Barr's Meadow: Julian's Private Scrapbook Book 1

prefatory note for the revised edition

Society has come a long way since the first appearance of this story almost ten years ago

—from unmentionable taboo to socially relevant, the subject and purpose has always been to shed light on an awkward reality: it is nearly commonplace for a young person to develop a crush on a coach, teacher, scoutmaster, priest—or a relative, cousin, or neighbor. The object of affection does not need to be in a position of authority, but he or she often is. What has remained largely in the dark and unaddressed is the adolescent’s perspective in a coming of age story that involves this awkward social taboo.

Too often the story is distorted into one of tragic loss, cruelty, melodrama or perversion. Often it is a morality tale, told by sage minds to instruct or scold; rather than help society grow and become whole, they would prefer to manipulate and control. Or, it is profiteers seeking sensational material to maximize sales. Sometimes one encounters a memoir that is tender, special and sympathetic. Those come closest to dealing directly with the subject. Perhaps that is because they are fact based.

Meanwhile, what is behind the latest story of teen suicide we see in the media? That question is never addressed—it too is largely a taboo area. Recent campaigns to deal with bullying are welcome, but they are after the fact for many, and they sidestep one of the core issues: why has this young person fallen in love with the wrong person? That question is not allowed. How then, can it be answered? It never is. Instead, it is met with the pointed finger of blind prejudice. The object of affection is condemned outright without trial or chance to offer a defense, and the youth’s views are never considered.

Often the victims have done nothing at all other than be born. They are presumed guilty because they surely will be eventually. The doctrine of original sin has been perverted and loosed on society. It is applied sanctimoniously without regulation or supervision.

Society has not allowed itself to look through the eyes of the adolescent at the needs and drives they feel. That has been outsourced to the clinical psychologists; society generally prefers to avoid it—simply wait it out and hope for the best. It is dealt with by meaningless phrases like You’ll grow out of this… or Take my word for it; one day you’ll understand… or This is for your own good…

Nothing is more annoying than being patronized. The good intent is compromised by the personal offense it gives. It is a form of cowardice. The recipient, regardless of age, is ill served—and they realize that at some point. They may forgive it eventually, making excuses or allowances—or they may resent it bitterly. The point is, the unexplained problem does not always go away; it could fester into something even more difficult to manage.

The Julian’s Private Scrapbook series takes an unusual approach to addressing this social quandary: it is a romantic comedy. Throw out the villains and bullies and the prejudices—take a look at life afresh. Maybe if we look at life without the standard societal dressings and assumptions, we can learn something that will help us get beyond this unpleasant and hostile defect in our culture. We can rediscover what in life is beautiful and natural and fun.

It is not possible of course to guard against everything. There are wildly diverging tastes and interests. To accommodate them all is impossible. There are those who regard bare ankles as obscene—others find them arousing; they are neither to most people. But this book has no special agenda; it seeks to help and to inform by looking at that taboo head on, through the eyes of the smitten. It does so by using comedy and everyday foibles, and it tries always to be honest as well as entertaining. That means it walks a fine line somewhere between the bare ankle and the style of sock fashioned to cover it.

The reader will have to decide for himself whether to read some of the passages. Everyone has his own line, ultimately. If it isn’t to your liking, skip to the next scene or put it away. It is meant to amuse and entertain while serving a social purpose, without making any apologies.

*

Before you begin reading, a word from Eldot about the style…

Here’s a heads up about a few unusual devices employed in the revised version of Julian’s story. The goal has been to maximize the reader’s ability to get inside the characters while retaining the advantage of being an observer outside.

Standard narrative practice is to place the reader either inside or out, not both: inside means using the first person

, seeing only what the character sees—usually a single character. Outside means using the

third person point of view, seeing the character and the world of the story from outside, akin to watching a film.

The original version of Barr’s Meadow

employed an experimental style that intermingled first and third person usage; the goal was to enable the reader to get an inside-the-character perspective while retaining the advantages of seeing the character from the outside. The device was not a complete success—it achieved the goal, but at a cost—it was awkward in places and to some readers, somewhat annoying.

