The next couple of days I was floating. I did everything I could think of to please Randy. I had his coffee waiting for him at breakfast. He commented on a lanyard I’d woven. I made him one like it, and he wore it for his pool keys. I loved seeing him swinging it on his fingers as he walked around the pool deck – in his tight red trunks, with his golden tan and curls. He admired a neckerchief slide I’d carved. I made him one, and left it at his dinner plate. I really didn’t want acknowledgment – just to know he was pleased.
I had to leave camp overnight for my college day on campus. It was a good day – I got my preferred classes, my preferred dorm, and tried out for, and made, the premier performance singing group. I got back to camp just after supper.
Randy was playing cards in the dining hall. Ricky, a kitchen boy, was sitting by him, laughing at everything Randy said and did.
Rickie was so cute he was almost angelic. Just 15 years old, it was his first summer on camp staff. He was built like a wrestler, and had nothing to hide in the showers, but he wasn’t cocky or strutting.
I sat near and watched. Randy finally noticed I was back and asked how it had gone. I told him it went well, and he turned back to his game. John, another counselor, was there, and said, “(insulting pet name), why are you going to cow college?” I answered, “Well you go to Polytechnic, and it’s all boys!” He responded, “I’m transferring to State.” Randy said, “Yeah, we’re gonna have a really good time with John on campus.” Randy went to State. He was a theatre major. I said, “Well, I auditioned for the premier performance group, and I made it.” Randy said, “Big deal. The song and dance group at State is SO much better.” Suddenly I didn’t want to go to my chosen college any more.
The rumor mill reported next morning that Ricky had gone with Randy for a midnight swim. The next day, it was another kitchen boy. And Ricky and that boy had an argument that morning. Ricky seemed hurt, and pouted the rest of the few days left in the season. Many years later, I found out Ricky and Randy had had a wank together at their midnight swim. It was Ricky’s first time doing anything. He thought he was in love with Randy. He was very religious. When Randy moved on, Ricky was devastated, eventually leaving Scouts, later turned to drugs, and never got over what had happened at camp.
I went home and announced to my parents that I wasn’t going to “cow college”. I’d decided I’d go to State, with John and Randy. My father didn’t speak to me for six weeks. He acted as if I’d never existed. My mother desperately moved mountains to get me enrolled at State.
Finally, as my parents were taking me to college (a three hour drive on country roads), my father spoke to me, saying, “Just one piece of advice. Don’t dip your dipstick in every cesspool in town.”
My first night on campus at State I met with a counselor and planned my schedule. I told her I was majoring in theatre. She asked about my experience. I hadn’t been in school plays since junior high, but I HAD performed in a two voice operetta with a girl I met through my voice teacher. She lived in the small city an hour away. We performed for every women’s club and civic club in three counties my senior year, so majoring in theatre wasn’t so far fetched. But my reason for being there wasn’t college. It was Randy.
He lived in a campus student Christian house. He led all the singing in group gatherings – a real troubadour/pied piper. I spent every free moment there. When Randy wasn’t around, George took me under his wing (George’s story is next). When I decided to ditch the dorm and moved into the Christian house, George helped me move. After just a few weeks, Randy left campus for student teaching. He stayed with a family he’d met at camp. They had two teenage sons, both big white-blond boys, and Randy stayed in their room with them. He later joked about jacking off together. He bragged he taught them both how much fun they could have.
As the semester progressed, I began to sink into the depression of knowing that Randy had moved on, that I was a fool for coming to college at State, and I finally stopped going to class. After midterms, I dropped out. I stayed on campus, lived at the house, worked fast food (I had no money), and cut off all ties with my family.
At Christmas I finally went home. One day after Christmas, Randy called and invited me to go skiing. I lept at the offer. He picked me up and took me to his mother’s house. We were to be joined by his friends the next day. That night, I ran a high fever and barely slept. The next day, after skiing all day, I again ran a fever, and sat in the bathroom most of the night, sure I was going to be sick. The last night, it was just Randy and I in a motel room. We’d skied all day, and we’d sweated our clothes through. Randy told me to take my shower first. When he took his, I got under the covers in my briefs and T shirt, and nervously waited. He came out of the bathroom dressed in clean underwear and T shirt. He got in the double bed, turned his back to me, and said, “You know I can’t give you what you want.” I laid there a long time hoping he’d at least backup to me, so our backs could touch. He didn’t. What I wanted was for Randy to love me. He didn’t. Next morning, his friends picked me up and I rode back home with them, while Randy stayed and skied with other friends.
I went back to State for the next term, and actually went to class. I changed my major to undecided, and spent a lot of time with George and John. I never saw Randy again. He graduated, and I later found out he stayed for his Masters and PhD. He ended being a beloved professor at a school in San Francisco. He died of AIDS in the ‘80’s, a victim of that horrible epidemic. The testimonials were all a tribute to someone everyone loved. No one said he loved them back.