WA 1 Final Draft

As the plane began to move down the runway at the Traverse City airport en route to Detroit, I was suddenly glad for the excruciatingly load roar of the plane. Because of the noise, nobody could hear my sniffles and the plopping sound of tears falling on the letters in my lap. The tears represented more then the end of summer break. It was as if each tear was a memory of Interlochen that I would never have again. I was thankful that the engine could cover the screaming sounds of the stories that were streaming down my face. These were my memories, I didn’t want to share them, but most importantly, I did not want to forget them.
In the middle of June I arrived at Interlochen, an arts camp with 81 years of traditions, including uniforms of light blue polos and navy shorts, knee socks, knickers, and train-letters. It’s a camp full of aspiring musicians, actors, artists, dancers and film makers. In the entirety of the camp, all 2,000 campers, I didn't know anyone. The buildings all looked unfamiliar-Kresge and the Bowl, Stone and Corson, Pinecrest. Amidst all the fear and nerves I was feeling, I knew I really wanted to be there. Compared to the hot, heavy, humid Virginia air, the crisp Michigan air felt light and clear, like a new music to be learned. I was scared to see my parents leave; I could only hope that the girls that I would be spending 6 weeks living with would like me. As time passed, contrary to what I believed, I missed my parents less and less. I dreaded the day that they would come and take me away. The girls in my cabin who were once perfect strangers grew to love me, and I loved back. The once seemingly unfamiliar landscape and buildings became more familiar to me than Charlottesville.
Interlochen became my home, and the girls in my cabin became my family. We joked that our counselors were like our parents, and we even ventured to call them 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' every once in a while. People say that you never really get to know someone until you live with them. One girl, Lindsey Wells would leave all of her knee socks and polos around the cabin. When we tried to eat on the communal table, all we could see were clothes label on the inside collar that read ‘Wells.’ Another girl, Maryn, had to brush her eyebrows with a special eyebrow brush every morning after she woke up and every night before she went to bed. Angie never slept in pants. Ellen had to sing while she brushed and straightened her hair every morning.
When I got in the rental car with my parents at 6 am I grabbed for my envelope of train letters. I had been up for an hour already with my friends Molly and Genevieve. Throughout the summer, we had formed traditions such as frolicking to Frohlich, the piano/ percussion building, and daily rendezvous on the road after classes. We would watch all the staff walk by on the way to their cabins and talk about our days. I had an 8 am flight, so my parents were coming at 6. We had decided that on the last day, before any of us had left, we would have our final frolic to Frohlich and our final rendezvous. The time I was with my parents, I was already crying. I couldn't imagine what these letters would do to me.
Train letters are an Interlochen tradition. Your friends write you a letter telling you everything they didn't get to tell you and things they already have told you, but are bare repeating. They remind you of things that you've done together. When Interlochen began, people used to read their on the train, which is how they got their name. Now, everyone read them on the way home, regardless of the transportation. During the last week of camp, I had been eyeing the envelope with my name on it fill up with the letters. I had to resist every temptation to read what my friends had written while we were all still together. I had to wait until I left so that I could make use of every last second we had together.
The letters were packed with emotion. Like a suitcase after a long journey, there were so many memories jammed into one page. Some of them I didn’t even remember, but had made an impact on my friends. I couldn’t hold my tears couldn't hold back.
On the plane, I read the letter from Genevieve. I had stopped crying before I got to security in the airport, but Genevieve's letter did me in. Her letter was so concise, yet so intense that I just began to sob right on the spot. I'm fairly sure the man in the seat next to me did not have the faintest idea of how I felt. Genevieve has straight, a medium shade of brown hair that stops past her shoulder. She has hazel eyes, a Chicago accent and is very sarcastic. She wrote:
"Sara, I love you more then anything I've loved anything in my life. You may wonder why? You may not. Either way, I'm going to tell you anyway. You are amazing! You're super- talented, have awesome hair, are really pretty in general, are fun and funny, and are super nice. Most importantly, you supply me with a general supply of tic- tacs."
Some people wrote another type of train letter. Molly was one such person. Molly has hair resembling Rapunzel- thick, long and blonde, and a quick wit. She wrote about memories of some of the things that we did together:
"Who will I rendezvous with? Who/ where will I frolic with/to? Whose iPod will I borrow? Who will I eat with at Stone, fantasize about the reading orchestra, sing Company with, get kicked out of Corsen and DeRoy, follow the guy who thinks he's my teacher's potential lovers and be crazy with?"
The memories made me smile and feel good, but the tears were still flowing because I knew that we could never frolic to Frohlich or rendezvous in the road with Molly anymore. We wouldn't be able to make any new stories or continue any traditions that we had formed.
When I got off of the plane, I had read a dozen or more letters. By the time I landed in the Detroit airport, I had regained my composure, with only bloodshot eyes and a flushed face to hint at my previous state. I checked my phone, and it said that I had a voice mail from Jane, my viola teacher from Interlochen. Jane is one the people I had grown closest to at Interlochen. She was everyone's mother, and loved every one of her students just as much as she did her own children. I listened to her message, already trying to blink back the rivers I could feel forming in my eyes. Jane apologized for not getting me my train letter in time, and was calling to leave me a train voicemail instead. By this point, the streams I had successfully managed to hold back suddenly became like Niagara Falls and I could do nothing to stop it. I was a huge spectacle in the Detroit airport, Jane's message pushed me into tears that I knew wouldn't be the last I shed about being home from Interlochen.
When our plane from Detroit landed in Charlottesville, I knew summer was officially over. I felt empty, like the body of a viola that had just been shut back in its case for the final time. I knew I had left something in Interlochen, Michigan. Who knew that the city- girl that I am could miss rural Michigan so much. What I learned is that the place doesn’t matter. It’s the people that you are with. We could have been in Boston, Chicago, LA. or Enid, Oklahoma and we still would have been happy together. Since my return, I have read and reread those letters from the girls with whom I had spent six weeks. In the meantime before next summer, my envelope of train- letters sits in my backpack. I want to carry the memories with me all the time, just to make sure I don't forget anything about this summer.