The revision has dealt with that problem directly by employing visual clues. All first person point of view elements are in

italics

.

N

o other use of italics is permitted. If italics would usually be employed to express emphasis or stress,

boldface is used instead. In addition, sound effects are indicated by enclosing the sounds in arrow brackets: > > ... < <.

Here’s a sample, quoted from chapter 1:

He went over by the bathtub and stood on his mom’s scales. Breaking the hundred pound barrier a few months back was a milestone. Last week

he

was up to one hundred and one pounds. He always took off his clothes for this… didn’t want to fudge anything. He stood on the scale until the cylinder thingy came to a full stop. If he leaned a little one way or the other it changed quite a bit. He wiggled and wagged until it stayed in one place.

> >

thunk… thunk… thunk… thunk-thunk… < <

T

he bounce sounded soft and springy. yep. s

till 101—unless

I lean to the right a little. then it’s 102. t

hat’s about right.

He didn’t have a particular goal in mind, except to be more than 98 pounds. He wasn’t skinny or fat… just average.

The third person-first person mix is easy to see; the goal is to enhance the reader’s engagement with characters.

This technique has been utilized

in varying degrees. In many places it is not used at all, in others it is extensive. Generally,

the goal has been to get the reader into the character’s perception while keeping the ability to see things from the outside.

So when you run across this phenomenon, you’ll know what’s going on—I hope it makes the experience of Julian’s Private Scrapbook even more fun.

eBook note:

The print versions of this book utilize several fonts and font sizes that some eBook formats and readers

can not accommodate. Those are described in the note below.

In this version, all text will be presented in standard fonts.

Fonts:

Times New Roman: all narrative and character content, all third person point of view in standard Times, sentences are capitalized; all first person in

italics, sentences are not capitalized.

Optima: sound effects, noise, anything heard that isn’t or can’t be identified by quotation marks; these are placed between arrow brackets >> <<.

Lucida Handwriting: is used to indicate a dream stream-of-consciousness; this is always first person point of view.

American Typewriter indicates quoting a handwritten word, phrase or sentence.

Chalkboard is used for informational material within the novel: division contents, location descriptions such as the camp , features of buildings, and sites where the story takes place.

*

Table of Contents

Preface

Style note

Part 1: Germination

Chapter 1

Julian

Chapter 2

Mark

Part 2: Sunday

Chapter 3

Departing

Chapter 4

Bus Ride

Chapter 5

Arrival

Chapter 6

Barr's Meadow

Chapter 7

First Day

Chapter 8

Formal supper

Chapter 9

Opening Campfire

Chapter 10

First night

Part 3: Monday

Chapter 11

Waking up

Chapter 12

First Breakfast

Chapter 13

Danny in Charge

Chapter 14

Playtime

Chapter 15

Inspection

Chapter 16

Free Swimming

Chapter 17

Tom’s Move

Chapter 18

Lunch with Sid

Chapter 19

Merit Badges

Chapter 20

Lifesaving

Chapter 21

Afternoon wrapup

Chapter 22

Supper and Campfire

Chapter 23

Mark Shaves

Chapter 24

Code Green

Maps and Floorplans

Camp Walker map

Barr’s Meadow map

Scoutmasters Cabin

Waterfront

Camp Headquarters

Extras

Preview

Troop 9 Roster

Camp Walker Staff

Glossary

Song Credits

Index of Names

A word about the author

Reviews

Key to Symbols

*

Part 1: Germination

1 Julian            2 Mark

Julian

Forrest can hardly wait: he is about to become a teenager at last. He and his mother live in a modest bungalow on Holly Street. Seven years ago they moved here from Joliet, Illinois. After an unpleasant divorce, Francine and her

infant found sanctuary at her childhood home.

In the spring of 1952 her elderly parents passed away. It wasn’t a surprise when her mother went, but a few weeks later her father, as if duty bound, joined his cherished wife. Fortunately, they left Francine with enough to get a fresh start. She moved with her child that summer, just after his fifth birthday. She needed to break with the past, and she wanted her son to grow up in a safer place, free from urban perils and influences.

