The Summer I Wasn't Me

by Jessica Verdi

  “Good. Now let’s catch up with the others. We have a big day today.”

  ***

  “Do you guys know what free association is?” Kaylee asks us. We’re in the carpet cabin again, but today we’re split up into our groups of four. Kaylee’s standing in front of an easel with a large white pad on it, an uncapped marker in her hand. There’s an oversized beanbag chair sitting in the middle of our circle.

  “Isn’t it when you blurt out the first thing that comes into your head? Like: Abs! Lube! Ryan Gosling!” Matthew says.

  Kaylee sighs. “Sort of. It’s a psychoanalytic technique which encourages patients not to censor their thoughts and to say whatever they’re thinking based on different prompts. So, for example, if I say ‘dog,’ what is the first thing that comes into your mind, Carolyn?”

  “Um, cat?”

  “Good! And, Daniel, if I say ‘apple,’ you say…?”

  “Pie!” Daniel shouts out, excited.

  Kaylee laughs. “Nice. So we’re going to use that concept as the jumping off point for today’s exercise. We’ll use the free association to try to access your deep-rooted hopes and dreams, and then we’ll take that foundation to build a vibrant, clear picture of what your lives can and will be like after you graduate from the program at the end of the summer. So as the exercise goes on, I may start asking you more specific questions. Sound good?”

  Carolyn, Daniel, and I nod. Matthew laughs.

  “Let’s start with you, Lexi. Go ahead and lie down on the beanbag. Get as comfy as you want.”

  She doesn’t have to tell me twice—I love beanbag chairs. I had a bunch in my playroom when I was a kid. I used to lie there all day long, drawing and painting. Mom and Dad were constantly picking little Styrofoam balls off my clothes.

  I fall butt-first onto the beanbag and then shimmy around to get the stuffing to mold perfectly to my body. It feels safe, familiar. I close my eyes.

  “So, Lexi,” Kaylee says. “I’m going to write down everything you say on this pad, so don’t worry about keeping track of your thoughts. Just let your mind roam as uninhibited as possible and then, once we’re done, you’ll have time to look at what we’ve come up with.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Place,” she says, beginning the exercise.

  “The beach,” I say immediately, and I hear the squeak of Kaylee’s marker on the easel.

  “Which beach?”

  “The beach at home.”

  “How does the beach make you feel?”

  “Happy,” I say.

  “Name three things about the beach that make you happy.”

  “Sitting in the surf and not being able to hear anything except the rush of the waves; staring at the point where the world disappears off the horizon; watching the fat seagulls scavenge for people food.” I’ve been thinking about the beach a lot lately. I miss it.

  “Is the beach where you see yourself living after you’re done with school?” Kaylee asks.

  “Definitely.”

  “In South Carolina?”

  “Or Florida,” I say automatically. But wait—the point of this exercise is to think big, right? I sink further into the chair’s squishy beans and let my mind expand. “Or maybe Hawaii. Or the South of France! It would be cool to be fluent in French.”

  “Where will you learn?” Kaylee asks, a smile in her voice.

  “I take French in school already, but maybe I could start taking extra classes on the weekend too.” That’s not a bad idea actually.

  “What kind of home will you live in?” Kaylee shoots back.

  “A loft,” I hear myself say. Strange that’s the first thing I thought of. I’ve never even seen a loft apartment in real life before. “With lots of open space and four walls of floor-to-ceiling windows and a terrace where you can open the doors and let the ocean air come in.”

  “When will you move?”

  “After college.”

  “Where will you go to college?”

  “Paris.” That one I knew already.

  “And what will you study?”

  “Fashion design.”

  “What type of fashion design?” The quicker Kaylee’s questions come, the more I’m lulled into a rhythm—instead of thinking with my head, I’m answering with my heart.

  “Women’s street wear, retro eighties meets twenty-first-century technology.”

  “What will you do with these skills once you graduate?”

