Eating My Feelings by Mark Rosenberg

in here. What’s the deal?”
    “Oh, that,” Kurt replied. “Well, we have been having some plumbing problems at the camp lately and the pipes have backed up onto this field. Not to worry though. Now get back to it.”
    “So, wait a minute,” I said. “This field is filled with crap?”
    Kurt said nothing but gave me a look that said, “It’s our little secret.”
    My smart-ass anecdotes were getting me nowhere fast so I simply resumed jumping jacks. I thought about what Jesse and the rest of the kids at Stagedoor were doing. I was pretty certain that they were not playing in their own feces. Instead they were probably listening to Bernadette Peters’s new album and wishing I were there with them. I wished I were there. At that point, I wished I were anywhere other than where I was. A hooker hell in Tierra del Fuego sounded like Disney World compared to this place.
    Shortly after I finished jumping jacks in my own shit I was told I now needed to do push-ups in my own shit. I looked around and saw that none of the other kids were putting up a fight. Did these kids really want to lose weight? Was I the only one fighting it? My father and stepmother had pounded into my head that I needed to lose weight, so in the spirit of beinga badass kid, I naturally did the opposite of what would make them happy. I also wondered if I was the only one who realized that we were playing in our own crap. The boys to my left and right were determined to do as many push-ups as possible and I saw that determination in their eyes.
Good for them
, I thought. All of these thoughts ran through my head as, after a good two minutes went by, I finally had finished doing a push-up. My face almost wound up in shit, but I managed to hoist myself up and back down in less than two minutes. Sweat was dripping from every inch of my body, but it was record time! It took everything I had in me, but I finished it. One whole push-up.
    Kurt could see the excruciating pain that we were all in and decided that we had reached our quota for the day.
    “Hit the showers, kids,” he told us.
    I ran as fast as I could back to the nurse’s office. I smelled like shit—literally. I opened the door to the nurse’s office and noticed that Leslie was nowhere to be found. I turned on her TV in hopes that one of my soap operas would be on, but there was Oprah again, in all of her fat glory.
    “DAMN YOU, OPRAH!” I yelled. “You’re as fat as a house and everyone listens to what you say. Why does no one listen to me?”
    Enraged, I turned the television off and turned around to exit. On my way out, I noticed something I had not seen on my previous trip to the nurse—a telephone. I quickly looked around to see if anyone was around, picked up the phone, and dialed my mother’s number.
    “DAMN IT!” I yelled when she didn’t pick up. It was four o’clock, so I figured she was probably at happy hour with the girls. I then dialed my father’s number hoping that someone, anyone, would pick up.
    “Hello,” the voice on the other end of the phone said.
    “Hello. Who is this?” I asked.
    “It’s Stacey. Who is this?”
    “Goddamn it, woman, where is my father?”
    “Mark?” she asked. “How are you making a phone call right now? Aren’t you at camp?”
    “Well, if you must know, you nosy bitch, I broke into the nurse’s office and made a long-distance call without anyone knowing. Where’s Dad?”
    “He’s out,” she replied. “Having fun yet?” I could just imagine her smirking on the other end.
    “I’M IN HELL AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” I yelled.
    She laughed: “I don’t know what you mean, my dear.”
    “Oh, don’t pull that shit with me, lady. I’ve got your number. I will destroy you the second I return from camp. Just you wait.”
    “I’m sure you will,” she replied. “What are you going to do? Quiz me to death with soap opera trivia? Ha-ha-ha.”
    “I hate you. I hope you die before I get back from camp,” I said, not