Story Based on Premise

The light shining through the chapel’s stained-glass windows illuminated their goldenhighlights perfectly. Our breaths escaped our bodies as we watched them pick up the bottle ofwhiskey as they put it up to their mouths to taste. We watched in a sort of twisted excitement,almost wishing someone would walk in to see us drinking with one of the camp’s counselor. Itwas mesmerizing, watching them and the way they would toss their head back each time theylaughed, and how they would have to take a swig of the almost empty bottle before finishing thetales they told about their getaways during school breaks. It was one of the most dangerousthings we had done.

Taylor and I had been best friends since birth, as a result of our mothers’long time friendship. We had stolen strawberry milk cartons from the cafeteria and books fromthe book fair, but nothing compared to this. We were learning everything to learn about one ofthe hottest camp counselors. We would have done anything to say we knew them on a differentlevel compared to the way the other kids at camp knew them. We did not know their favoritecolor, nor their favorite food, but we knew their favorite drink and how many they would have todrink to start line dancing with their shirt off. We knew their favorite bars, and how manybartenders they have slept with. We knew their questions about God and if He was even real. Wealso knew their favorite hideout spot by the tall oak tree, and how they would love to sneak theirwhiskey and wait for the other counselors to let them taste their whiskey lips in the dark.“What’s so good about it anyways?” Taylor blurted out, staring at the bottle of whiskey sointensely. “It makes you see the world differently,” the counselor replied with the world’s softestvoice. “Why would you need to?” Taylor asked, to which the counselor responded with thereasoning that the world would be a much better place with open-minded people that did notapply such heavy restrictions on their life because of age or gender. Walking back to our bunk,this was the only thing said we replayed in our heads.

I questioned why the counselor would everwant to see God’s perfect Earth in a different light. Maybe it would make the relationshipbetween me and them more acceptable. I didn’t know, and neither did Taylor. We stayed up forhours to discuss who the counselor would end up with and whether or not our mother’s would beaccepting of the relationship. “I always hear talk about how ‘love is love,” Taylor whispered,letting the words pierce through the silence that had been unbroken for some time as wecontemplated our feelings toward the counselor, “but it’s all just talk, nobody actually feels thatway.” I let this sink into my brain, really soaking in the meaning. I felt like there was no truerlove than the one I felt towards the counselor, but if it was so real and so true,why was it wrong?Why was I not allowed to express my love towadrds my mentor? Why couldn’t kiss them? Whycouldnt I hug them? It was more than the mere fact that Taylor was in love with the same personI was, because my love was grander and truer than the one Taylor felt. I teased Taylor about howthe counselor liked me more because they would always offer me the whiskey before they wouldtip the bottle in gesture towards Taylor.

Taylor knew this was my way of making what we weredoing with the counselor more acceptable, but still got offended every time I would make acomment like that. It soon became a dream. I was now running my fingers through their fierystrands of hair, pressing my lips to their whiskey flavored ones, and feeling their skin on mine. Itfelt like a dream. I was walking on clouds. Every night I would go to bed after dinner around 9P.M., then I would wait until Taylor returned from the showers to see the counselor. I wouldalways say I needed to breathe fresh air as an excuse to escape into the dark night, only to berescued by my counselor’s candle- lit cabin that smelled like warm tobacco. I would stay therefor as long as I could, sometimes until the birds awoke the other campers, but usually until thestreams of light shined onto the campground, as a sign of the early morning. I would meet withTaylor at breakfast, and talk about made up dreams, pretending like I had even slept the nightbefore. I would usually get tired in the afternoon, where I would nap in my bunk for hours at atime, re-energizing myself for the night to come. I would always awake to Taylor’s absence,which at the time I thought was odd, but never thought much of it. I always thought Taylorwould go play with the other kids in my cabin, or read, but I never asked. Truthfully, I did notcare where Taylor went because I knew I had been having more fun. It went on for what felt likeyears, but were only a few days in reality, not dragged out, but effortlessly passed in time. I wascontent. I was in love. I had to tell Taylor that I had been spending time by myself with thecounselor, but to not get jealous because what we were feeling was not infatuation, but was real,genuine love. “Me and the counselor are in love,” I blurted out to Taylor in the middle ofbreakfast the following morning. Taylor looked at me and smiled, “Really?” Taylor said. Inodded, with a smile on my face waiting for the smile on Taylor’s to disappear. It did.

Taylor’ssmile soon turned into a grin. “How do you know?” Taylor asked. I began to tell Taylor about allthe nights me and the counselor shared, and the mornings we spent next to each other. Taylor’sgrin soon disappeared too, and was soon replaced by a prominent frown. Taylor shared with meabout all the afternoons they too had spent together, providing me with the details about all thetime they spent with each other while I napped, with no idea about the betrayal that took placeeach time I shut my eyes.. I was confused. How could he spend so much time with me when heknows it does not mean a single thing? How could he do this to me? With my best friend. I wasashamed, I knew I had been taken advantage of, but I refused to accept the fact that I had beenused. I thought to myself, “love is love, he just might love two people at the same time.” Eventhough this did not make a single ounce of sense, it was all I could use to excuse his behavior. Heloved me. I knew he did. He told me he loved me before the whiskey, and even after. He told meall the dangers of pursuing anything with me. Why would he risk his job if he did not love me?Why would he put himself in such a situation if he don't love me? He had to have loved me.That's why we spent so many nights together, and so many mornings. I went to confront him, butsoon found myself talking to someone i did not know at all. He pretended like I had no sense,like I was troubled. “Taylor must have told him something,” I thought. She wanted him all toherself. I could not stand to look at Taylor, because of the fact that she ruined my chances withthe love of my life and because of the fact that she betrayed me and went against my wishes ofpursuing anything with my soulmate. I missed his whiskey flavored lips and his smooth freckledskin. I knew taylor and I had fallen in love with the same qualities, so I knew we both began tohate the very same things we fell in love with. I was ashamed. I was in love.