Darts at Jesus

             
******** I didn't add links this time, because this post is extremely long. I did include a picture! Because you should all see the beauty of my summer camp. Athough, like Drive Thru Christmas Light Shows, there is music which accompanies this post. Please play No Church in the Wild by Frank Ocean, Jay Z, Kanye West, and the Dream. Not only is it one of the Greatest Songs of All Time, Grammy Winning, and way more beautiful than Christian or most things, it's also the thesis to this camp minus Bruce Almighty. On that note I took a trip with my family this weekend and we listened to the entire album of Watch the Throne while driving towards mountains. There have been little experiences more awesome than that, and I don't like to use that word a lot. Cool. Cool Cool Cool.********
          I went to Jesus Camp because I wanted to have fun. I didn't go because I wanted to throw darts at Jesus's face, or yell at boys in the middle of the night. I should've known that's what Jesus Camp meant. Jesus Camp wasn't Jesus Camp, the crazy kind, the real one, it was West River, stationed along the body of water for which it was named. It was pleasant, when I drove into it the sun glistened in the afternoon sky, and the clouds were clear. There was a zipline towards the entrance and wooden buildings. There was a building that didn't belong with a glass roof and an unfinished wall. I was two hours late, very shy, and very nervous.
                    It wasn't so bad when I walked to the cabin, my parents trailing behind me, everyone outside watching them as they kissed me goodbye. Everyone was old, and everyone looked tired. I didn't talk much. We were to go on a scavenger hunt. We left the cabin, my parents left me, and I was incarcerated. The good kind of incarcerated, cos it was Summer Camp, and I was going to have fun.
           We found the burning cross on the side of the cafeteria building. It was a Methodist camp, these things happen. We saw the seagulls and the geese poop along the river. We walked into the forest and there was a boy looked immaculate in the sunlight. Then we found the camp fire. Everyone joined into the cabin once this was all over, and by this time Dara Bean was there too, so I had someone I knew.
                     The wood of the cabin didn't stop until one reached the bathroom, where there were tiles upon tiles, and the stench of woods washed you. The couches in the lounge which separated the girls side from that of the boys was wood, the walls were, and the ceilings. There was a water fountain in the corner. Everyone introduced him or herself. My roommates, I found were Courtney, Allyson, and Erikah. They were all from Baltimore, and they looked terribly older than me.
           I found the immaculate boy's name was Christian, and whenever he stood he posed. Dara Bean told me he looked like a Holister model. I couldn't disagree. There was a girl named Kelsey who was our age, but she was a bit annoying. There was a nice boy named Marcellus, and a cool boy named Brian, and a quiet one named Kyle. There was a chubby loud boy named Ayo. There was a thick loud girl named Meesha. Everyone had a buddy of a kind.
                     The way we introduced ourselves at West River was by playing a game called "baby, I love you," in which one had to get down on his or her knees, take the hand of whomever he or she would choose, and say (sensually, or however fitting) "baby, I love you." In the card game BS, I often smile because I'm very bad at keeping a straight face, and I'm very immature. Oh this game was fun for me, because once Allyson said "baby" my face was all fruit mash and happy. Once it was my turn, the love was not reciprocated. I tried, and I tried, and eventually I got someone, but it was hard.
            You might imagine this game was quite easy for Christian. Christian was not easy on the eyes, because beauty like him was not easy. He'd make you curse yourself because a Holister model was before you, and then get mad at yourself because you were cursing at Jesus Camp. Christian was 14, and Dara Bean and I were 12. Dara Bean smiled after Christian proposed, because there really wasn't anything else she could do.
               Finally, it was time to take pictures. I looked crazy in mine, my cheeks full, my face gushing. Dara looked unsure. Christian wasn't posing. Kyrie, who was another kid, was creeping the camera. It was a cute photograph. Such secured my five day and day incarceration at West River Methodist Summer Camp.

I don't want to give people away, so I won't point out exactly who's who. Dara Bean is sitting next to me, and I'm the girl with pig tails who looks crazy. Christian is a Holister Model. Erikah's hard core in black (so you can guess who Allyson and Courtney are.)

