What I Did For My Summer Vacation

Poor old uncle Bone called me the other day and said, "Maddy, I think I'm losing it--did you see that Nora Sledgehammer bit?" "Yes," I replied. "What did you think?" he asked. "You mean your ingenious take on the Clinton scandal, using a fictitious phone call from Hillary Clinton to Dr. Laura as a clever means of shining your satiric flashlight into one of the darkest corners of American history?" "That's the one," he groaned, "did you like it?" ". . . I liked the title." "Fine," he exploded, "you be the Boneman this week, I need a break." CLICK!

Hallelujah, my belief in a merciful God has been restored. I apologize for using this forum as a way to get even, but you must understand--I've been wronged, and I'm going to take this opportunity to tell my side of the story--the true side. By nature, I'm not the vindictive type, but my name has been dragged through more nasty muck than an escapee from Shawshank. I seek only vindication and if it please the court, I'd like this chance to air my testimony.

To sum it up, my summer started out miserably, sucked pretty much throughout, and ended with a nightmare. This is my story, the name Tyler has been changed to Dick, not to protect the innocent, but in the interest of journalistic accuracy. It all started at the end of May when Hope--the only friend that I've managed to make since moving to St. George--came to me with this fantastic summer job she'd been offered and wanted me to come work with her. Somehow she'd worked it out that we could spend our summer vacation among the pristine pines of Fish Lake, working at the Lodge.

When asked what sort of work it was that we'd be doing at the Lodge she became a little vague, but she made it all sound so romantic, so cleansing and as I mentioned, I only have the one friend. Fish Lake . . . what the hell. After hours of driving deep into the heart of BFU, we finally arrived at this post card-looking lake place. As I gazed out across the lake I was disappointed to see that it wasn't in the shape of the fish. Leading me to the sadder conclusion that perhaps whomever named the lake, was inspired to name it thus, because they saw a fish in it. Fish Lake. Whatever, fine with me. Show me to my room.

Not more than a day after we'd arrived my friend was offered a transfer to Bear Lake. "Sorry Maddy, can't pass this up," was her lame explanation, and she was off to sail catamarans--leaving me to sell nightcrawlers to a bizzare array of people I wouldn't touch with a fly rod. For those of you unfamiliar with Fish Lake, it's a picturesque, forested setting, with a rustic old Lodge that was at one time a popular nightspot for the cosmopolitan types of Loa, Bicknell and Koosharem. It's now pretty much a rundown shell of it's former self, and for a city girl who's seen The Shining too many times, Fish Lake soon became "Hell with a view." A tiny barrack that smelled of mold and urine became my summer home. Thanks Hope, I hope you get eaten by a Bear at your new lake.

I'll spare you the grisly details of my pathetic experiences counting worms and cleaning restrooms--suffice it to say that I managed to survive the ordeal, and on my seventeenth birthday I was back in St. George. Yee haw, civilization--or so I thought. My family threw me a little birthday bash, and as I blew out those seventeen candles I made a wish that my family, (Mom, step-Dad and brother) would quit feeling sorry for me, for not having any friends--lose interest in this sad little fiesta and get lost. It worked. Soon allowed to escape, I donned my Birthday clothes and went for a drive. As I drove my sorry self up and down the Boulevard, a hot looking guy in a Jeep-type thing made eyes at me and before I knew it I'd pulled over and was talking to him.

Dick had just graduated from one of the other High Schools, so I had no idea who he was--all I knew was that he was dangerously cute, and after I let it slip that it was my birthday, he insisted on taking me to his house and baking birthday cupcakes for me. Now before you formulate any unfavorable opinions about my judgement or moral character, realize that I was a lonely insecure seventeen year old girl, and any attention payed to me at this pitiful juncture of my life was like Manna from Heaven. It didn't matter to me if Dick was looking for a sex partner or a bridge partner, I needed company.

What a surprise it was to discover that his parents were out of town--but I didn't care. I'd had my fill of adult attention for the night, and by the time I was inside his folks mini-mansion, I was in love. Like the adorable stud-muffin he seemed to be, Dick delivered on his cupcake promise. And as for myself, I must say I was in rare form--I had him laughing so hard that at one point I think he actually puked. Which was more than I was shooting for, but it was flattering nonetheless. I pretended that I didn't notice, he recovered in stride, and to put it mildly we were having a grand ole time.

He suggested we watch a video, (no harm in that), and next thing you know we were getting mighty cozy on the couch. I'll have to admit that my morale was on the upswing and every kind little attention he showed me was balm to my aching heart. Yes, we started to make out and so forth, and for a girl who'd spent her summer vacation dispensing worms to inbreeds and morons, this was pretty heady stuff.

It all seemed harmless and he was behaving himself like a gentleman so I wasn't too worried. It was getting a little hot and heavy and I'll admit I wasn't doing a very good job of discouraging his obvious advances. It all seemed innocent enough to me, and even if it didn't, life hadn't exactly been working out for me lately and Dick looked like the ticket to me. Just as I'd braced myself for the sting of Cupid's arrow, Dick's girlfriend came storming in the room.

I'm not sure what all she saw or heard, but just before she burst in, Dick was bragging about his almost supernatural ability to unhook a bra-strap with one hand. Again, I hate to give the impression that I'm that kind of girl, but I figured what the hell, a gal deserves a little magic trick on her birthday. And even after his girlfriend came raging in, I wasn't ready to let go of this fantasy world. Perhaps that's why I had my index finger clamped around one of his belt loops. Thus when Dick bolted from the couch, I went with him. The next thing you know I'm sprawled out on the carpet, and Dick has hobbled away to hide his shame. Just as I regained my bearings, his girlfriend (who I now recognized as a cheerleader at my school) dumped her 44 oz. Pepsi over my head.

What happened next is still a little blurry, but when she doused me with the soft drink, I stood up and reflexively threw an elbow that caught "Skipper"
sharply in the ribs. She yelped and dropped to her knees gasping for breath, just as two of her confused friends came running in. If they said anything to me I don't remember any of it. They just scrambled out of my way like I was Frankenstein, and I calmly made my way out of the Dick-house, and walked several miles back to my car. This was not a pleasant stroll, I wanted to kill everybody and by the time I made it to my car I suppose I was crying. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to.

Hope, my faithless friend, (she's afraid to be seen with me now), discreetly informed me that the popular version of the story going around school, involves me breaking into the house, kicking the cheerleader in the stomach and before I could be subdued, snapped several of Dick's beltloops in some sort of drug-crazed attempt to pull off his pants.

And so ended my enchanted summer. Pretty much every girl in school is avoiding me like I was some sort of crack-head nymphomaniac, but I have noticed that most of the guys are showing me a lot more interest than they did last year--bless their horny little hearts. To be honest, I don't really mind this trade off. "Damn straight," I spit on the ground and tell 'em, "you should've seen the one that got away."