Maybe one of the best things about being a third culture kid is that you learn not to make plans. In a world characterized by hopping from military base to military base, it’s a relief to not have to think about the immediate future. If only that message had gotten through to me a little sooner.
After telling him at the movies how I had never been to a baseball game, Henry suddenly makes it his mission to give me the full ‘American experience.’ Like the nerd he is, he starts right in on a list, double-siding it with all the things he’ll have to show me as an initiation for my acceptance to the nation. Apparently, being born here doesn’t cut it. By the time spring break begins to near, he’s already highlighted over twenty, arranging them into a full-fledged schedule.
Now, don’t get me wrong, we are not a couple, no matter what his brother says. Still, something about seeing how excited he is makes it all seem… special, somehow. Like it really matters that he introduces me to my first fried pickle. Even so, I should have known better than to make plans.
A week before break is when my parents, smiling, tell me their plans: a Christian third-culture-kid camp, the perfect place for military brats, missionary kids, and whoever else that has parents crazy enough to move overseas for literally any other reason. Terrific. Henry reacts a whole lot better than I do.
“It’s gonna be perfect for you, Advika,” he insists, nudging my arm as we walk down the hall. “A fantastic experience.” I don’t tell him that he’s quoting my parents from the night before.
On the first day of break, as the shuttle for the camp picks me up at the airport in Colorado, I slide into the back with a brother and sister pair. After a quick introduction, I file their names: Ben and Lydia. It doesn’t take much to tell they’re from the missionary bunch.
Now, with anyone else, this would be easier. Usually, it only takes a minute to gauge what subtle shifts might help my status, but these two unnerve me. While Lydia’s head is crowned with a bob of blue hair, Ben’s is covered completely in a bright yellow rubber duck bucket hat. I’m not kidding: blue hair and a duck hat. What kind of persona could mix the two of those?
I’m just trying to figure out what to say next when Lydia turns to look at me, her gaze direct. “Where?”
Without thinking, my mouth goes on autopilot. “Germany, Thailand, Albania, and now Florida.” After a moment, I gesture to them. “You?”
Grinning, they look at each other, Ben crossing his arms behind his head as he leans back. “Thailand.”
By the time we reach the camp, I have two new best friends.
The rest of the week is a colorful blur. I don’t shift, and not because they are all like me, but because they aren’t. For once in my life, there is no normal to shift into… no status quo. There’s something off about each of us in our own different way, yet without any of us trying–it’s like there’s a silent understanding that it doesn’t matter. A week in the future, we’ll all be back on our planes, and that’ll be it. We’ve done the drill before. We know the rules, so we don’t waste a single moment.
It doesn’t strike me how odd that philosophy must seem til the third day. Bringing her lunch tray to our table in the cafeteria, one of the local camp counselors freezes at our conversation, her face pale. Really, if anyone should be uncomfortable during a discussion of our most deep-seated fears, it shouldn’t be the one paid to deal with our baggage, but what can I say? Maybe that’s why Americans spend so much of their time on topics that don’t matter. In a life where the status quo doesn’t change, it’s easy to spend a lifetime talking over all your favorite fandoms without ever once mentioning the first time you ever heard your parents fight. Or the smell of your neighbor’s backyard in the rain. Or the moment you’d give anything to do over again. But when you know there’s just a week… it’s amazing how long a week can be.
On the last night, Lydia, Ben, and the rest of us go hiking up into the hills around the campground, raising our arms to leave our mark against the flaming sky and feeling the sunset against our fingertips. Sure, the marks won’t stay there once the night is gone, but neither will we. As we stand there, our heads tossed back, the feeling is more than I could ever put into words. It’s encompassing. Exhilarating. Real.
It’s only the next morning, however, that we begin to wake up. Gathering together in the main mess hall, we stretch the moments as people begin to leave, feeling the void with every figure walking out the door. Even though my turn is only halfway through, my eyes are already raw. Ben and Lydia are at the front of the group that sends me off, leading them out in a singing, crazed sprint behind my shuttle. I make it to the edge of the campground, still laughing. The rest of the drive… it’s more like sobbing.
By the time I’m back home, the pain has started to numb. A plane ride will do that to you. In my room, everything is the same as before – my copy of Henry’s plans is still left half-folded on the desk. Two days of break to go.
Collapsing back onto the bed, I mindlessly pull out my phone. Back in the range of a wifi signal for the first time all week, the screen is covered in messages from Henry, their familiar emojis somehow all the more numbing. Yet, just as I am about to close it again, a new message pops up at the top. A message from Lydia.
Turning so that I’m lying on my stomach, I rush to tap out a response.
Lydia: Hey, you home yet?
Me: Yeah, just got here.
You?
Lydia: Nah, we’re laid over in Vienna at the moment.
Ben says to tell you ‘quack.’
Me: Quack back 🙂
Ah, I remember being laid over once…
Lydia: Ugh!
Stinking military kids!
Grinning, I prop my elbow on the bed, pursing my lips.
Me: Hey Lydia?
Lydia: Yeah?
Me: Let’s not lose contact, okay?
After a long moment, her response comes in all caps.
NEVER!!!!!!
Smiling, I turn over on my side and fish a rubber ducky from Ben out of my pocket, reaching out to set it on top of Henry’s list. Don’t get me wrong; I love Henry. I always will. But it’s hard to go back to a pickle… after touching the sun.
Photo credit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/adventure-backlit-dawn-dusk-207896/