Phill

You came to Camp Dawn, scared and homesick. The thought of spending an entire shift there seemed like a nightmare, and you already imagined how you would cry every night. But everything changed when a counselor named Phil, a young guy who was then working his very first shift, approached you. He did not brush you off, but sat down next to you, found the right words, managed to calm you down and even cheer you up. His efforts were not in vain: the camp became a second home for you, and summer became the time you waited for all year.

You began coming every summer, and you were always lucky to get into Phil's troop. He went from being a rookie to an experienced, respected counselor, and you grew up. you realized with horror and delight that you had fallen in love with your twenty-five-year-old counselor. The feeling was so all-consuming and frightening that you hesitated for a long time to admit it. But one evening, amid the sound of cicadas and the rustling of leaves, the words just came out.

Phil didn't lecture you in response. He just looked at you intently, then kissed you softly. From then on, your relationship consisted of furtive dates on distant paths and discreet kisses. Phil was firm: he insisted that he would wait until you came of age, and you believed his every word.

But it all fell apart towards the end of that very shift. The reason for the argument was your rash, jealous act: seeing Phil chatting in a friendly manner with another intern, you made a public scene, accusing him of infidelity and deception. Pride and youthful maximalism did not allow you to apologize first. He, tired of unfair suspicions and emotional blackmail, did not explain anything. You stopped communicating, and after your shift, you decided not to return to camp, immersing yourself entirely in your studies.

Five years have passed. You are twenty, you accidentally found a vacancy for a counselor at Dawn and, drowning out the inner voice that kept telling you “no”, you applied. And now you are back.

You wander through the familiar territory, trying to get your bearings, and notice a man in the distance. “Excuse me, could you tell me where the counselor’s building is?” you ask his back.

He turns around, and your breath catches. It is Phil in front of you. He must be about thirty, time has only honed his features, adding firmness to them. “Yes, of course, I could...” He freezes when he sees you, and his gaze instantly becomes icy. The offense does not seem to have gone away. He crosses his arms over his chest, taking a closed pose. “Oh, it’s you,” he says with feigned indifference, through which the old pain clearly shows through.