High Holiday Porn by Eytan Bayme

Author:Eytan Bayme
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466875234
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER 13

HEMOPHILIAC COWBOY

EACH SUMMER SINCE the fourth grade, I spent two months at a camp deep in the Lehigh Valley in Pennsylvania. The thirty-acre coed religious getaway was a long hundred miles from my parents and school, and it provided a place to recuperate after an often tumultuous year of angst and frustration. That summer after ninth grade, when I was still unsure of where I would be attending school in September, was no different.

“Summer camp is an integral component to a proper Jewish education,” my father had said once to his guests at our Shabbat lunch table. Normally I tuned out their talk of modern Jewish thought and fidgeted in my seat until my mother allowed me to go play, but this remark jolted me from the barley and chicken I was scarfing down.

“I like camp,” I blurted from the kids’ end of the table. My father and the two couples sitting to each side of him and dressed in their synagogue best craned their necks to see what their hosts’ normally silent son had to say.

“That’s very good, Eytan,” he encouraged. “Why?”

A cold sweat formed over my skin as I realized that these adults with their pressed shirts and pickle-sized fingers were waiting for me to say something intelligent to reinforce whatever it was they were discussing.

“Because it’s … awesome,” I heard myself speak while searching their faces for approval. “And I get to meet new people,” I added, thinking that it sounded more mature.

“I like that, Eytan,” said my dad, smiling.

Camp was really awesome. With an entirely different group of friends than back home, I was free to try out new roles and personas. That summer, after a difficult year at Beyt Shamai, I was sick and tired of being Eytan, the awkward and frustrated kid in the dumb class. I needed something edgy and new to make me stand out and attract women, so I put gel in my hair, started wearing an oversized Corona beer T-shirt, and told people to call me Bayme.

“Your name is Babe?” an older female counselor named Miriam asked during dinner one evening.

“No,” I shouted, trying to speak clearly over the voices of the two hundred people in the expansive dining hall. “Bay-muh,” I emphasized.

“What’s a Baymuh?” she said, covering her mouth while chewing.

“It’s Bayme, without the ‘uh’ at the end. And it means ‘tree’ in Polish, but that’s not really important. Do you know my sister?”

Miriam looked at me quizzically. “Why would I know your sister?”

This was becoming more complicated than it needed to be. I only wanted to see if maybe the two of them had gone to the same school or met at a party once. I hoped this girl thought Ilana was cool and she would then introduce me to the girls in the bunk she was responsible for, who were my age.

Hey, everyone, put down your forks! She might interrupt their meals from the head of the table. This is Bayme. His sister is a close friend of mine, so you should all make an effort to talk to him.

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