Rendezvous is on the first Saturday of Christmas break. It’s a two-hour bus ride to Arrington, but we make the most of it with lots of junk food and card games and craziness. BJ brought her CD player, and we even take turns dancing in the aisle. It’s like a party on wheels. Somehow Coach Ackley manages to sleep up front. And clear in the back, all by herself, Jess appears to be sleeping too. However, I know it’s just an act. For one thing, Jess is such a light sleeper that our noise would keep her awake, but besides that, she’s never been able to sleep in a moving vehicle. What a faker.
Our team wins its first game and hopes rise, but then we lose the next one by just a few points, and then we’re creamed in the third one, which puts us out of the tournament.
“We needed you out there today, Ramie,” says BJ as we trudge back to the bus.
“Yeah,” says Lauren. “I was wishing I knew some kind of magic trick so we could trade Jess for you.”
This is followed by laughter, including mine. But I feel a twinge of guilt when I notice that Jess is within hearing distance. Still, she wasn’t exactly having a good game today, and there were several times when the team’s patience wore thin with her bad attitude. Toward the end of the second game, just when it looked like our team might’ve been making a comeback, Jess goes and gets us a technical foul. After that, team morale went right down the toilet.
“Maybe Jess should switch over to the guys’ team,” says Amy a little too loudly. “They could probably use a tough guy like her.”
This time our laughter is interrupted by a loud, “Shut up!” followed by some off-color swear words.
“LeCroix!” barks Coach Ackley as he’s walking up behind us with the ball bag hoisted over his shoulder. “Give me thirty!”
“Right here?” Jess stops in the freezing parking lot that we’re crossing.
“Hit the pavement! Now!”
Jess drops to the icy ground in pushup mode, and Coach continues walking toward the bus. Meanwhile, the rest of us stand around her in a semicircle, staring as Jess begins doing her mandatory pushups. She still has on her sweaty uniform, whereas the rest of us have all showered and changed into regular clothes. Her dark curly hair is matted down and sticking to her forehead, and her face is blotchy and red as she huffs her way up and down, up and down. Lauren is counting for her, but then a girl from the JV team joins her, saying, “Seven butch pushups, eight butch pushups . . .”
Soon others chime in and everyone is counting “butch pushups” as if it’s the funniest thing ever.
“Stupid homo,” says another girl.
“It’s jock-chicks like her that make us all look bad.”
Some crueler and even more vulgar comments are tossed out, and finally, feeling ashamed for all of us, I go back to the bus.
Coach Ackley’s nose is stuck in Sports Illustrated, and he merely grunts as I walk past him. The JV coach has her eyes closed as she listens to her MP3 player, just basically checked out.
I go back through the bus about midway and sit down, watching the circle of girls through the window. The way they’re clustered around Jess reminds me of the kind of mob that gathers when a fight erupts, with bloodthirsty kids watching and egging the fighters on for their own selfish entertainment. And then it hits me. The scene out there reminds me of something else too, something I’m not willing to face or even acknowledge just now.
Pushing unwanted images from my head, I try to grasp that it’s Jess who is at the center of this mob, and I try to remember exactly why and how this happened. Didn’t she bring this on herself by using bad language? I find it hard to believe that this person on the ground, the foulmouthed lesbian girl who is being humiliated and teased, is really my old best friend. How can that be?
I can’t take it anymore. I just look away. They all make me sick. Jess makes me sick. This whole stinking world makes me sick. I close my eyes and wish it would all go away.
Now they are piling back onto the bus. Gay and butch jokes are still being tossed about, but not quite as loudly. Not that it matters, since both the varsity and the JV coach appear to be totally tuned out anyway. I try not to look up as Jess comes in the door. But I can see that her face is even redder than before. She doesn’t say a word as she makes her way down the crowded aisle amid the quiet but jagged taunts. I keep my eyes down as she huffs past me, her gym bag brushing against my shoulder. BJ, directly behind her, stops at my row and looks at me. I scoot over and she takes the empty seat beside me. Then BJ slumps down, folds her arms across her chest, and lets out what sounds like a very frustrated sigh.
“What?” I whisper.
“I am so sick of this.”
I nod. “Yeah. you and me both.”
“What are we going to do?”
I turn and stare at her. “What do you mean? What can we do?”
“It’s wrong to just sit by and watch them treating her like that.”
“But really, what can we do?” Okay, I’m actually wondering why we should do anything. Isn’t this just one of those natural-consequence scenarios my mom is always talking about? Jess comes out of her closet and some people don’t like it.
“What do you think Jesus would do?”
I turn toward the foggy window. Wiping a clean patch on the glass, I stare out at the parking lot, watching as the last of the girls trickle onto the bus. It’s not even four o’clock, but it’s getting dusky already. The driver closes the door, checks with the coaches, and the bus takes off.
“Ramie?”
I keep looking out the window.
“We need to stand by Jess.”
Then I turn around and give BJ the blankest of blank looks, like I totally don’t get what she’s saying.
“You know that we have to stand by her.”
“I don’t know that, BJ.”
“You know that’s what Jesus would do.”
I frown at her. “So you’re saying that we should endorse homosexuality? Should we stand up and say that gay’s okay?”
“I’m not saying we should condone it, Ramie.”
“But if we stand by Jess, isn’t that the same as condoning it?”