             
              We weren't supposed to have phones at Summer Camp, and I was a rules person. My roommates weren't and so the nights lit with blue florescent screens, flip phones in their hands whose buttons furiously bounced under social fingers. They were loud, and they were about to be in the ninth grade. I trusted their advice of middle schools, and boys, and how to not become Selena, of their girl about whom to gossip of choice. Their voices were considerably low, and they spoke emphatically of the camp and themselves.
                Courtney was the nicest, and she wanted to make sure I was having fun. Oh, I was having fun. She was the daughter of literal clowns. Erikah, I didn't think liked me at first, had a low voice and band bands lining her wrists. She was hardcore because she wore black and was in love with the lead singer of the hit band Boys v. Girls. Allyson was nice as well, but distant, she was the third one, not the wheel, so I don't remember a lot about her. Our bunkbeds were wooden. Courtney was across from me, at the top party, and below was Erikah. Perhaps it was the other way around.
                 We didn't learn much about Jesus at Jesus Camp, I thought that as promotional stuff. What I learned most about Jesus Camp is that middle school is a different breed than all the other stages of life, and those are very, very scary. Breakfast began and in another camp there was a boy with half his face burned off. His skin was gone and his hair was completely absent. There was also a little boy with a loud voice and a big personality. All the people in this camp were black, and most all of them liked The Ravens.
           There were the humongous kids at another area of the room, far from the Fireplace Territory of my camp division, who were the tenth graders and up. They were beautiful giants. They didn't tower over me, completely, instead they killed me with their presence. They'd stand next to me in the lunch line, and it would be as if they'd whisper don't speak, because I'd know they were old. This is how I felt when I decided the guy in the Backwards Cap whose height was the same as mine and whose hair looked like a bleached banana was almost as cute as Christian.
I was in another mindset back then.
                     The breakfast room was made of white painted cinderblock and rocks. It was the holy ground, the place not displayed in the pamphlets, but the place where Jesus lived the most. It smelled of bacon and egg, and chlorine and deodorant, and of birthday party venues. In one table, Christian and his Crew sat. There was he and this girl named Anna, who was quite pretty, and Marcellus, and Brian, and this other girl who intimidated me because she was nice and quite pretty. At the table beside it sat Meesha and Amani, I think was her name, and this other girl. Beside that were the boys less fortunate to be of Christian's material standards, and who therefore had to hang among themselves. There was Miles, and there was Khyrie, and Ryan and Kyle, and I think a kid named Donald, and of course Ayo. Beside them were us. Courtney and Erikah were loud among themselves, and Allyson sat on their side. Dara and Kelsey and I on ours. It was a social experiment.
                    Jesus Camp was a whole lot of sleeping and going to the pool. The pool was a nice place to be, and since it was camping, it was the place for love and lust and awkward almost ninth grader encounters. The disclaimer is that I'm a square, and I was then, more so, and even though (I bet this does make you feel quite uncomfortable. I apologize) I found people cute, there was no way in H-E- double hockey sticks was I going to ever, ever, ever flirt with anyone, much less a ninth grader, much less, well yuck. This was the social experiment. This was where I learned what to do when I was in their place.
               When I was in their place I was the same. I was in a Summer Program for City at Peace where everyone was already in High School and about to be a Senior, and I just wanted to be friends with people and nothing else (although my friend involuntarily found herself in a quite opposite predicament with a guy a year older than her. I won't tell her business though, but I find it quite funny.)
               But right now it was Pool Time at Jesus Camp and everyone was having fun playing water volleyball and passing swim tests. I did handstands in the water with Dara and Courtney. I don't know where Kelsey was. On Black Friday, Holister hires guys with killer bodies to kill people outside of their store with their abs displayed, as they stand shirtless. I don't believe Holister should do this, on account of invasion of privacy; however, when Christian came from the boys locker room there was a collective gasp at the pool, because before us was an eight pack. Erickah thought she died (I really do hope not to make you uncomfortable).
                We found, however, rather quickly, Christian's smarts did not compare to his immaculateness of aesthetics. To illustrate, the next year I went, when I was actually incarcerated into Sailing Camp, he wrote a card to us. It said "YOU ALL ARE SO MUCH FAN!!" Except he crossed out the A to write a U. Even so, we had to trace each other one day onto white rolls of papers, and inside, people were to put compliments. Mostly I got "you're sweet" or "you're adorable" or "you're nice," but Christian got "MUSCLE MAN" (courtesy of Meesha), and things like "YOU'RE ATTRACTIVE" (courtesy of Erikah). All of these comments were perfectly acceptable under Jesus camp law.
