At the mouth of the cavernous forest sat
a crumpled mess of wood and glass. The shingles hung loose, the moss was
overgrown, and the cinder blocks serving as foundation were making their way
back into the earth. Once sturdy and proud, cabin Imperium had shrunken slowly,
caving further and further inward with each passing year. Its roof drooped and
the windows sagged like the eyes of a tired old man, its open door his gaping
mouth. Inside of this mouth was a place both wretched and wonderful, so dirty
yet more welcoming than a hug. At the moment, however it seemed far less
welcoming; the “DO NOT ENTER” signs and rows of “CAUTION” tape surrounding it
were enough to frighten off even the bravest young camper. Standing from afar,
my heart ached at the sight of it, at the unfortunate state of a place I once
thought of as home. At Chimney Corners Camp, the belief was not that the old be
respected and commemorated, but that it be forgotten and abandoned. Once
Imperium had been deemed “potentially unsafe and too old” by the camp’s
leaders, it had been vacated and left to rot. Knowing that no new campers would
again know it’s glory the way that I had, I couldn’t help but pity the poor
thing. Despite my counselor’s calling for lunch, my hunger for Imperium
had grown, and I found my sunburned legs driving towards it.
Stepping carefully up creaking steps, I
peered inside. Dark as ever, the inside reeked of soil, mold, and summers
passed. Bright curtains had once separated counselors’ bedrooms from the
campers, but now they lay torn and faded on the floor. Through the dirt and
grime, the yellow ducks on the fabric were still visible, and I was pleased to
see that their sweet eyes had survived the abuse. The four corners of the cabin
were where the bed frames lay, decorated with scratchy ink and deep gouges.
These initials belonging to me, and to those before me, and to those before those
before me, smiled out at the world as new and fresh as the day they were
carved. From the faded “Sammy wuz here” to the bold “G.S. Rules,” each were
precious gems. I fell face first on the bed in the far left corner, breathing
in the musk, bug spray and sweat. Torn and well loved, the mattress beneath me
felt softer than cashmere and far more comforting. Turning around, I gazed at
the ceiling, my eyes trailing up and down the rusty nails and mold. Across the
cabin hung a hunk of varnished wood, crimson red letters I-M-P-E-R-I-U-M
engraved in. The curves of the P, R and U had been spared, but the straight
portions of other carvings had become homes to silky cocoons, the thin threads
clinging to the wood like a child to its mother. A frayed rope wove through
sloppily drilled holes and draped over the loose nail on the chipped window
sill. The windows themselves were no longer transparent; the years had come
with dirt, squashed bugs and occasional food fights. Silver duct tape had been
plastered over several panes, and dried mud was caked in the corners of the
rest. The bottom of one window did not touch the sill, and the gap between them
had once welcomed swarms of mosquitoes driven by their thirst for the blood of
young girls. I thought of the many nights I had spent wrapping my body in
fabric like meat in a tortilla, praying that the layers would keep the bugs
away.
Picking myself up from the bed, I reached out for the bedpost where I
knew my name had been. “Jessye.” I ran my fingertips over the scratchy surface,
and paused when I noticed that beneath it, someone had messily scrawled “smells.”
I laughed then, my laughter shaking me until I fell on the floor, feeling the
ground that I had loved so much beneath me. Each cracked board oozed with tales
to be told, and every splinter was a memory. And now, “Jessye smells” was a
part of it. One day, when the place was reduced to rubble and mud, I hopedto
look back on this day and remember that, and remember the wonder that was cabin
Imperium.
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