Camp damascus, p.15
Camp Damascus, page 15
“Rose Darling,” the man sighs, my own name falling from his lips in a moment so unexpected it almost bowls me over.
Other than Ally, not a single person from the assignments list has recognized who I was, and none have reacted with this much genuine tenderness.
There’s also a sliver of apprehension.
An image flashes through my mind, some tiny fragment of memory breaking loose from the greater blockage. I see this man with a sunburst acoustic guitar on his lap, his mouth open wide as he belts out a song to captivated campers. I’m watching from across the fire pit, equally swept away by his triumphant music.
The vision disappears just as swiftly as it arrives, but the feeling remains: Friendship.
“You remember camp?” the man asks.
“A little.”
“How was it?” he continues, welling up a bit.
I’ve been plodding through this journey like a disembodied spirit: no family, friends or community left to remind me that I actually exist. I was starting to think I might’ve just disappeared completely, a phantom in some endless loop of unfinished business.
But I’m not a ghost, and someone who knows that has finally caught sight of me. Whether or not I fully recognize him in return is inconsequential.
“Not great,” comes my understated reply, our conversation now a macabre inside joke.
Suddenly, my conscious mind takes the back seat as my emotions propel me forward, marching through the space between us and wrapping my arms around this unknown man in a powerful embrace. I can’t help it as I begin to cry, letting it all out in a flood of blubbering tears. He holds me in return, pulling me close and enveloping me with his presence.
We stay like this for what seems like forever.
* * *
Saul places a glass on the large wooden table, then begins to unscrew the cap of a dark brown bottle. The sour scent of alcohol wafts across me when the top pops off, offering notes of the cleaning solutions I might find under a sink.
“What is that?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
“Whiskey,” he replies.
I have little experience with hard alcohol, but if it’s all this pungent then I’m truly shocked by the worldwide popularity. The scent is only slightly less atrocious than that of coffee.
Saul turns to place the bottle back in his liquor cabinet, but stops abruptly. He swivels back to face me.
“You want some?” he asks. “Kingdom Kids are always two years older than their grade, right?”
“I’m twenty,” I state, “and no thanks.”
Saul nods and smiles as though touched by my response. He places the bottle back where it belongs, then stands for a moment. “So what do you drink these days?” he continues. “Still having root beer keggers?”
A flash of memories from my days in the congregation washes over me, recalling all the parties that felt wild and free despite existing tight under our parents’ thumbs. It seemed very wholesome at the time, but remembering those people now makes me nauseated.
“Not anymore,” I reply, shaking my head before stopping abruptly. “Actually, do you have root beer?”
Saul laughs. “Yeah,” he admits.
“I’d like one, please,” I say, prompting my host to head off into the kitchen.
As Saul clatters around in his fridge I take in my surroundings, my eyes working their way curiously across the dining room of the ancient farmhouse. This place was built to house a large family, but the windows have grown dusty with neglect and the peeling wallpaper is well past the point of salvaging. It’s nothing but a skeleton now.
Saul returns with an ice-cold bottle of root beer, freshly uncapped and fizzing gently.
My host sets the beverage in front of me then returns to his seat across the table, flopping down casually. He still can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face, basking in the presence of his old friend.
“How much do you remember about Camp Damascus?” I ask.
Saul considers this, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip from his glass. I continue observing him during this quiet moment, making note of the little details I hadn’t noticed from afar.
For one, Saul is absolutely covered in tattoos, the dark and intricate markings running down his arms and up his neck. His nose is pierced with a single ring on the right side, but his ears are chock-full of glinting silver and gold bars. The man’s black T-shirt features a band’s logo so distorted by violent spikes and spires it has become unreadable, and below this is a graphic depiction of vile, gore-soaked carnage.
I can’t imagine seeking out the friendship of someone like this with my earlier mindset, yet here we are.
“I remember a lot,” Saul finally replies, “but it’s hard to tell what’s missing, you know? Seems like every day I catch a glimpse of something new.”
I nod, understanding precisely what he means. I’m on a quest to gather information and fill in the blanks of my memories, but it’s frustrating to have no idea how large a hole I’m patching. It’s like struggling to construct a puzzle without understanding the edge that borders it. The picture could be ten pieces wide, or ten thousand.
“I remember you,” Saul continues, cracking a smile. “You’ve changed.”
I laugh instinctively, then hesitate. “What do you mean?”
Saul considers his words carefully. “When’s the last time you took a shower?” he finally asks.
In my previous world of youthful drama and high school politics, I might’ve been offended by this, or at least gone through the motions and pretended to be. Now, I just take his question at face value.
I take a lock of my own hair and hold it before my face, inspecting the ratty blond tangles. “I slept in my car last night,” I admit. “We were friends?”
“Yeah, we were friends,” Saul offers, then hesitates slightly. “I was your counselor.”
This revelation hangs in the air between us, settling as we sip our drinks. I briefly consider anger, but the feeling passes quickly. Saul is tethered to a demon, just like I am.
