by Beth Neff
“Why?” Lauren’s tone is biting, critical, less inquisitive than challenging.
“Hard to believe, huh?” Donna is laughing a little but her voice sounds immediately suspicious, and Lauren realizes she might have to be a bit nicer if she’s to get any information out of her. She’s kind of thought of Donna as a servant, doesn’t consider her role central or important. She certainly doesn’t like the idea of Donna telling her what to do. Last week, Donna had asked Lauren to trim the tops of the carrots a little shorter so they wouldn’t punch holes in the bags. That really pissed Lauren off. She’s sure Donna has no business bossing people around so she just kept doing it the same way. When Grace came in, Donna had called her over, asked how she wanted the carrot tops cut, and Grace had said they like them a bit shorter so the weight in the bags is mostly the edible parts. Lauren knew that Donna didn’t know what she was talking about. Maybe she was right about the length, but she didn’t even know the reason.
Now Donna asks her, “Are you just having a hard time imagining why anyone would choose to be here, or are you asking about me personally?”
Lauren tips her chair back on two legs, earning a disapproving look from Donna, and crosses her arms in front of her chest.
“I don’t know. Both, I guess. Did you guys all live together before we came?”
“Well, I’ve only been here since January. I heard about this farm and the program and decided it sounded interesting, so I came here to see if they needed any help.”
“Grace and Ellie lived here together before you came?”
Donna frowns again, peers at Lauren, still trying to determine if her interest is genuine. Lauren wonders if maybe Donna is a little smarter than she thought.
“This was Grace’s grandparents’ farm, remember? She told you all about that when you first came. She left for awhile, and then she came back when her grandfather got too sick to run it by himself. I think she and Ellie just thought they could combine their skills by doing the CSA with help from young women who needed a break, provide a place where girls could imagine the kinds of women they’d like to be and maybe get some idea about how to go about achieving that.”
Lauren snorts in disgust.
“That’s what I don’t get. How can we learn what kind of women we want to be when we’re completely isolated from everything in the world that’s actually real? I don’t want to be a farmer, and I don’t know anyone who does besides you guys. I think it’s pretty weird, actually, and I sure can’t imagine that this is, like, something very many women would want to do.”
Lauren doesn’t like the sound of Donna’s laugh, doesn’t think anything she’s said is funny.
“No, Lauren, none of us think you want to be a farmer. That isn’t the point, and I think you already know that without me explaining it. It wouldn’t matter what kind of work it is, though the chance to be outdoors and learn about plants and nature and food and relationships seems like the ‘real’ world to me. That’s why I’m here, anyway, because I believe in all that stuff, think it’s key for living a healthy, happy life. I actually think this is the place to learn just about anything you need to know, but only if you’re willing to open the book, so to speak, turn the pages. Know what I mean?”
“No. I have no idea what you’re talking about and I think it’s just mumbo-jumbo bullshit so you guys can get paid to have free labor on your goofy little farm. And even if you actually believe all that, none of it is worth one second of being stranded out here in the middle of nowhere.”
Lauren thinks Donna might be a little angry. She’s not sure. Donna’s still cutting up vegetables, but her movements are a bit more jagged, the sound of her knife against the cutting board maybe a little louder. Donna appears to be composing herself, and then she surprises Lauren by smiling.
She taps her knife a little playfully on the edge of the board and says, “So, it’s the isolation that’s getting you down?”
Lauren laughs again with a snort.
“Among other things.” She is quiet for a minute, watching Donna work, decides to try a different tactic.
“Don’t you guys ever just get hungry for pizza? Or a Big Mac or something? I mean, the food’s okay and everything, but I’m not used to all these vegetables. I get hungry for more meat, you know? I always thought growing girls were supposed to get protein and stuff. I’m not saying you’re not doing a good job. I’d just think you’d get tired of cooking sometimes, want to, you know, order out or something.”
Donna just nods, like she’s waiting for Lauren to go on.
“I just think it’s pretty much inhuman to be cut off like this. I don’t think it’s fair that we’re not allowed to have our phones, can’t contact anybody, can’t even have any visitors. I told Ellie all this, but it didn’t seem like she was really listening. If I try to bring it up in group, she shuts me up like she’s afraid it’ll start a riot or something to talk about our gripes. I know the other girls feel the same way. We’ve all talked about it. It wouldn’t be like this even if we were in jail. People could come and visit, we’d be able to write letters or e-mail. I don’t think it’s like emotionally healthy to just stare at the same stupid faces day after day, see the same people, especially when they’re, like, I don’t know, all the same. Don’t you ever miss having guys around? Don’t you get sick of being constantly around women?”
Donna seems taken aback momentarily by the switch in the subject. She stops chopping and studies the calendar on the wall, like she’s just now noticing the summer scene of a mother grizzly bear and two babies strolling through Denali National Park and Preserve. She acts like she is considering Lauren’s question seriously, like she’s never thought about it before. Lauren wonders what she’s actually thinking.
