman in a do-rag, wearing an inside-out T-shirt and tattered jeans, stood at the stove, breaking eggs into an industrial-sized frying pan with one hand and flipping pancakes with the other. Two gas burners were blazing with nothing on them. On the counter in the direct sunlight was an open bottle of mayonnaise. On the floor in front of the stove, glistening in the rays of sun, was a puddle of melted butter. Beside the puddle were two huge vats, one filled to the brim with peanut butter and the other with strawberry jam, over which bees were noisily buzzing. This place was a death trap if anyone had any life-threatening allergies. I would have to talk with Sarge about the hazards in his kitchen. Maybe I could also tactfully drop hints about hygiene, especially hand washing, for food handlers.
    “Hey, I bet you’re the nurse! Wassup?” A tall, lanky guy came over and brushed the hair out of his eyes to get a look at me. He pointed at himself. “The name’s Jake but everyone calls me Wheels.” He told me he was the camp driver. “I run the kids into town to the hospital and pick up supplies. I know everythingabout camp, so whatever you need, call on me – no explanation necessary.” He hiked up his baggy pants