“I didn’t know,” he assures me, an emotional weight in his gaze that’s difficult to fake.
“Okay” is all I can think to say.
We’re both giving this our best shot, but it appears brief mental flashes of some previous relationship aren’t quite enough to cut through the awkwardness of strangers reuniting.
Suddenly, I tense up as a cold gust of air washes across my body, reacting to the stimulus in exactly the way I’ve been trained.
Pachid.
Something’s not right, a break in the pattern. I erupt in a flurry of calculations, desperately wondering how this could happen while my mind remains free from impure thoughts.
“You good?” Saul asks, noting the concerned look on my face as my eyes dart across the room.
Eventually, my gaze finds its way to a gaping hole in one of the dining room windows, the glass corner broken just enough to let in a chilly gust of air.
“I’m okay,” I reply.
Saul looks skeptical.
“What about you?” he continues. “What do you remember?”
“I remember the ceremony,” I state. “That’s about it.”
Saul’s eyes widen. “You remember the tethering ceremony?” he repeats, shaking his head. “I’m glad that’s one of the few parts that hasn’t come back to me yet. Hopefully it never will.”
“Yeah” is all I can offer.
Saul nods, his expression changing slightly as a heartbreaking realization washes over him.
“Listen,” he finally blurts, leaning forward. “I know why you’re here, because I did the same thing for way too long. You’ve gotta drop it and move on.”
I laugh. “There’s nowhere left to move on to.”
I can tell this simple response cuts my host deep, chilling him to the core. He seems viscerally unsettled by my words, thrown off course a moment before pulling himself together.
“I’m serious,” he finally continues. “When I started remembering things I wanted nothing but justice. I read everything I could find on Kingdom of the Pine, just devoured the literature. I looked up old biblical texts. I even broke into three churches hunting for documents.”
“You’re way ahead of me.” I laugh. “I’ve only done one.”
Saul sighs loudly. “Well, keep it at that,” he suggests. “There are no answers, Darling. Once they’ve got you tethered, there’s no going back.”
“But what is tethering?” I ask. “If you know there’s no escape, then you must have a pretty good idea how it works.”
Saul hesitates, staring off into space. “You’re the one who actually remembers it,” he finally counters. “Why drag me back into this? What else could I possibly offer?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, growing a little frustrated. “Listen, I understand this whole thing has become too much for you, but I’m not there yet. I’m still trying to sort it out, so if there’s anything I should know, just tell me.”
Saul straightens up a bit. He takes another drink of whiskey, but it’s not the same casual sip as before. This time he downs the whole glass, as if to get that out of the way so he can focus on delivering his information. “Tethering means possession,” he states bluntly. “It’s demonic possession.”
“But the church is doing it!”
Saul shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “Kingdom of the Pine runs Camp Damascus, the most successful ex-gay conversion therapy program on the planet,” he expounds. “This whole city, whether it’s the congregation or the tourism or just local traditions, it all revolves around the success of that program.”
I’m listening closely, nodding along.
“Have you ever stopped to ask yourself how Camp Damascus is so successful?”
The official answer is that it “just is,” and they can get away with this nonresponse because the numbers speak for themselves.
There are several rumors, however. One theory is the program relies on cutting-edge cognitive studies, developed with the help of Pastor Bend’s Silicon Valley business connections who would rather remain anonymous. Using huge swaths of online data, they’ve determined exactly what steps one can take to remain pure.
Another theory is Prophet Cobel left behind additional sacred texts, a trove of hidden documents containing secrets of the universe from Jesus himself. These informational writings provide the congregation with a leg up against our competition.
Of course, the most common response is the classic one: it’s just God’s will.
I immediately recall these answers, tired regurgitations of congregation propaganda, then push them aside. “I have no idea,” I finally admit.
“The church is invoking their own possessions,” Saul explains. “They assign a demon to each member of their program—a watcher to keep every graduate in line. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
I nod, picturing Pachid’s filthy, broken grin.
Saul climbs to his feet, heading to a study in the next room and calling out while he roots around. “The demons will keep you free from sin. They’ll scare you away from impure thoughts and, typically, that’s enough. In extreme cases, the demons will resort to violence. Sometimes they’ll torture the one who’s possessed, sometimes they’ll eliminate the target of desire. Either way, Kingdom of the Pine has a thriving business with a spotless success rate.”
“What about you?” I retort. “You’re not a success. I’m not a success!”
Saul returns with a thick, leather-bound tome in hand. “We’re not successful conversions? Really?” he retorts with a laugh. “I’m certainly not living the gay lifestyle I envisioned.”
He’s right. While our trips to Camp Damascus have left chaos in their wakes, any shred of my homosexuality has been pushed deeper into the closet than I could’ve ever imagined. Forget acting on my desires, it’s dangerous for me to even think about them.
“But … you’re still gay,” I finally counter. “I mean, it doesn’t actually work.”
Saul is clearly intrigued by my choice of words.
“I’m still gay,” I continue, using myself as the example.
Saul nods. “You’re right,” he admits.