A close friend she met in college offered an opportunity to join her real estate firm. Geraldine lived in a small

town in central North Carolina—

just the kind of environment Francine was looking for. The local parish of the same church her family had been in for generations welcomed her, and soon she established herself in the community.

The popular scoutmaster of the boy scout troop sponsored by their church resides several houses down the street.

Mark Schaefer is a manager in Oglivy

& Tucker’s Emporium, a locally owned department store. His wife of three years is a registered nurse, studying to become a physician.

It is spring, 1960. The events described in this segment take place almost two years before the main story.

**

1

Julian

Julian Forrest stood on the small stool and examined his face in the bathroom mirror. The bright bulb on each side made it possible to see details very clearly. He was checking to see if there was any sign at all of a whisker. He wanted to be the very first to notice such a thing. Slowly he slid his

fingers along the left cheek.

hmm… still perfectly smooth…

He figured he’d feel something

, maybe little bumps when the whiskers were on the way. He tilted his head upward to examine under his chin.

where will they show up first?

That was not a question he wanted to ask anyone. Being so undeveloped was bad enough without drawing attention to it… but it had to happen pretty soon, didn’t it? He was almost thirteen years old.

I’m as good as thirteen… The sound of his voice sounded strangely loud in the small room. Julian enjoyed talking to himself sometimes. It helped him sort things out… and he could say whatever he wanted when nobody else was around.

Only five weeks to go, then he’d be thirteen for real

.

and, I’ll be in the eighth grade next year.

finally.

He smoothed the gentle wave above his eyes. He liked how it looked, actually—his hair was light blond. His deep brown eyes and blackish brown eyebrows were special, according to some people.

what’s the big deal about that?

They said it was unusual with blond hair like his. That’s what the moms said, anyway. All the moms said he was

beautiful.

Blaah! He made an ugly face at himself and poked out his tongue.

All through grade school he had to put up with them always making a fuss over him. He got fed up with it; they’d come over and visit, sometimes one at a time, sometimes two or three at a time. There was never any place to hide. They always made him stand there and listen, and pretend to be pleased and say nice things back, and report on this and that, and tell what he was good at in school or who his favorite girlfriend was. It was worse when he had to go someplace with his mom... then he was stuck; he had to stay there as long as she did. Finally, all that tapered off this year… now he could pay attention to things that interested him, like making model planes, and cub scouts. The more the ladies let him alone, the better he liked it.

Mrs. Harris did talk one time about his beard; she thought when it came in it would be blond, like his head.

hmm…

He tightened his upper lip by pulling it down.

nope. n

othing there yet, either… I wo

nder if Mrs. Harris is right. p

ersonally, I’d like it to be dark brown like my eyebrows

. h

mm…

He just noticed the area of very fine hair in front of his left ear.

almost white.

He turned his head back and forth slowly…

interesting.

disappears from view if the light isn’t just right.

He stroked the one just like it on the right side—

so fine it’s hard to feel it at all... G

eraldine calls it peach fuzz. m

aybe those teeny hairs are like baby teeth or something… maybe that’s where the whiskers will appear first.

He frowned at that idea… did that mean his whiskers would be white?

He was pleased right now, because he had just checked his height. Another eighth of an inch was all he needed to make five feet. He kept track of this by using his mom’s hand mirror. He had marked the feet and inches on the doorframe of his closet, and when he held the mirror just right, he could see how he was doing. He hoped to make five feet by his birthday. He intended to reach six feet eventually. Then he could stop using this silly stool, for one thing. He was growing fast. His mom clucked her tongue about his pants getting too short already. She thought he should wear them out first, at least. She

really

moaned about the shoes.

the last two pairs are still good, except for being too small

. But she was pleased all the same. He loved it when she complained about things like that, because it showed that she was pleased without doing all that gooey gushing she did with the other moms.