                One day, everyone realized Anna and Christian weren't together, and this was an issue, because Erikah and he were hardcore in lust. I remembered one night hearing Erikah speak of how attractive he was, and this was a new word for me. I told her I thought Austin was really really hot. She told me no, he's attractive. That's a weird word why would you be so proper about hot people, I thought. Hot is not a word I often call people anymore. I digress. Anna's room was a tumblr post with girls with wavy hair and snapbacks and tan skin with precise makeup and the Rihanna face and a red cartoon sweatshirt with SWAG plastered on top of it. Beside the doorway was all her shoes, the Jordans and the sandals, neatly lined.
                Once everyone realized the Erikah/ Christian crisis, Marcellus yelled in the room "LET'S COUNT HOW MANY SECONDS CHRISTIAN AND ERIKAH STARE AT EACH OTHER." He knew good and dang well he liked Erikah with all his little almost ninth grader heart, and this was jealousy speaking, but yet everyone was in the lounge, eyes glued on Erikah to avoid the beautiful void of Christian's, timing the Stare. Christian was at the water fountain. Erikah scowling on one of the couches. So it began. Christian sipped his water, Erikah batted her eyes. Christian sipped. Erikah scowled. Sip. Bat. Sip. Scowl.
"THAT WAS FORTY SIX SECONDS WOW!" Marcellus burst through the stare like an internet advertisement, or one of those cartoons where the same thing happens. Erikah was scowling, and Christian swaggered out of the room, pushing the door to the boy's quarters.
                Marcellus was one of the most genuinely nice people at the camp. He wanted to make sure everyone had a good time, like Courtney, but he wasn't Courtney because in an abstract way he was annoying. Marcellus wasn't annoying to me, he just talked constantly. During afternoon prayer, or the last group activity of the day in which we'd listen to popular Christian songs and the different camp divisions would show off their talents which corresponded with the theme of the day. We had that too. I can't remember what the theme of the day was, but our division was going to do a skit.
                The pastor, who was our counselor, made us read of a bible story which involved elevation, Jesus, a man, and a bed. I am culturally Christian, but not actually so, so I don't really remember any of the story. Marcellus, Ryan, and I were kings, or some kind of noblemen. Marcellus wouldn't stop talking. He talked as Ryan told him to shut up. He talked as Jesus came into the scene and helped the poor man. He talked as we were at Afternoon Prayer, and presenting to the entire camp congregation. Ryan wanted to punch him in the throat. Urban legend was Marcellus had a crush on him, so really he was just too nervous to shut up, or too excited to get to know him. Urban legend was he really liked Erikah, and this was true, but there was the Water Fountain Clause. Jesus Camp was complicated.
                 Other things we did at Jesus Camp included tubing and the giant swing. Both were exhilarating, but none as emotionally and optically scarring as throwing darts at Jesus. It began innocently. Pastor and the counselors lined us up behind a dart board and told us, sweetly, to throw a dart and pretend the board was one we really really hated. I don't really remember hating anyone enough to throw a dart at someone, but I went twice. Beside us was the water fountain. On the right side was the second entrance to the girl's bathrooms. Everyone, I believe, went twice, even Dara, who is one of the chillest people on the planet.
                  Once everyone was relieved of hate, the pastor told us to close our eyes. We did, for we had only thrown darts at a board. We must've been getting cake, or ice cream, or something actually relating to Jesus and Prayer. Cake for Hate. Cake for getting your feelings out. Cake because when we opened our eyes there wasn't any, just the portrait of Jesus with his face caved in little dart bullets. It's hard to explain the grotesque and poisonous quality of Jesus's face brandished that way. I'm not religious, but that image scarred me. It looked dead, not like that squirell outside my gramma's house who's guts and eyeballs had spilled from its carcass onto Poplar Avenue, but dead like something robbed of life. It's hard to explain. It wasn't disgusting it was painful.
"Jesus Christ!" Someone said.
