An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
As the campers dispersed to their designated areas of the field, Greta hung back near the picnic table designated as the central meeting point for the camp; a couple of picnic benches, surrounded by a scattering of backpacks and lunch sacks, a few bags of gear, and two large ice chests filled with bottled water and snacks. Not explicitly given a task, she opted for helping set up stations for the after-lunch activities and preparing the customary orange slices.
However, when her task was completed in just a few minutes, she was pulled in to watching Carson lead her group of kids. They ranged in age from six to eight, their attention spans not quite long enough for sustained, meaningful ball-playing. And, yet, they listened to her. They hung onto each word like it would give them the answers to the universe. All except one, who kept running around and invading other kid's spaces, who purposely wasn't holding the bat correctly, who was throwing the balls into the field, just because.
After a few moments of continued disruptions, Carson sent the group to go practice catches and underhand throws. She stayed back with the young camper. She got down to their level. She couldn't hear what was being said, but Greta could tell the tone that Carson was using. Gentle. Inquisitive. In response came a few headshakes from the camper. Their little hand flew to their face, trying to wipe away tears.
Her mind went to a similar place as it had the day she watched the college clinic. An older Carson, still coaching, but she was kneeling in front of another child. One with pigtails and freckles, and that same dimple on her cheek…
A peal of laughter from the other group snapped Greta back to reality. She blinked, her eyes mysteriously misty, and focused on Carson again. She was still in front of the camper, but a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The camper nodded vigorously. Carson stood, and the two of them set off to join the other campers. A few steps into their journey, the camper reached up and grabbed Carson's hand, holding it the rest of the way.
Greta smiled, taking a deep breath, letting the warm feeling of pride and love and admiration fill her.
Her girl really was going to make a great teacher someday…
Greta whirled around, finding no source of the voice until she cast her gaze downward. It would take some getting used to, being around so many small humans.
"Can you tie my shoe?" A girl stood beside her, maybe five, one foot forward with the laces so wildly loose it was a wonder she hadn't toppled over yet. She had the tip of her finger in her gap-toothed mouth, biting it nervously.
Greta cocked her head. "You don't know how to tie your shoes?" she asked, not unkindly.
The girl shook her head, the beads of her braids clacking as they swung around her head. Greta crouched down to her level. She wrinkled her nose. "Well, if you're gonna be a ballplayer, you're gonna have to know how to tie your shoes." She sat on the bench of the nearby picnic table, patting the spot beside her. The girl scrambled onto the bench, looking up at her with wide-eyed focus.
Greta brought her foot up to rest across her opposite knee and pulled at her shoelace, then took a lace in each hand. The girl mirrored her exact moves.
"You ready?" Greta asked her.
A reverent nod bobbled the girl's head up and down.
"Okay, so think of your laces as two rabbits…"
Within five minutes, she had a congregation of campers -- all seemingly on a water and snack break -- surrounding her, all wanting to learn the trick that was more impressive than anything that had to do with softball.
Carson eventually ambled over to survey the commotion, trying hard to bite back a grin as she and Greta locked eyes. Greta shook her head in bemusement before going over the shoe-tying routine for the tenth time.
Once every camper was satisfied, now more engrossed in trying to out-do each other with how quickly they tied their shoes, Greta let herself indulge in some orange slices. Carson sidled up to her against the picnic table. She knew they couldn't touch -- well, shouldn't -- but the proximity to Carson was magnetizing. She handed Carson an orange slice, letting their hands linger together at the exchange a little longer than necessary.
Even if they had decided to act on their emotions the way they wanted to, they would've been swiftly interrupted by a camper -- with a chunky short bob cut and a baseball cap sporting the embroidered name of a local auto shop -- bolting toward them, skidding to a stop in front of them.
"Coach Carson! We found a ladybug!" she excitedly cried.
"Woah!!" Carson responded, with an impressive amount of enthusiasm that Greta herself would've found hard to muster.
"And we're building a house for it!" the camper continued enthusiastically.
"That's so cool!" Carson replied. "I can't wait to see it!"
As the camper ran back toward her friends, Greta leaned in close to Carson. "You're so good with these kids," she gushed. "You sure you want to be a high school teacher?" she murmured, eyebrows raised.
"You sound like my dad," Carson scoffed, though a smile pulled at her lips. She took another bite of her orange slice. A drip of juice escaped the side of her mouth, and Greta wanted nothing more than to kiss it off. "No, I like doing camps like this. It's only for a few hours during the summer. I don't have to take attendance or teach them how to add or read…"
"But you do teach them about teamwork. And sportsmanship. And kindness. I think that's just as important." Unable to resist, Greta reached out and wiped away the stray tear of juice, earning a small smile from Carson at the touch.
"Still, I like working with high schoolers. Their conversations are more interesting…"
Coy, Greta propped her elbow on her knee, her chin in her hand. "So you'd rather work with kids who are taller than you?"
Carson's mouth dropped open in indignation. She playfully shoved Greta, nearly knocking her off the picnic bench.
"Coach Carson, that's not safe touch!" A camper cried out to them. She stood, hands on her hips, an adorably disapproving scowl on her face. "You gotta use your words if someone hurts your feelings!"
The two of them gaped at each other. Then, trying not to laugh, Greta let her head drop, her hand covering her mouth to hide the smile.
Carson bumped her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, rolling her eyes.
Greta leaned in a little, just so the brims of their hats were nearly touching. "I'm sorry I said you were short."
Carson's mouth dropped open again, but this time, Greta leapt from the table, taking off at a sprint. She knew Carson wasn't far behind her -- Greta's legs were longer, but her Carson was a runner -- but she tore across the field, toward the campers. As she approached, they all stood, squealing in delight and taking off running themselves.
They played tag well into the afternoon, until horns from vans and SUVs honked at them from the parking lot, signaling it was time to go home.
Chapter 15 of 'some other beginning's end' is now* up!!!
*or, you know, it was a month ago
gummygunk
discoholicmusic
pixelskylines
2087
andulkaphoto
stormborns
annaxmalina
