Today, Ellie pretended to lose her voice in order to get attention and sympathy from the other girls. We don’t really know why since she’s already the most popular girl in the cabin. One of the counselors will talk with her tonight about being a role model for the rest of the cabin. We’ll see if that helps. 

I look at the “bunk-note” on top of my co-counselor’s drawers and close my eyes, exhaling quietly. This is trivial, maybe even pointless. But it’s going to be my job to pull Ellie out on the porch. I’m the counselor the girls love the most and the one they see the least.    

Nightly talks with me are actually considered “cool.” There are at least three campers that want to talk with me each night. And yes, sometimes I pick the kids out myself, but they don’t know that it’s motivated by notes like these. Notes that I personally find a bit ridiculous. Ellie’s a great kid. 

“Ellie, will you meet me on the porch?” I call, hiding the note and leaving the counselor section of the cabin. Ellie shouts an excited “yes” from behind her bed. Grace, who is closest to me, pouts dramatically.  

“Don’t worry,” I tell the cabin at large. “Everyone who wants to talk with me before I tell the bedtime story can. You just have to be ready for bed first.” 

Instantly, there is a mad dash to brush teeth and get in pajamas.  

One of my co-counselors, re-entering the cabin after brushing her teeth, catches my eye and whispers, “You are a lifesaver, Jamie.”  

I smile at her. She’s in the peak of counselor “burn-out,” but she’s still pushing forwards. For her sake, I’ve got to get the kids to bed soon. Including Ellie. I hi-five her on the way out. As a cabin, we’ve got this. 

Today, Lauren got into an argument with Dayna (Dayna lightly accused her of cheating at a game). Unfortunately, Lauren then screamed at Dayna. She said Dayna was a liar and accused her of stealing a hairbrush (I don’t really know why...). Anyway, it made Dayna cry. We are worried about how Lauren has been taught to handle conflict at home. 

Earlier in the day, I had come back to the cabin to find Lauren sobbing into her bed sheets. There were no other counselors in sight. I’d had to comfort the hysterical bully before I could help the sad little girl who was really hurt. Of course that meant I’d had to find Dayna, who had gone to hide in the bathrooms. I’d been more than slightly annoyed. 

“Lauren,” I had said sharply once I got the full story and brought Dayna back to the cabin. “We’re going to talk. On the porch. Right now.”  

By the serious look on my face, the other girls knew not to interrupt. It was clear that Lauren felt no guilt. At least not until I told her I was disappointed by what she’d done and that I expected more maturity from her.  

Of course, she immediately ruined the genuine feeling (and learning experience) by beginning to sob loudly again. She insisted that she was the victim of the real crime: hairbrush thievery. She buried her head into my side. I closed my eyes for a moment and prayed for patience. Why were there no other counselors here? 

“Hey, it’s okay now,” I told her, rubbing her back and switching tactics. “But that’s not the point. The point is that there’s a way to avoid all of this, okay? Maybe you can try and be a bit more forgiving? Do you understand that you hurt Dayna’s feelings?” 

Lauren’s crying started to subside. She nodded. 

I pat her on the back and got her to sit up. “I’m going to go make sure Dayna’s okay. Can you sit out here and take a few minutes to think about what you might want to say to her?”  

Lauren sniffled and nodded again.  

Now, an hour later, Lauren has barely put together a genuine apology. I’m appalled. 

When the other counselors hear about what happened, each of them mentions that they’re not surprised. This is typical of Lauren, the counselors tells me. My anger only deepens. Aren’t the kids here to learn? To have fun with other people? Isn’t it our job to fix stuff like this?  

My story that night is very short. I’m too frustrated to focus on a long one. Still, I remind myself to pull it together and hold Lauren accountable in the future. It’s not too late for her to start learning. 

Alexis was having a great day until the Evening Activity—Capture the Flag. She was running really hard when an opposing team member, who was much larger, body-checked Alexis into a tree. We got her some ice, and the camp nurse did a concussion test. She’s fine, but she’ll take it easy for a few days. 

I feel particularly bad about this bunk note. I was the counselor who saw the whole thing and who ended up carrying a crying Alexis to the nurse’s cabin. Evening Activity, like meals and bedtime, was one of the special things I got to share with my campers. And I’d messed up. I’d encouraged Alexis to be competitive and make a run for it. 

“Jamie,” Alexis had asked through gritted teeth as she laid on one of the cots in the nurse’s cabin. “Can you tell me a story?”  

“Of course.” I had said, letting her squeeze my hand until her nails dug into me. “I’ll tell you my favorite story so that you can go to bed early tonight and not miss it.” 

“But what if I’m awake? Will you tell a different one?”  

“Sure,” I had promised. “I’ll tell whichever one you want.” 

Now that it’s time for bed, Alexis is asleep. The other girls are moving with exaggerated quietness in their own spaces. Ellie waves at me, and I wave back—and suddenly half the cabin is waving at me. I wave back with mock franticness and whisper, “Everyone in bed!”  

Instantly, Grace says, “Story?” before clapping a hand over her mouth.  

I nod. “I’ll tell my favorite one tonight.”  

From behind me, I hear one of my co-counselors stop their preparations to go to the staff lounge. This story is an old one, about Eros, that I tell every year. It’s not my own—it’s one I heard as a kid at camp—but it’s by far the best. As I hear my co-counselors settle in, I’m reminded why I tell stories every night. It’s for the quiet moments like these, and it means a lot that they decide to stay. 

“Alright, is everyone ready?” I ask as I turn the lights out. The whole cabin is silent, waiting. I take a deep breath. “Once upon a time...” I begin. Suddenly all the stress of the day melts away