I don’t know where the call from the Royal Rock camp at Briarcliff Manor comes from, but some young children attributed it to a giant rock that stood on the vast lawn of a beautiful estate where the camp was located. The rock was large enough for several young people to sit at once, and it was a kind of touchstone: a safe domain to capture the flag, a position on the horizon to run relays, or a position to sit and have a snack.
It also featured a majestic view of the Hudson River. One past afternoon, he had gone down the hill alone to the rock to retrieve an overturned baseball. As I retrieved the balloon, I looked up to see that I had been followed. , illuminated by the last rays of a carefree summer day, Beth.
She about two years older than me; Maybe 14 years old, and someone who had learned had a weight on me, the first time in my life that I am aware of such a thing.
Beth seemed serious and very bossy, unlike many other women her age, she only seemed older, wiser and more mature. She was also (in my opinion) exceptionally pretty. When I heard the news, I didn’t know what to do. In fact, he was petrified. Every time I saw her now, it was difficult to function.
My first genuine crush, but I was too scared to tell him. sun. He left me speechless once or twice, smiled and waved. I blushed and walked away, dizzy.
And there, in the cool of an upcoming summer afternoon, I had dug through the rock. Her hair was still wet from swimming last afternoon. She wore blue jeans shorts and a purple-dyed blouse with a rainbow-trending thermos glued on the front.
She asked me if I wanted to sit on the rock with her and I did. After a brief moment of silence, as he searched the Hudson River, he said softly, “You know I love you, don’t you?”I just nodded. I was very afraid that my center would give up. He continued, now addressing me with eyes in his eyes. “Listen, you’re here at camp to laugh and I know I’m making you uncomfortable, so I just need you to know that I don’t need you to be nervous or anything. Possibly it wouldn’t bother you, I promise, but if you ever need to communicate or maybe stop by to see a movie or something, let me know, okay?»
I don’t think I’ve said a word all this time, nodding as my lungs struggled to find air. Achieve one side, then push back and start again.
The rest of the weeks were a bit confusing for Beth. I saw her talking to older guys (counselors) and wondered what it could have been. But she kept her word, she didn’t pressure me, even though she secretly wished I did.
On the morning of the day of the camp, she told me to find her on the rock. I nodded (I still didn’t make any sound in his presence).
I ran after the camp to the rock. A moment later, Beth was also there. He walked over, hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek, said, “Happy New Year to school,” and then walked to the car full of children waiting in the parking lot.
And that. Her perfume, tanning lotion and floral-scented shampoo floated in her hair as she watched her get smaller. He greeted the car and smiled. Then, like a mirage, it disappeared. I don’t think I’m sadder than I was then. The next school and a long bloodless winter.
There is no longer a mansion. Or campsites. Or acres of open property.
It had been almost absolutely developed. I was discouraged.
There were so many townhouses that I barely know where anything was. After learning that some of the original pine trees were still there (near where the snack bar was), I traced a path to a garden to see, incredibly, that the pool had survived; Now it did not serve as a day camp, but as the new community.
Everything else is gone.
When they returned me to my car, I saw something. There, in the component of the main lawn that was not yet built, was the rock. It was smaller than in my memory, as are the things of the afterlife. But it was there. He had survived. I went to sit on the rock, and for a while I went back to the past, an innocent and clumsy child, in the shadow of my first genuine infatuation.
The camp is gone. The view of the river from the rock had almost disappeared.
But the reminiscence of Royal Rock is rich and alive under the soft summer sun.
“Personal milestones,” places where we ourselves have done something great, learned something, grown, noticed the light, noticed the darkness: places you can revisit to relive a memory or even teach your children something about you.
As unmentionable as they may seem to the rest of the world, those places are yours, you were there, so don’t enjoy them, enjoy those places and a part of you will live there forever.
Chris Epting is the one with 40 books, plus James Dean Died Here, Roadside Baseball, Hello It’s Me, Dispatches from a Pop Culture Junkie and many more. Chris grew up in Ossining.
RiverJournalOnline is the online publication of River Journal and River Journal North, either published through River Towns Media LLC, Briarcliff Manor, NY. No component of River Journal or River Journal North, which adds photos, illustrations, advertisements and text, may be reproduced without the written consent of the publisher.
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