  “I’ll start my own line.” Whoa. I hadn’t known I wanted to do that until the words popped out of my mouth. I always imagined myself working for an established designer or label. But now that I’ve said it, it feels right.

  My eyes are still closed, but I pick up on Kaylee’s slight hesitation before throwing out the next question. Oh right, women aren’t supposed to work out of the home. We haven’t gotten to the gray area yet. “Let’s move on,” she says. “What will your family life look like?”

  “It’s just me and my mom,” I say.

  “Right now, yes. But in the future, who will be by your side?”

  “I would love to have kids,” I say. Again, something else I never gave a whole lot of serious thought to—at least, not before New Horizons, not before Carolyn admitted that’s what she wants. An image pops into my mind unbidden. “Two boys and a girl. My mom will live with us too, and she’ll be happy and laughing all the time and spoil her grandkids rotten. The kids will all have cute little French accents and play soccer and have bright blond hair, like their mo—”

  I clamp my mouth shut and propel myself out of dreamland and back to the land of rational thought. I was going to say, “Like their mother.” But I’m clearly not blond. In this perfect little fantasy, these kids had two moms, and one of them was blond haired and blue eyed.

  “Like their dad,” I say instead. Matthew clears his throat, acknowledging my slipup. Does nothing get past this guy?

  “What is their dad like?” Kaylee asks.

  I go on to describe my perfect man, the handsome Frenchman who owns a five-star restaurant and is an Olympic rower. But for all intents and purposes, the exercise is over. I’m giving Kaylee the answers I know she wants to hear. I stopped being true to myself the moment I forced the image of Carolyn out of my mind and replaced her with some cookie-cutter French dude.

  When I finally run out of steam, Kaylee asks me to open my eyes and take a look at the list we made. “This is not just your utopia, Lexi,” she says. “If you want it badly enough, it can be your actual future. God gives us the tools to live our very best lives—we just have to use them.” She tears the pages off the giant pad and hands them to me.

  Daniel, Matthew, and Carolyn take their turns on the free association beanbag, but I only half listen. I stare at the pages in my hands, covered with Kaylee’s bubbly handwriting.

  Wow. France, a family, my own line…and my mom there for all of it. I suddenly realize this is what I want, what I’ve always wanted, even through all that time back home when all I’d been able to think about was keeping my secret. This is my utopia.

  I mean, yes, there’s the tiny issue of a husband in the place where I’d rather see a wife, but if having a husband is the key to having my mother back—happy, healthy, and alive—and to living my dream…well, then I just need to work harder at this whole becoming straight thing, don’t I? Boys aren’t that bad when you think about it.

  ***

  After lunch, we go to the classroom cabin for Bible study.

  People back home quote the Bible like it’s a pop song constantly stuck in their heads. And most of it’s actually pretty decent: thou shalt not steal; love thy neighbor as thyself; honor thy father and mother; a merry heart does good like a medicine but a broken spirit dries the bones.

  But those aren’t the passages Mr. Martin chooses to focus on.

 
“Leviticus eighteen, verse twenty-two,” Mr. Martin says. “Luke, would you please read aloud?”

  “‘You must not have sexual intercourse with a male as one has sexual intercourse with a woman. It is a detestable act,’” Luke mumbles.

  “And, Daniel, would you read Leviticus twenty, verse thirteen to us?” Mr. Martin asks.

  Daniel does him one better—he recites it from memory. “‘If a man has sexual intercourse with a male as one has sexual intercourse with a woman, the two of them have committed an abomination. They must be put to death. Their blood guilt is on themselves.’”

  Put to death? I thought God was supposed to be all about forgiveness, not the death penalty.

  “Very good, Daniel,” Mr. Martin says.

  While Mr. Martin explains the verses—even though we’re already aware of exactly what they mean—Matthew passes a note to me. What do you think would happen if a guy and a girl got caught having sex here?

  I smile and write, Sorry, you’re not exactly my type. I pass it back.