“How did you learn all this stuff?” I continue, overwhelmed with curiosity. “I keep hitting dead ends.”
Saul drops the weighty book on the table before me, the loud rattle making me jerk. “Spiritual study,” he reveals, returning to his seat. “Prayer.”
I stare at my host awkwardly. “Wait, after all this, you still believe in prayer? You believe in God?”
“You don’t?” Saul counters with a laugh. “There’s a demon attached to you, Darling! Are you really saying the devil is out there doing his wicked work, but now God is a bridge too far?”
I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat. He’s got a fair point. I’ve been so wrapped up in my disillusionment with the church itself that I didn’t even see what was sitting right in front of me, the mountains of evidence that something else is out there. Of course, it’s difficult to tell what that something is, but throwing out the whole cosmic realm might not be the most logical course of action.
I haven’t been pushing through this journey with as much balance as I’d like, mostly because swinging hard to the opposite side of belief feels so good right now. I’m angry, after all.
Deep down, however, I’m analytical enough to know this isn’t the best approach.
The results speak for themselves. I still haven’t found the answers I’m looking for, and it appears the missing pieces were waiting in the last place I wanted to look: the realm of faith.
“You’ve got a point,” I finally admit, “but I’m a little burned out on God.”
Saul nods. “That’s fair.”
“I’ve seen demons, but the tethering ceremony is not spiritual,” I continue. “They’re not possessing people with ancient rituals and secret prayers, they’re doing it with computers and coordinates. They have this machine…”
“A machine?” Saul repeats, his engineering brain now taking hold as he starts pacing back and forth. “What did it look like?” At this point a cartoon lightbulb may as well be flickering on above his head.
It suddenly occurs to me that Saul is having a similar revelation to the one I just had. He’s been working to unravel this mystery through a lens of faith, and he’s made great progress, but at the end of the day a complete solution has managed to elude him. His point of view is too narrow to encompass the whole mystery, just like mine was.
The key to both of our journeys lies somewhere in the middle.
“I couldn’t really see it, I was strapped to a table,” I admit. “I saw the tear, though. Some kind of hovering doorway ripped wide open.”
Saul is nodding along. “That’s how they climb through,” he blurts, synthesizing the information out loud. “They’re travelers arriving from somewhere. They phase through space.”
“Exactly,” I say, picking up the slack and offering a riff of my own. “If you stop thinking about them as spiritual entities and realize they’re just creatures, it starts to make a little more sense. Animals have abilities we can’t comprehend, like how sharks can sense magnetism. It’s beyond our understanding, but that doesn’t make them supernatural.”
I can’t help standing as the cogs in my mind begin churning at record speed. The information is coming too fast for me to sit still, joining Saul’s movements as the two of us pace around the dining room like circling boxers. He’s growing more animated by the second.
My fingers drum against my thigh.
“But they’re coming from hell,” Saul counters. “That’s a spiritual place, not a logical one. There’s no science behind hell.”
“Why not?” I retort, dropping the reins completely and allowing my mind to run wild. “According to Hugh Everett III, there’s infinite layers of reality stacked on top of one another. What we call hell might just be another layer.”
Saul bristles at the suggestion, but I push onward, surprising even myself as words continue to spill from my mouth. I’m discovering my own sense of balance in real time, testing the edges of inspiration.
“That doesn’t mean hell’s not real, or that God’s not real,” I continue. “It’s just a shift in our understanding of what that means. We’re so used to looking at these things like they’re outside the realm of science, but maybe they’re just parts of the universe science hasn’t gotten around to yet.”
While the merits of these spiritual perspectives are clearly still up for debate, at least one of my burning questions has finally been answered. I now fully understand why this long-lost friend and I got along so well, despite seeming like polar opposites. We’re both deeply inquisitive, different sides of a similar coin.
We complement each other.
This predisposition for deep analysis might also explain why we seem to be the only ones who’ve managed to remember our time at Camp Damascus, albeit faintly. We haven’t been blessed by some incredible superpower from the great beyond, we’re just curious.
Sometimes that’s all it takes.
* * *
After years in a household built around stifling my excitement and curiosity, it’s surreal to spend the afternoon here with Saul. Ideas spill out of me in a flood that ranges from diligently tested theories to half-baked flights of unbridled science fiction. We dive deep into everything we know about Kingdom of the Pine, laying it all out to understand where our knowledge overlaps, and where it doesn’t.
Saul’s right there to bounce these notions back at me, jumping in with thoughts of his own.
Like most everyone I meet, Saul’s brain is quite different than mine, but he has the same drive for understanding and analysis. He can’t help his deep craving for understanding the greater mechanics behind all things, which is likely how he’s managed to make a living repairing cars and taking shop commissions.
We’re on the farmhouse roof now, sitting just outside one of the upper bedroom windows where a gentle overhang provides space to watch the first blossoming colors of a glorious Montana sunset. Between us sits Saul’s enormous tome of biblical mystery, a book I’ve been hesitant to crack open just yet.