He went over by the bathtub and stood on his mom’s scales. Breaking the hundred pound barrier a few months back was a milestone. Last week

he

was up to one hundred and one pounds. He always took off his clothes for this… didn’t want to fudge anything. He stood on the scale until the cylinder thingy came to a full stop. If he leaned a little one way or the other it changed quite a bit. He wiggled and wagged until it stayed in one place.

> >

thunk… thunk… thunk… thunk-thunk… < <

T

he bounce sounded soft and springy. yep. s

till 101—unless

I lean to the right a little. then it’s 102. t

hat’s about right.

He didn’t have a particular goal in mind, except to be more than 98 pounds. He wasn’t skinny or fat… just average.

He stepped off the scale and look

ed down again. That wagging felt good. He did it some more.

I’ll get a stiffy

if I keep this up. m

ight as well… Mom won’t be home for another couple of hours.

He watched it grow as he wagged back and forth slowly. He swung it in time with the song that was playing on the radio in the kitchen; his mom always had that playing whether she was home or not. She said it scared away the burglars. Julian smiled… his mom h

ad some funny ideas sometimes.

I bet nobody else in town is all that worried about burglars.

He raised his arms and watched the magical transformation take place. He liked the way it felt when his dick grew hard. He wouldn’t mind if it felt like that all the time, actually… ooo… it’s poking straight out already

.

amazing how much larger it gets.

Julian had just begun puberty. At first he didn’t understand what was going on with that. But then he listened carefully to some of the things the other bo

ys, the big boys, joked about.

boy, it’s lucky I started Junior High when I did.

Now it made sense; since he learned how to jack off, he understood a lot more. Doing that had become a favorite pastime, in fact. He paid close attention now; listening to the older guys talk

in P.E. class and during lunch wa

s a good way to pick up something new like that. Most times they didn’t know he was even listening. He tried to be cool and not be noticed. That’s one secret he had learned: stay alert and pay attention, and keep his mouth shut. Some things they talked about still didn’t make any sense. He figured that some day he’d find out all about it. So far he didn’t know anybody among his friends who

paid attention to such things.

they aren’t ready yet, probably.

His dick was completely hard now—just as Sixteen Tons finis

hed on the radio. T

rying to keep time was fun—actually, that song is kind of comical for this.

He went back to his bedroom to get his ruler. He placed the end against his tummy and leaned it against the tip.

just about… four and a half… no, it’s four and three quarter inches long.

He pushed it down…

five and one half that way

. Next he put the end down at the bottom and rolled it up along the outside to the tip. That measurement was five and five eights from the sack to the tip… no big change there either.

so if I average the

two, I’m five and a… quarter? c

lose enough.

He measured this every month, at least.

it’s very thick now when it gets

hard. h

ow do you measure that, anyway?

He wrapped his fingers around; his fingertips still went all the way around at the very bottom.

how large is it going to get?

He had seen a few of the big kids a couple of times at PE; some of them made his eyes pop out. And they weren’t even stiff. Where did it go when they put on their shorts? They were hairy down there, too. He never got to look up close, of course.

man, when mine isn’t stiff, it practically disappears, even without shorts on.

He sat on the edge of his bed and picked the hand mirror back up… one side magnified things. He lifted his left foot up onto the bed and held the mirror just right, under his bent knee. He had a few hairs there, but nothing that counted… real fine soft ones, super short… almost invisible

—they’ve been there a long time. kind of like the ones on the side of my face, only a little longer and more spaced apart.

ooo!

a few new ones... real tin

y, but dark like my eyebrows. t

hat’s a good sign.

You sure take your time!

do they make anything that makes them grow faster, like lawn food or something?

He ran his forefinger across his sack.

ooo!

That made his

stiffy bounce… that’s fun.

It tickled if he touched the hairs too softly.

He chuckled; now Perry Como was singing away in the kitchen, putting stars into his pocket, completely unaware of what was going on in Julian’s room

. He enjoyed this weekly inventory ritual.

why is the skin dow

n there so different, anyway? s

ometimes it’s so thick and wrinkly.

