Fan Fiction ❯ Atheist Camp ❯ Chapter I ( Chapter 1 )

Atheist Camp

Chapter One

 

 

By Violet Dragon

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When I was about six, I asked my parents at dinner: “Does God exist?”

 

“No,” they simply replied, barely glancing at me.

 

It's been ten years since that question, and we haven't discussed it since. God is an interesting concept—concept, in regards to the one portrayed in the Bible. I'm not sure if I believe in God, but that's what I'm writing this for, I think.

 

My name is Eric Van Poiet, I am sixteen years old, and I am half-French, part Dutch, and part Sioux. I'm not gothic, or indie, or preppy, or emo, or any certain genre of high school social status. I have five piercings. One in my left eyebrow, and the other four in my left ear. In my lobe there is one gold ring, and the other three along my ear are black or bronze studs. For some reason I hate silver. I dress mostly in black and blue, but blue is my favorite… especially if it's the deepest sky blue.

 

Some kids get a kick out of calling me “Eric the Terrible.” I don't find it so funny. I'm much more sensitive than people realize. I have three fingers on my left hand—I was born this way. I got made fun of quite a bit as a child, I was called “Wolverine clone,” “the fifth Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle,” “three-fingered freak,” “monster,” “Eric the Terrible.” There were many others, but I've tried my best to forget them.

 

I suppose I'm a bit arrogant, but in a healthy way. I love to argue with people, that pisses them off. It's probably why I mostly have acquaintance-friends, instead of true friends. My parents are both scientists and extremely, passionately in love. I guess they are where I get my passion from. We're not close, but we love each other.

 

Since I was twelve, they have been sending me to Atheist camp. Atheist camp is a camp for kids who don't believe in God, and therefore they can feel comfortable with their beliefs. The whole concept is pretty retarded in my viewpoint, but I enjoy it anyway. I've never made a friend there, but I have had some very good times.

 

That summer of camp when I was twelve, I met Dominick Jackson, the first adult to pay attention to my words and feelings. He was only there for that summer, so I probably would never see him again. But the little time we spent together I enjoyed immensely.

 

I was sitting behind a tree, crying my heart and soul out when I realized that I was an outsider. People didn't like me, and they probably never would. At least, that's how I viewed it at the time. The kids there were civil toward me, but they didn't invite me along on their escapades, or to play cards, or to go swimming, or to go peek at the girls' camps across the woods. Therefore, I always played by myself when we didn't have group activities going on; mostly I wrote stories, or knitted (yes, knitting, I said knitting). Generally I enjoyed being around people, but not when they ignored me. Dominick was different, though. He was different from all adults—he paid attention to me. I can't stress that enough! My parents were great people, but they didn't listen to me like Dominick could.

 

He came up to me and asked if I wanted to play cards with him. I stared right at his eyes, unresponsive. He stared back, and after a moment sat down next to me. I drew my knees up to my chest, my head in a whirl of confusion. He started dealing out cards and forced me to play gin with him. We sat there in silence for about an hour, only speaking of how to play gin.

 

Dominick was deemed “cool” from the perspective of the other kids. Once they saw that he was hanging out with me frequently, they became more open to the prospect of hanging out with me. They asked me to go swimming, and to go to the girls' camps with them.

 

I remember it so well when we went to visit the girls. We snuck in through the window and played spin the bottle. When it was my turn, the bottle fell on the prettiest girl. She had thick red hair, slightly curly, and soft green eyes that dominated her face. She was giggling tremendously as I leaned in and placed my mouth on her pouty lips. It was rather wet. I realized that it wasn't right… she just wasn't right.

 

On the last day of camp that sumer, Dominick gave me a very special gift. It was early morning, just before the sun rose, and we stood out by the lake at my special tree. He smiled, and pulled out a box from his pocket. It was small and wrapped in plain blue wrapping paper with a tiny white bow around it.

 

“Open it,” he grinned at me, running a hand through his orange-dyed hair.

I was, as always, unsure of this little box in my hand, but nevertheless opened it. It was a small board with three pairs of earrings on it. One pair of gold hoops, one pair of black studs, and the last was a pair of bronze studs. I still wear them to this day, as I believe I have mentioned.

 

I still have yet to find a place to put the last gold hoop.

 

“Thank you…” I whispered to him, my eyes watering. I cried a lot back then. “Why did you get these for me?”

 

He laughed. “Well, in risk of sounding cheap… they belonged to my little sister. Remember I told you she passed away a few years ago, she was about your age back then. I just thought they suited you.”

 

“They do.” I smiled at him, my young heart leaping for joy.

 

I hadn't seen him since that moment, but I know I would never forget him.

 

That day I went home, begging my mom to get my ears pierced. Or at least one pierced. She finally consented, as she was fairly open-minded, and let me pierce my left ear. Of course, I had to wait months to switch the piercing to my precious gold hoop, but it was worth it.

 

I thought about Dominick almost every day—I remember he turned twenty-seven that year on August 11th, that his sister's death happened on December the 23rd, and that he and his girlfriend's anniversary was on October the 1st. The following summer I spent quite a bit of time at my special tree, constantly thinking about him. I wanted another adult to come along and treat me like he did, that I mattered, that my thoughts and feelings and hopes and fears mattered. But they didn't come to me, and they wouldn't… not until I was an adult myself, I realized.

 

This brings me back to God. I didn't really understand him, or believe in him. I believe in love, and I believe in life. But weren't love and life what God himself really were? I loved Dominick, so wasn't God between us? I wish he were still here. When I was younger, I didn't think about God since my parents were such practical scientists, and so I didn't think to talk about him to Dom.

 

During my fourteenth year at camp, I kissed a boy. I thought the reason that I thought about Dominick so much was that I was gay. That boy… his name was Zachary, and everyone knew he was gay. We were playing spin the bottle once again at the girls' camp, and my spin landed straight at Zachary. Everyone was laughing hysterically while he blushed furiously, looking as if he was about to cry.

 

I leaned forward, and placed my mouth upon his trembling lips. I opened my mouth for him for at least a minute, while everything around us was deadly quiet. When I pulled away he was still blushing, but also grinning sheepishly. As I pulled away from him, I realized… that he wasn't right either. It just wasn't right. I realized that no man or woman would be right for me, that I needed to be by myself—I wasn't like other people in that aspect.

 

I wonder where Dom is now?