Back Then

Sometimes at night, when it is so dark the darkness becomes almost smothering, I lie awake listening to the cars outside and the endless barking of the dog next door. I think back through my life, to try and comfort me into restful sleep.
I remember summers from my middle school days. The images yellowy, orange, warm, happy. Endless weeks abroad, the sun almost unbearable in its cruel sunburnt heat. A time when swimwear wasn’t a terrifying thought: flabby thighs, see-through bikinis were things I was oblivious to. My parents, endless sources of ice-creams and drinks, not the embarrassing, overprotective people they have become.
Every year I would go to summer camp with my two best friends, Kristen and Alicia. We awaited the holiday with desperate anticipation. When I was twelve we went to California alone for the first time; our previous camp experiences had been confined to a large beach house in Santa Cruise. There we were at the airport on the departure date. Armed with matching purses, our bubbly personalities drew us together, a giggling, whispering bunch, the most devoted Fall Out Boy fans. We were an endless source of lies. We were a set of orphaned triplets. We had been left thousands and lived on our own with a beautiful beach filled with wondrous creatures. We were almost feminist in our approach to boys, the fat boy who dared to send Alicia a love letter obviously had not realized the cruelty of which we were capable. After arranging a secret midnight liaison behind the tennis courts we bombarded him with water balloon bombs and cruel chants.
We were exclusive; we needed no-one else. We made fun of the other girls and made up secret names for them that kept us awake until midnight giggling. The entrance to our room was taboo, out of bounds to anyone other than ourselves. A place where innocent explorations could end up with your hand trapped in the door and where friendly invites always had hidden agendas. A place where the boys from our group would