Finally, Donna says, “I guess occasionally it might be nice to have some male muscle power around here, but usually we manage pretty well. I think it’s kind of cool that we’re all women, though I guess I can see how it might be possible to miss men. Hey, we have a guy that delivers propane every couple of months, and there’s the guy who reads the electric meter. And the mailman. He’s a guy!”
Donna looks over at Lauren to see if she’s smiling, gets the joke. She’s not and she doesn’t. Donna smiles big and bright at her.
“I’m just kidding. Sorry, guess it’s not very funny. I know you’re feeling isolated, Lauren, and I’m sorry it’s so hard for you. Like I said, it’s different for us. This is our choice. We can leave, go to a restaurant or see a movie, meet with friends or whatever we want. I guess the idea is that there are things about your old life that got you here in the first place, and it’s good to have a chance to see those things objectively, like from a distance, you know? Have a chance to look at them and see what you can change to make it all work better. It’s temporary, a pretty short time, really, and I’m sure you’re going to make it through. And I don’t want to be disagreeable but you are totally wrong about the privileges you would have had if you’d stayed in detention. It’s their rules we’re following, so I doubt you’d get to make phone calls or get visitors, not this early anyway. It seems like you’d know that from having been there.”
“They never would have made me stay.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The lawyer could have pleaded down my charges. He just jumped on this too fast, as an alternative, so he wouldn’t have to do that. But he still could. And the time I already spent in detention before I came here would have counted for a lot of it.”
“But it didn’t, Lauren. Felony shoplifting carries a sixteen-month sentence. That’s what you were convicted of and that was the judge’s decision. You either served all that time in detention or you came here. Isn’t that what they told you? Didn’t Tracy Hughes explain that to you again when she was here?”
“I just know it wouldn’t have happened that way.”
“Okay, whatev
er. But wouldn’t it just be easier to try to be happy with something about being here? Isn’t there anything you like, something you can see about it that’s positive?”
“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”
Lauren can tell that Donna is starting to become tired of the conversation. The tone of her voice is a little impatient when she shakes her head, says, “No. Why?”
“Because if you did, you’d understand better. Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
Lauren is leaning forward, her chin resting in her palm, but her expression is alert and wide-eyed, expectant, like a talk show host coming in for the kill.
“I’m not sure I get the point.”
“Just what I said. Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
“Yes, Lauren, of course I’ve had a boyfriend. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Why don’t you have one now?”
“I guess I just haven’t met anyone I’m really interested in for a while.”
“How long?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how long? How long since you’ve had a boyfriend?
“I don’t know. It’s been a while but . . .”
“You can’t even remember the last one?” The question is an accusation.
Lauren can see she has her now. Donna is having trouble keeping her voice steady, and it’s been getting louder, as if she’s just about to lose control. Lauren looks down and casually fingers the hem of her blouse.
She says, slowly and calmly, “Are you even interested in guys?”
Donna is making neat slices through the last zucchini. Lauren can tell she is concentrating on keeping her face expressionless, her demeanor relaxed, unruffled. Lauren suddenly knows Donna’s not going to be honest, that she’s working hard to come up with a good answer.
“You know,” Donna says after a moment, “just because I’m not in a relationship doesn’t mean I can’t remember what it feels like. But it’s not the most vital thing for me right now. I just know that there are lots of experiences I want to have in my life, meaningful experiences, and I’m not interested in being tied to another person if that means I can’t pursue them. I have a lot of people in my life, great people that I love, though maybe not in the way you’re talking about. I’m pretty sure romantic love isn’t anywhere near as important as it’s trumped up to be, and that life is really about learning to love yourself. That’s exactly what you’re doing here whether you like it or not. If all you can do is focus on missing your boyfriend, then that message clearly isn’t getting through.”
Donna has gotten up from the table, has carried her bowl of vegetables over to the counter, and is standing with her back to Lauren, catching her breath. Lauren imagines that she probably has more to say, is about to continue with another lecture, but Lauren is not interested in hearing any more. It’s all bullshit, total bullshit, and she doesn’t need Donna to tell her the truth. Without saying another word and before Donna can say more or turn around to see her, Lauren slips from her chair and is out the door.
SATURDAY, JUNE 30
THE SESSION STARTS LIKE SO MANY, WITH LAUREN COMplaining.
“Why do we have to do this every week? What are we supposed to be getting out of it?”
Cassie turns to watch Ellie closely, feels a tiny fluttering of panic when Ellie lifts her head and scans the room, asks the other girls if any of them wants to address Lauren’s question. Of course, no one responds so Ellie says, “Let’s try this. Tell us what you remember about counseling at the Center?”
Cassie was at the Center five days before she was called in by a therapist and, by that time, she was so shaken she could barely speak at all. The first group session happened the next day, and Cassie was told that she had to take her turn, admit to her crime, or she would experience withdrawal of privileges. Since the privileges included activity time in a yard and on basketball courts where both boys and girls played unfathomable games that Cassie found terrifying, yelling and pushing each other around, Cassie was just as happy to spend such “privileged” free time in her room. She realizes now that Lauren is the only one of them who wouldn’t have spent any time at all at the Center since it was just a place for the kids who had nowhere else to go between being arrested, their hearings, and their sentencings.