He flipped the mirror and looked.

huh.

without a magnifying glass, I have practically no hair on my body except on top of my head.

The only place that fact bothered him was at PE Class.

at least I’m not the only one who’s still mostly bald down below.

s

hould I jack off or not, now that I’m all ready? I’m shooting bigger blobs

now

… one of these days I’ll measure that, too. I wonder if I could ever shoot a cup full. I’ll make that one of my goals. well, maybe not a whole cup… he giggled. that would take more than my two balls could ever hold.

He was

able to shoot twice a day sometimes. He stroked himself a few times. He was curious about how much others shot, especially those big guys. He was too chicken to ask anyone about that kind of thing. He figured he’d hear about it eventually if he paid attention. He looked down as he pulled the skin up past the sensitive edge at the top…

why does it curve up, anyway?

He decided to wait and do this later. He wasn’t in the mood right this minute.

besides, Mark will be coming home soon… I have to be in position.

Julian always watched Mark get off the bus and walk to his house at the end of the block. Somehow, the day wouldn’t finish right if he missed seeing his hero arrive back home safe and sound. He pulled on his red and brown striped T-shirt; it was one of his favorites.

mmm

. It felt good when he pulled on his skivvies with a

stiffy

going.

oh— H

e grabbed the hand mirror.

what does th

at look like from a distance? h

mm… nothing to brag about.

Sometimes his

stiffy didn’t show at all, which was lucky

if he was in the wrong place.

better finish dressing—hafta return the hand mirror to mom’s dresser and grab the small stool from the bathroom.

The thing he didn’t like about his mom’s room was the smell of that powder stuff she used. She had a bunch of other

uggy

things too, but she kept them covered up, at least. He put the mirror down on the dressing table where she always kept it—right next to that powder puff thing.

p.u

. This is one room where he never lingered.

He stopped off at the bathroom for the stool and hustled out to the front room. His viewing position was next to the drape on the left side of the picture window.

I love this drape

. When he was little he could hide behind it completely and fool his mom. He did that a lot, until one day she saw his toes poking out from under.

haven’t played that game in a long time.

He had the pattern memorized—magnolias, ingeniously woven into the thick fabric. The light blue color was like being out under the sky… he placed the stool close to the window and began his daily vigil.

Julian first saw Mark in church one Sunday when the whole scout troop went together; they always did that on the first Sunday of the month. The scouts got to carry the flags in the procession. He never forgot that. Soon after, he joined Cubs. Mark looked so tall and imposing. Julian knew his name because he heard all the scouts call him Mark; Julian didn’t know his last name. For a long while Julian fantasized about him, wishing he were his father. The reason was, he saw him getting off the bus every day when he came home from work. He saw a movie one time that made him feel so good—it had a scene like that. The father tipped the hat up on the back of his head, picked the boy up and swung him around…

like Grandpa used to, sort of.

That was one thing he had never been able to do, of course, greet his father—except in his imagination.

He learned Mark’s schedule by heart: he went to work before Julian was up, even. He rode the bus both ways, and got home at 4:30 p.m. Julian always waited at the window to watch him come home. He didn’t know where Mark worked, but he was always dressed up in a suit and tie. For a long time, he had the urge to run up to the bus stop and give Mark a big hug and bring him home, like that boy in the movie. He didn’t dare, because Mark didn’t even know who he was. One time he found out that Mark already had a wife, so he gave up that idea. But he still liked to think about it sometimes. He liked it best on the hot days, because Mark always had his suit coat flopped over one shoulder and his shirtsleeves were partly rolled up. That looked cool.

Julian looked over at Grandpa’s wall clock: fifteen minutes until the bus is supposed to arrive… better stay put. One time he missed it because the bus was early, and that was on a Monday like today. The whole day went bad after that. He decided to sit and daydream while he waited… the radio is too loud; makes it hard to think. I’ll leave it alone for now.

>

>

Que sera, sera; whatever will be will be…

<

<

they must play that one every hour.

He liked it well enough, except they kept repeating the same words so much it kind of got boring.

