We're Going to the Mall, Mom.
It was at that campground that I met Bridget. She was the eldest daughter of a couple who camped there for a summer or two. She was a true rebel: sneaky and holding many secrets from her parents. I was a shy geek, albeit a pretty one. So, in spite of my geekiness, I found myself pulled into the misadventures of many a bad girl in my youth. And Bridget was one of them.
In some late seventies car, we drove in the dark, past Roeckles (rhymes with locals) General Store and toward the little bar on the shore of Lake Desolation. Tinnies. It was a place where a jar of nasty hot eggs sat fermenting on the solid oak bar. It smelled of an old camp store. There were a couple of arcade games against the wall. And they would serve beer to anyone with a few dollars in their pocket.
Though small, a live band played there that night. I’m sure it was the usual Free Bird, etc. And Bridget made the rounds while the music played. It wasn’t long before she had drawn the attention of Tim. He was a good two or three years older than us. He seemed more a college boy than a local. There were a couple of boys with him. For a million dollars, I couldn’t tell you their names or what they looked like.
But, that night, when Bridget’s mom and dad thought we were at the mall, we two teenage girls found ourselves creeping across a still, dark lake after hours. Tim and his friends beeped the horn at the shore. It was their signal that the jonboat was needed. And within minutes some other guy floated up and welcomed us aboard. Bridget, me, and some guys we did not know. Going by boat to a camp house on the other side of Lake Desolation. There was no road going there. The only way in or out was by boat or by a treacherous trek around the lake. These boys must have felt like the coolest of the cool. Bringing two pretty girls to an A-frame that belonged to one of their parents. It was there that I tasted venison for the first time. I was not impressed, but I’m sure I probably acted as if I was. Clothing remained on the entire time, and Bridget and I made it back alive. She ended up marrying Tim--but I think they got divorced some years later. (As it turns out, drinking holes are not a good place to meet husbands.)
I don’t know what ever happened to Bridget. By now, Lake Desolation has probably been filled in and built on. And Tinnies has probably long been bulldozed. But there is a moral to the story: When your teenager tells you that they are going to “the mall,” remember this story and tell them that you didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.
