Volume 4, Number 2, Page 4

Marshmallow Despair

A tragic love story / parody of Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell To Arms / page waster
Previously in Marshmallow Despair: Fred is spending the summer at Camp Hedonada. He met and subsequently fell in love with Kathy Berkley. Unfortunately, she threw a marshmallow at Fred and injured him. At the infirmary, Fred was told he would have to go home to allow the wound to heal. As we rejoin the story, a doctor has arrived with a second opinion on Fred's condition.
Part II

The doctor from the hospital arrived later that day.
	"How did this happen?"
	"A girl threw a marshmallow at me."
	"Really, a girl?  Is she your girl?  Is she pretty?  I am sure that she is.
What's her name?  Whatever it is, I'm sure its a fine name.  So, she threw a
marshmallow at you.  Must really like you.  Well, you look fine.  Will you be
pressing charges?  No, of course not, if she's your girl.  But I suppose you
might want to.  She could have really hurt you, you know.  I should have a
talk with her about that.  Yes, and then things would be fine.  I'll put a
band-aid on that and you'll be fine.  But stay here overnight to be safe."
	"Thank you."

	That night Kathy came to visit me.
	"Are you all right?" she asked.
	"I am fine."
	"I am so sorry.  I didn't mean to hurt you."
	"Do not worry about it."
	"I am dreadfully sorry."
	"I was wrong.  You were exactly right."
	"You poor boy."
	"I am fine."
	"You are sweet."
	"May I kiss you?"
	"Yes."  I kissed her.
	"Do you really like me?"  she asked.  "Will you be good to me?  Help me with
arts and crafts and wait for me if I trip while we are hiking and try to
avoid hitting me with anything messy if there is a food fight?"
	"Yes," I lied.
	"The counselors will not approve of us," Kathy said.
	"As long as we stay together, they cannot hurt us."
	"They are against us.  Things will be strange for us."
	"It doesn't matter, as long as we are together."

	For many days I did not see Kathy.  I tried not to think about her.  My knee
was healing.  I played soccer and baseball and other games but my team always
lost.
	"It really does not matter who wins the games," one boy told me at dinner.
	"Are things at Hedonada any different if the red team wins or if the purple
team does?"
	"The team that loses has to clean up after dinner."
	"Perhaps both teams should simply stop playing and let the counselors clean
up."
	"That would not happen.  The team which stopped first would lose.  Then they
would have to clean up."
	"The counselors make us play these games so that they do not have to clean
up from dinner.  They never have to work."
	"The purple team cheats.  They win only because the other team does not take
a team that is purple seriously.  It is a trick."
	"It is a dirty trick."
	"The games are a joke."
	I left to clean up.

	Nights at camp were cool with the breeze from the cabin windows and the bugs
sizzling against electric lights outside and the smell of shampoo and pit
toilets and the light of the counselors' flashlights as they did bed-check
and muddy floors and muffled whispers and damp air and wrapped inside
slippery sleeping bags.  The sleeping bags rustled when we moved and so we
tried not to move to be quiet but they rustled anyway and so did the leaves.
	At night I thought about home and hoped my parents would send me food like
cookies and that the rats or the counselors would not eat it if they did send
it.
 

Look for the exciting continuation of Marshmallow Despair in next month's OUMMCBNOM!


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