“Mostly, I just remember being threatened a lot,” Cassie hears Sarah telling Ellie. “You got in trouble if you didn’t share and rewarded if you did. It seemed like the therapists just wanted a good performance.”
Ellie is nodding, but she has kind of sad smile on her face. “They call that the carrot and stick approach—punishment on one hand, rewards on the other. It’s pretty common in traditional juvenile remediation programs. The idea is that shame or repentance will make a kid less likely to repeat the illegal or antisocial behavior. Unfortunately, feeling ashamed is pretty much the same as thinking you’re a piece of shit, which is probably a big part of whatever gets the kids there in the first place.”
Sarah nods, adds, “Mostly, it just makes everybody into a liar.”
“Tell us about that,” Ellie says.
“Well, it was just kind of like a competition, you know, the kids playing the counselors, fooling them into thinking they were getting what they wanted, telling them what they wanted to hear. The kids would, you know, make up all kinds of shit and the counselors would just eat it up. It felt like the biggest load of bullshit got the greatest reward. Maybe the counselors were getting what they needed, doling out their little points like they were gods or something, but I don’t really think it gave a single one of those kids what they really needed.”
Ellie asks what Sarah thinks they really needed. Sarah doesn’t have to think about it very long.
“I think most of them probably just needed a mother.”
What? Cassie feels like she has received an electric jolt. Her heart has started to race and her palms have become instantly sweaty. A mother? She wants to start at the beginning, have everybody repeat what they’ve said so she can figure out how they have arrived here, how the idea of a mother has become central to the conversation.
But already Ellie is saying, “Wow, Sarah. I agree with you. In fact, I think often kids get in trouble simply because they don’t know any other way to get what they need. They end up forced to choose between getting totally lost in the system or creating one of their own, often one that’s illegal because that’s the only way to have any power.”
Jenna is suddenly sitting forward. She places her palms flat on her thighs as if preparing to leap just before she asks, “What do you mean by power?”
Ellie shakes her head, waves her hand as if to erase any misunderstanding. “I don’t mean power over other people. Not abusive power. I mean having your own power to make decisions. A victim is someone who has become separated from her own power.”
“So, are you saying that every criminal is a victim?”
Ellie shrugs. “What do you think?”
Jenna’s irritation is immediately evident. Cassie feels a wave of disappointment, is sure Jenna will withdraw now, won’t even acknowledge the lure that Ellie has tried to dangle in front of her and the discussion will be over. Even with Cassie’s head lowered, she can hear Jenna sigh with frustration. Cassie has the feeling Jenna has hit on something important, and she wants her to keep going. Finally, Jenna breathes deeply and looks back up at Ellie, saying, surprisingly softly, “I guess I really did want to know what you think.”
When Ellie speaks, she doesn’t sound upset at all. “Okay. I think saying ‘every’ is dangerous. There are always exceptions. But I don’t believe in evil, I can tell you that. I don’t believe anyone is born bad. I think, in most cases, circumstances are what lead a person to crime. To make good choices, you need two things: information and power, like the kind we’re talking about. My belief”—and she turns po
intedly to Lauren to indicate that they are getting back to Lauren’s original question—“is that if you mimic the same inequalities as those found in the so-called real world, like with rewards and punishment, you just teach kids that they are powerless. And that just adds another trauma to people who are already traumatized. And it sends completely the wrong message.”
“So, what’s the right message?” Jenna is struggling mightily to keep her voice even.
“Just that people need to be encouraged to trust themselves.”
Cassie sees Jenna shaking her head, now starting to puff up with the force of her argument.
“See, I don’t get that. Like Sarah’s group with addictions and stuff, they put me with the kids with anger problems, I guess because that was the kind of stuff that showed up most in my file. And what we were told is that you have to control your emotions, that you can’t trust them. But it seems to me like that’s the opposite of what you’re saying. If you trust yourself, aren’t you letting yourself be angry, like, believing what your own mind tells you? If you do that, it seems like you’re going to be angry all the time, and you’re just going to keep taking it out on everybody, or maybe on yourself.”
Ellie is nodding her head vigorously to everything Jenna is saying. “This is the perfect example. Let’s think about it this way. Say that you’re a kid whose mom treats you like shit, yells at you every day, tells you she wishes you were never born. Okay?”
Jenna frowns, tips her head to one side like she thinks she hasn’t heard right, shrugs, and nods slightly.
“Do you believe her?”
Jenna is glaring at Ellie, doesn’t answer for a minute. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. Do you believe her?”
Jenna looks away, seems to have found something interesting to study outside the window. Finally, she looks back at Ellie. “Yeah. You believe her.”
“Why?”
Cassie is sure Jenna is going to bolt, like she did at the party. Cassie is watching out of the corner of her eye, and Jenna seems to be having trouble catching her breath. Cassie isn’t sure now if she wants this to keep going or not. Both Sarah and Lauren are looking a little uncomfortable as well.