Day One
Why did Mama sign me up for this choir camp anyway?! Is it because it's a holiday thing? Where we sing about Christ and Christmas and all that other stuff? Blegh. I'm not even that good. I only got put on one piece - The Twelve Days of Christmas - and everyday we're talking about each object we sing about. Today was about the partridge in a pear tree. They didn't even explain what a PARTRIDE is! The other items make sense (I guess), but what does a pear tree have to do with anything?
I really hate this camp.
Day Two
Some girl keeps eyeing me. I dunno what she expects from me, but certainly not a solo at the concert, or a serenade. Heh, maybe I'll get her a partridge in a pear tree. They talked about it yesterday - it could symbolize courtship. But I'm not looking for a relationship. Besides, we'd need two partridges and no pear trees for to make sense.
Day Three
What is the stupid difference between a French hen and a regular hen? NOTHING. Literally nothing. They're making it out to be some sort of big deal, when in reality, it's only the location of where the bird is born. Is this the reason they think the carol is French in origin, because of this one line? I swear Mama, this is not making me want to continue choir in school anymore.
Oh, and that girl? Yeah, she sat with me at lunch break yesterday. Did I speak? No, well, only one words. I was too busy eating my chicken and french fries, which I guess what to represent French hens. Whatever.
Day Four
Why. Is. This. Song. All. About. Birds. Why can't other animals be involved? I think this is discrimination against other species in the animal kingdom. Apparently there's a solo in the concert, and of course Mama wants me to try out for it. I said hell NO. I can't even sing that good, I only do choir in high school for fun, and certainly don't want to do FAITH BASED choir.
Girl and I joked about the partridge and a pear tree thing. She likes pears, but not birds, fun fact. So she'd just want a pear tree in a pear tree. Interesting concept.
Day Five
Can I sell the golden rings so I can have enough money to get out of this camp? The only saving grace right now is lunch time and Melanie. She's pretty funny, not gonna lie. She's in a similar situation like me, doesn't wanna be here, but her dad is the pastor in charge of the camp. Bless her soul, I don't know how I'd live if I had to live with a pastor.
They served pears with lunch today. Oh the irony.
Day Six
Thank god they didn't serve geese today at lunch, I think all of the kids would've riot. Although the one youth leader showed us geese memes, so I guess it's kinda okay.
They began prepping the church auditorium for the showcase, and guess what types of trees they put in?
Stupid. Pear. Trees.
Day Seven
Over halfway done, thank god. Auditions were today and somehow my name was added?! Bet you the seven swimming swans Mama emailed the director to put me on the list. Melanie thought my voice was nice, even though I knew I was only half trying.
Also found out the pear trees are fake. How lame. If you're going to decorate the church to look garish as hell, at least use the real stuff.
Day Eight
I GOT THE SOLO!? HOW?!??!
I think Mama bribed someone. I've done a couple solos before so it's not THAT intimidating, it's more of the fact I don't WANT to. Melanie and I exchanged phone numbers to send goose and milk memes during rehearsal. Almost got caught by the song director. Almost.
We're tempted to protest about the lack of real pear trees in the auditorium. She drafted a letter and everything. At least someone else thinks this is rather hilarious.
Day Nine
They brought in a dance troop to perform for us. Ridiculous. So excited for this stupid camp to be over. Found out Melanie is from a neighboring school district and is considering the same college I am, what a bloody coincidence. She told me her letter is going for an 'appeal' to her dad, wonder what that means. Maybe he's considering it? Hell if I know. I'm just here for the drama.
Day Ten
Mama wants to bring the whole family. She's happy I'm embracing our 'culture'. Religion isn't a culture but whatever. Can't wait to tell her I'm an atheist after I go to college in a couple years.
The pear trees got replaced, and some of the men dressed up as 'lords' and leapt across the room. I had to take a video for Melanie - she had to get fitted in her choir outfit.
Day Eleven
Dress rehearsal went fine I guess. I don't get nervous performing solo, I guess playing lacrosse helps with that. And you wouldn't guess what they brought in today.
Eleven god damn pipers.
Did they play the pipes well? No. Were they even pipes? No, they were those stupid recorders kids learn in fourth grade. They also told us we had a surprise for tomorrow night's concert. I wonder if it'll be a pear tree replacing the Christmas tree. Melanie joked about it and it was too good to pass up.
Day Twelve
Melanie asked me to dinner with a pear, promising it would be 'peary fun'. I wasn't expecting the pun, but it worked in the end.
Oh, the concert? It turned out as good as a youth choir could sound with someone teaching who doesn't have a music degree. Mama met Melanie and told me that I did gain a new friend from the experience, along with 'furthering my faith'.
Yeah, only one of those things was right. So I guess I am glad I came to the camp. Thanks Mama, I might owe you one.
About the Creator
Erin Grey
A creator of many different types of media - including writing! Currently a graduate student in PA, I love to write mostly science fiction work (and fan fiction - but that's on a different site). Published author - ask for more info!
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins4 days ago in Fiction
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