  His eyes bug out of his head, and I have to stifle a laugh. He scrawls a long response. That wasn’t an invitation, you crazy person. And believe me, I know who your type is. I glance at him and he nods his head in Carolyn’s direction. My face gets hot and I quickly turn my attention back to his note. I just meant what do you think would happen? I bet they’d give us a hundred gold stars.

  He’s probably right. Even though I’m pretty certain that the Bible condemns any kind of sex before marriage, I get the feeling that if a guy and a girl got caught in the act here at New Horizons, the counselors would never be prouder.

  “Corinthians six, verses nine through eleven,” Mr. Martin says. “Rachael, would you please read aloud?”

  “‘Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?’” Rachael reads. “‘Do not be deceived! The sexually immoral, idolaters, adulterers, passive homosexual partners, practicing homosexuals, thieves, the greedy, drunkards, the verbally abusive, and swindlers will not inherit the kingdom of God. Some of you once lived this way. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.’”

  “Yes!” Mr. Martin shouts, his palms raised to heaven. Suddenly he’s turned into a Baptist preacher. “Yes! That’s exactly it! That’s what we’re here for! The homosexuals will not inherit the kingdom of God. But if you wash yourselves clean, if you reject those impulses, you will be justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ!” Mr. Martin sinks into a chair with a deep sigh and wipes his forehead. “You know,” he says, talking in his normal voice again, “in many ways, I envy you all.”

  “You envy us?” I say before I can stop myself. “But you just said we should all be put to death!”

  He shakes his head. “No, no, Lexi, you misunderstand me. The Bible says that those who are sanctified are exempt from that punishment. You’re all here for that very reason—to be saved. That’s why I envy you. You’re changing your paths at such a young age. I wasn’t so lucky. It took me a long time to find my way.”

  He seems like he’s in a mood to talk, and I’m curious. “What happened?” I ask.

  He glances at Brianna. It’s almost like he’s asking her for permission to continue. But that doesn’t make sense. He’s the one in charge here, not her. But only after she nods slightly does he continue.

  “I lived the homosexual lifestyle for a long time,” he admits. “I refused to listen to my parents when they tried to talk to me about right and wrong and my responsibility to God. I thought I had it all figured out. I left home when I was eighteen years old and didn’t return until I was thirty-five.”

  Whoa. Mr. Martin was out and proud for seventeen years?

  “So what changed?” Matthew asks.

  “I was saved by Jesus. He spoke to me, and his voice was so clear, it was as though he was right there in the room with me. He told me he had a bigger plan for me. I went home to my family, and they reintroduced me to the church. Two years later, I married Nancy and started New Horizons. I don’t want you to make the same mistake I made. Don’t wait seventeen years to make the right decision. Make the choice to inherit God’s kingdom now.”

  Daniel raises his hand. “How did you do it, Mr. Martin? I want to do exactly what you did.”

  As Mr. Martin goes off about how he went to church every single night and stopped listening to secular music and started only going to female doctors and hairdressers, I find myself tuning him out and tuning Carolyn in. She’s a few desks down from me, diligently taking notes, her hair tucked behind one ear, revealing the birthmark on her temple.

  Mr. Martin said we have to make the choice to “inherit God’s kingdom,” which, for me, means I have to make the choice to not love Carolyn. But I thought I’d already done that. I tried ignoring her. I tried focusing on all the reasons I’m here, all the reasons I need this program to work. I’ve done everything I’m supposed to. But here I am, fantasizing about pressing my lips against Carolyn’s birthmark.

  If New Horizons is, like Kaylee said, the tool God gave me to create a better life, I’m pretty sure I’m using it wrong.

  Chapter 16

  Later that night, Carolyn gives me back my book.

  “Wow, you finished it already?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I pretty much devoured it.” She laughs. “I can’t believe I’d never read it before.”

  “I know, so good, right?”

  She nods. “So good.” There’s a pause, and then she says, “So, um, I hope you don’t mind, but I marked my favorite part. In pencil, don’t worry.”

