Untitled MIA BEACH 30 Untitled TOM EIBLING

DOWN ON THE DOCK

development, Kent noticed.

Kent went over to his bed, which was next to Ronnie's. Ronnie had his eyes closed and was nodding his head furiously to the sound of the music coming out of his headphones, some stupid new band that all the kids liked but Kent hated. Kent reached into the pocket of his backpack, which hung from a nail on the wall, and pulled out a tornopen envelope.

Kent sat down on his neatly made bed. There was a letter in the envelope, carefully folded until it was not much bigger than a postage stamp, but he put that aside for now, on the bed. The other item in the envelope was a photograph, and he pulled that out, being careful not to put his fingers on the image surface. The picture showed a man and a boy, both looking breathless and sweaty. Kent was holding a basketball in his hand, and you could see the door of a garage behind them, and the strings of a hoop dangling down. "Is that your dad?" Ronnie said, and Kent looked over startled at the boy, who was suddenly leaning over him. The tinny music was still pouring out of his headphones. "No," Kent said, quickly putting the photograph back in the envelope. Ronnie made a grab for the letter, but not quickly enough. Kent slipped it quickly back into the envelope. Kent put the envelope carefully away in his backpack again, and as he did so, he spoke in a quiet but firm voice to

CANVAS

27

Ronnie. "If you try to get the envelope out, I'll tell everyone you about you pissing your pants." "Okay, okay," Ronnie said, sitting back on his own bed again. He sat there for a moment as Kent lay down on his own bed. There were just a few minutes before the call to dinner. "Who is he?

Your dad?"

"My dad died," Kent said quietly, in a voice designed to carry just one bed's distance. "He's my step-dad. At least he was." "Are they getting divorced? "Ronnie said, too loudly, sitting up again. "No big whoop. My dad's been divorced three times. I've got more moms than you can shake a stick at. Let me tell you, it really sucks, too." "Shut up, Ronnie," Kent said, just as the announcement blared out from the nearby loudspeaker, calling them to dinner.

The dance was held inside the big cafeteria building and as his bunk walked into the huge open room, Kent grimaced at volume of the music. He was alone among his group, and among his peers in general, in hating the music that was on the radio. He himself liked 50's rock and roll, like Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard, artists whom one of his music teachers had introduced him to.

There were kids scattered all across the dance floor, some dancing, some just standing there with paper cups of fruit punch in their hands. Kent saw

CANVAS

28

an open space near the paneled wood wall and started moving towards it, his hands in the pockets of his best pair of pants. But before he got far, he felt a hand in the middle of his back, turning him and propelling him in the opposite direction. He turned his head and saw that the hand was attached

to his counselor, Mark. "No way, kid, you're not being a wallflower this time," the man told him as he propelled the boy across the crowded dance floor. Mark didn't stop his pushing until they were standing in front of the camp director and his two daughters. "One Kent Ridley, delivered as ordered," Mark said, smiling at the younger girl, and then grinning at her father. The thin, blonde-haired girl's face was red and she looked down at the floor, her hand over her mouth, choking back giggles. Kent turned and was about to run, but Mark put his hand on his shoulder. "Don't," the man said firmly. "Come on, Dad," the older girl said to her father, who smiled and nodded, and let himself be led away, towards the punch table.

Mark leaned down and said quietly into Kent's ear, "Stay here and talk to her or I'm tearing up that letter of yours, and that picture."

Kent looked up at him, shocked, but the counselor just looked back at him, his expression serious and firm. After a moment, Mark turned and walked away.

DOWN ON [HE DOCK

The two children just stood there for a moment, looking down at their shoes. Kent noticed the girl was wearing the same exact kind of sneakers as himself. His eyes went higher, to take in her jeans and camp T-shirt. "Why are you dressed like a boy?" Kent asked her, looking her in the eye for the first time.

Melanie looked back at him, her mouth open. For a moment, he thought she might be about to cry. "That's not a very nice thing to say," she finally said. "I'm not a very nice person," Kent said. He looked longingly over at the punch table. As he turned his gaze back to Melanie, though, he saw Mark watching him from a few feet away, his arms crossed. "Is he getting a raise for this?" Kent asked the girl. "I didn't tell him to do this, I promise' Melanie said.

The two children stood there, about a foot apart, while one song ended and another came on, a miserable song exchanged for a horrible one, in Kent's opinion."You can go anywhere in camp, can't you? you?" he said.

Melanie shrugged, the expression in her eyes a bit more hopeful. "Sure, where do you want to go?" "Boy, I'd be in trouble if I pushed you off this dock, wouldn't I?" Kent said.

Melanie looked at him, a flash of fear in her eyes, and she took a step back towards the shore. "You sure would," she replied, with a limp chuckle following. They were standing on the slippery, whitepainted dock. The bright near-full moon hung