                 All the girls yelled into the bathroom cursing and cursing and cursing. We must've washed our hands because throwing darts at Jesus makes you feel really really dirty. It makes you feel like any minute a firey ball of lava lightning will fall from the sky and strike a tree branch outside in the woods to then fall and rush into your spine. If you're religious, or perhaps not. You feel dirty.
                 So everytime anyone cursed or talked about how annoying Kelsey was or how much Christian was a frustrating piece of eye candy and nothing more, Allyson would say "You're throwing darts at Jesus," or anyone would say that, and the image would spur from the mind and make you cover your face to make it go away.
                  Other than that, Jesus Camp was quite fun. It was a pool party the entire way through, because one night the tenth grade boys yelled to us, "WHAT'S YOUR NUMBER?" We yelled the same to them, our windows letting in the lukewarm air of heat mixed with air conditioning (Self supplied, plastic Walmart fans. Ain't nobody got time to install air conditioning into no wooden cabins.) Erikah gave her number to a dark window throw the clearing of the trees and a cracking voice. The counselor came into our room. Our lights turned off at her voice. The cracking ones kept coming through. "WHAT'S YOUR NUMBER?"
"Goodnight!" we said.
                    The day before we left we learned about Jesus Christ, but apart from darts. It was the third thing we had done in his honor. In charge was this woman named Bonnie whose pits sweated through her clothes and gave her a stinky reputation. She was a young woman, but she was also very hairy, she wore glasses and thick boots. Perhaps now she would've seemed cool to me, but before, boy was she someone not to be. She never wore anything by Abercrombie and Fitch, or Holister, or even Hot Topic. She was weird. Today we were learning of being a good Samaritan. A Good Samaritan, our Pastor told us, is someone who doesn't pass a homeless guy on the street without giving him a little money.
                      It was the good Samaritan tour, us walking along the river, the grass pelted with geese poop crunching under our feet and rolling to the water. It was a peaceful day, and so it made sense that lady with the ugly red tatoo that looked like spilled juice was relaxing under the weeping tree feet away from us.
                      We walked towards the bank, spotting Ospreys and river rocks. We spotted the different leaves behind us, and our feet slipped into the dirt. We walked back the woman with the ugly red tattoo that looked like spilled juice was in a counselor's arms, suddenly splayed upon a towel  loosing pints of paint to the second.
"SHE'S BLEEEEYYEEEEDDDDIIINNNGGGGGG," Everyone said (specifically the pastor as he reintroduced the principle of being a good Samaritan).        
"How were we supposed to know she was actually bleeding when she has paint on her. Actually," Dara said.
"I knew she was bleeding. Is she actually bleeding?" I said under my breath.
"And that's why you should give homeless people money on the street," My pastor lead us failed Samaritans to the cabin, trails of laughter behind.
                       When we got back, we drew all of our sins on tiles. I made mine really, really cute. Then we took them to break with hammers. My cute sins cracked underneath the pressure, and I was sure I did too, because they were some cute drawings I made. After, we placed the broken tiles onto a cross, but, much to my dismay, once these dried, we wiped the drawings off. We left them to rest. It was a nice last day, the glass facade of the afternoon prayer building beautifully reflecting the sunset along the pale water and the gazeebo, us singing R&B Jesus hits.
                      We returned to a seance. We sat along candles, legs crossed, hands clasped, eyes closed. Our crosses were beautiful in the middle. Pastor began,
"Is Jesus with the Black people and the white people and all people?"
"Yes," we repeated, "Jesus is with the people."
"Is Jesus with the homosexual?"
"Yes.. Jesus is with the homosexual."
"Is Jesus with the Jew"
I wanted to say he is one. I also wanted to say, why, I thought this was West River, the Methodist Camp, the Christian one. Why.
"Yes, Jesus is with the Jew."
"Is Jesus with the Muslim?"
Why.
"Yes, Jesus is with the Muslim."
"Alright, I love you." The counselors turned on the lights. It was the last night. Some people were crying.
                    We watched Bruce Almighty because this was our thesis. This was as close to God as we really ever got, because through all the f-bombs and the sexual references, that's what it was about. Everyone laughed, sitting on each other, faces smiling gushes.
"This is a lovely movie," Pastor said.
"FU---" Bruce yelled on the television.
"It's about God," said the Pastor.
It was about God.