I’ll turn it down after Mark gets off the bus—just a little; the burglars will still be able to hear it.

Sitting on the stool felt neat; about half as high as a chair, the green paint had some chips and scrapes, but was still strong as could

be.

which is surprising, since I made it myself almost three years ago.

That was

his

first year in Cubs.

this year is okay, but now that Larry is gone i

t’s boring a lot of the time.

Julian could see his knees reflected faintly in the window. hmm... my knees seem to be sort of flat and wide when I sit like this—they aren’t pointy like some knees I’ve seen.

Larry’s were sort of pointy, come to think about it.

I

sort of like the pointy ones. oh well. t

hey don’t look so bad when I have pants on.

They made a good rest for elbows.

Luckily, this window goes almost to the floor—

It made watching for Mark easy.

When he was little he used to lie on his tummy and peek over the windowsill.

Julian lived with his mother. His father had gone away when he was only a baby. Julian had never met him and had no idea where he lived…

he’d

never seen a picture of him, even. The only thing he knew for sure was that his father had given him his unique name. He had never met anyone else who had his name, and he liked that. He didn’t know for sure, but he didn’t think he was named after his father; he wasn’t ever called a junior, at least. Sometimes, he wondered if he looked like his father. No one ever said. He figured he might, since he didn’t look much like his mother, except for the color of his eyes. One time he asked her about it and she put him off. She didn’t want to talk about his father at all. It didn’t bother him much, really, except that he’d met some of his friends’ fathers, and they were pretty cool. But his mom was super cool herself, so he figured he was pretty lucky, overall. Still, it would be nice if she had—well, a husband. It couldn’t be Mark, of course; but maybe she could find someone. She was lonely at times, even if she tried to pretend she wasn’t. She didn’t wan

t another husband, though; that was one of those things he didn’t understand yet.

His mom was an Assistant in Geraldine’s real estate office. one day she’s going to be an agent herself.

Geraldine wa

s a friend of his

mom’s from college; he was supposed to call her Aunt Geraldine, which he did just to please her. Might as well, since he didn’t have any actual aunts. She was real nice, but sometimes she could be annoying— she likes to pet

me on the head all the time. she likes my hair. w

ell, hers is sort of… stringy.

A lot of strays were always waving loose under the bun in the back.

she probably can’t see them.

Sometimes she dyed it different colors—it was probably sort of brown, naturally. Last time he saw her it was a deep red brown, like

his

mom’s big cedar chest. Luckily, she didn’t ask

his opinion about it.

i

t’s nicer to be home after school. I can do stuff I want, like making model airplanes. His mom always left her office to pick him up after school. She dropped him off at school each morning too, so he never walked there. But she usually had to go back to work, though, like she did today. At first she used to take him to her office, but there wasn’t anything for him to do. Four hours was a long time, too. He was sort of a pest, probably. He filled up all the coloring books they had, which maybe was a bad thing. There wasn’t anything left for the kids who came in with their parents. So, she gave up on that idea, and brought him home after school and went back to the office. She came back home around six o’clock in the evening on those days. The rule was that Julian had to be in the neighborhood after school. she’s a fanatic about that, for some reason.

He had to be at home, or with one of the neighborhood kids who had a mom there.

trouble is, all the kids around here my age are girls

.

He

got tired of playing with them a long time ago.

all they ever want to do is pla

y Dress Up, House, or Doctor. t

alk about boring!

Once in a while he could talk them into a cartoon show on TV. Somebody said those would be in color real soon now.

I’d just as soon stay at home and work on hobb

ies and cub scouts and stuff. i

t’s been over a year since I had to go over to Lucy’s.

What a relief. Her mom had a real tizzy the time Lucy got into her makeup and perfume.

ug

and p. u! w

hy do girls like

that stuff, anyway? h

er cat’s okay, fo

r a cat. I like dogs better. maybe someday mom will get us a puppy. I bet she’d like it, once it was here a while. the boy across the back fence has a dog. I like to watch them play in their back yard sometimes

.

On Sundays he and his mom went