  Mind? I’m suddenly giddy—I get to find out what her favorite part of my favorite book is! I begin to flip through the pages. “Which part?” I say, but she stops me. Her hand rests on mine, and this time it’s deliberate. And she doesn’t move it away. My mouth suddenly goes very dry.

  “Wait until the next time you read it,” she says. “It’ll be like a little surprise.”

  I just nod, because I’m incapable of speech right now. We’re practically holding hands!

  She smiles and walks away, her ponytail swinging behind her.

  I change into my nightgown, dive into bed, and quickly write some nonspecific crap in my journal about the Bible study day being interesting. I’ve learned my lesson. From now on my real feelings are staying where they should have stayed all along—locked securely away inside my head.

  I close the journal and look at the clock—fifteen more minutes before lights out. I grab The Great Gatsby. Like a kid who knows where her parents hid the Christmas gifts, I’m faced with a moral dilemma: skip ahead to the big reveal or revel in the anticipation?

  I choose option B and start on page one.

  ***

  Because my reading time is so limited, I don’t get to Carolyn’s favorite part until two nights later.

  There’s a bracket marked around one short paragraph on page 24—a paragraph I’ve honestly never given much thought to. It’s when Daisy is telling Nick about the birth of her daughter. She says she wept when she found out she’d had a girl, and that she hopes she’ll be a fool, because a beautiful little fool is the best thing a girl can be in this world.

  I read the paragraph over and over, trying to devise some meaning, some clue as to why this, of all the amazing moments and quotes in the book, is Carolyn’s favorite. I stare at the page, desperate for this clue into Carolyn’s mind.

  By the time the prayers are said and the lights are turned out, I’m no closer to an answer. Even though I don’t know why Carolyn’s favorite part is her favorite part, I still love knowing that it’s her favorite part. And I want her to know mine. I use the small ration of moonlight shining through my window to underline a passage of my own.

  I give the book back to Carolyn the next morning. She takes it but stares at me, confused.

&n
bsp; “I thought it would only be fair for you to know my favorite part too,” I say.

  She grins. “Cool. So what’d you think about mine?”

  I try to come up with something smart to say, an insightful literary analysis of what F. Scott Fitzgerald was trying to say by having Daisy wish for her daughter to be foolish, something to show that I completely understand why that line spoke to Carolyn so much…but I fail miserably. “Honestly,” I say, defeated, “I have no idea what to think. I don’t really get it.”

  Carolyn laughs and explains as we go downstairs to meet the boys. “I just love how Daisy totally gets the whole societal-pressure thing. Like, back in the twenties, a woman could be one of two things: a subservient wife or a carefree airhead. But Daisy isn’t either of those things—she’s too smart. So she doesn’t fit in, you know?”

  “Yeah.” I’m hanging on her every word.

  “But even she knows there’s no point in fighting the gender roles that have already been set up by society. So it’s all she can do to wish that her daughter fits into the mold, because her life will be a lot easier. Like an ‘if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em’ kinda thing.”

  I’m nodding like crazy, unable to believe that I never understood that until now. Especially now, with all this gender stuff we’re being put through. I always thought Daisy was being ridiculous, wishing for her daughter to be stupid. But what she really wants for her daughter is exactly the same thing Carolyn and I want for ourselves—to fit in.

  ***

  The next day, I get the book back again. This time I don’t wait—I immediately open to page 100, where my all-time favorite Gatsby moment is waiting.

  Gatsby has been obsessed with staring across the bay at the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock, as if that light were the one thing connecting him to her despite their distance. It made him feel close to her, like a part of her was right there with him whenever he gazed at it. But now that he and Daisy have finally found each other once more, the green light has gone back to being just a green light. Gatsby’s count of enchanted objects has diminished by one.

  In the margin beside the words, Carolyn has written, Amazing. Goosebumps. In a good way. :) PS—turn to page 56.