“No. I don’t think it is.”
“Well what about you, just now?” I challenge her. “You stayed out there with everyone else. you stood with the others who were teasing Jess and calling her sleazy names. Is that what Jesus would do, BJ?” Okay, I think I’ve got her on the defense now. This should shut her up.
“For your information, Ramie, I stayed out there to make sure that no one hurt Jess. They were getting pretty rowdy and I was ready to protect her if anyone got too carried away.”
“Oh.”
“Okay, I know this is hard for you, Ramie. Jess was your best friend and her little announcement puts you in a tough spot. But, as a Christian, don’t you see that we can’t let this continue? Seriously, you should’ve heard them out there. It would’ve been so easy for it to get out of hand. And what then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m fed up.” Now BJ stands.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to sit with Jess.”
I just stare at her. How can she do this? Why?
“Are you coming with me?”
I turn and look away.
“Fine.”
When I look back, BJ is gone. I am sitting by myself, and this time I’m the one who’s pretending to be asleep. But I’m really just thinking. Thinking and praying. For the first time since this whole nightmare began, I’m trying to get honest with myself. Honest with myself and with God. I replay those uncomfortable images of the mob that surrounded Jess out on the parking lot. Only this time, I allow myself to admit that the scene reminded me of something from the Bible. It reminded me of the time when the religious leaders threw the woman who’d been caught in adultery at Jesus’ feet. I remember how they wanted Jesus to condemn the sinful woman so that they could stone her. And it reminded me of how Jesus said those famous words, “If any one of you i
s without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.”
And that just nails me. I realize that I am the one who threw the first stone into Jess’s life. Oh, not literally. But I was the first one that Jess confided in and, as a result, I was the first one to judge her, to condemn her . . . to basically hate her.
I am ashamed. Really ashamed.
I keep on praying. I confess my sins to God, and I ask him to forgive me. But eventually I realize that I will have to do more than just bring this to God. In fact, I have no doubt about what I need to do. And as hard as it might be to do this thing, I know that my life will only get harder if I don’t. I also know that I can’t put it off for one more day, or one more hour, or even one more minute.
God help me, please, please, help me.
fifteen
IT TAKES A REAL ACT OF MY WILL TO PEEL MYSELF OFF OF THE SEAT AND HEAD to the back of the bus. Most of the girls have quieted down now. Some are listening to MP3 players and a lot of them are asleep. But in the dim light I can see BJ and Jess, sitting in the backseat, and it looks like they’re talking. But when they see me coming their way, they stop. I can feel both pairs of eyes on me, and I’m not sure that I’m actually welcome back here. But as I get closer, I can see that Jess has been crying. She quickly wipes her cheeks and, as she looks away, I can tell she’s embarrassed. She doesn’t want me to see her like this.
I hold my hands up, almost as if I’ve come to surrender. “I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, Jess. And I understand. But I need to tell you that God has just convicted me.”
She looks at me. I can’t tell if she’s curious or skeptical. But I know I have her attention.
“Just now, God showed me that I need to come and apologize to you. I need to tell you that I’m sorry for judging you. And I’m sorry for being mean to you. And I need to ask you to forgive me.” I wait for her to respond.
She looks pretty stunned, but she just nods like she understands, like she’s willing to forgive me. Then she starts crying again.
I look at BJ, unsure of what to do next. “Should I leave?” I ask her.
“No,” says BJ. “Why don’t you sit with us, Ramie?”
So I sit down beside BJ. Jess is sitting on the other side. I turn and face Jess, who looks totally miserable, and I wonder whether my confession is helping or hurting. But I honestly want her to know that I mean it.
“I really am sorry,” I tell Jess again. “I mean I still don’t understand this whole thing with you. And I still have questions and concerns, but I am so sorry for treating you the way I did.”
Jess looks across BJ with tears still streaming down her face. “I’m sorry too, Ramie. I treated you bad too. Probably even worse than you did me.”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Yeah, well, I really am sorry.” She points to my wrist now. “And even though I kept telling myself that was an accident . . . well, I don’t really know for sure that it was. It’s like it just happened and I don’t even know how exactly. But I was really angry that day. And maybe it was one of those Freudian things, where I meant to do it on some subconscious level.”
“Well, I forgive you,” I tell her.
BJ looks at Jess now. “Have you ever told Ramie what you just told me?”
Jess shakes her head and looks down at her lap.
“What?” I ask.
“Jess would have to tell you,” says BJ. “I mean if she wants to. But I think you should hear it.”
“She might not want to hear it,” Jess says sadly.
“She needs to hear it, Jess.”
“It’s okay,” I assure her, preparing myself for the worst. “Whatever it is, I do want to hear it.”
“It’s something that happened a while back,” Jess begins. “The summer when I was twelve. It happened at soccer camp, that year when you got strep throat and couldn’t go to camp. Remember?”
“Yeah. I was so bummed.”
“You should’ve been glad.” Then Jess goes on to tell about how one of the college-aged soccer coaches was really friendly to her. “Her name was Ashley Farrell, and she was our cabin leader.”
“Oh yeah,” I tell her. “I remember how you wrote a couple of letters from camp, and you went on and on about how cool this Ashley chick was. you said she was really helping you with your game. I was so jealous.”
“You shouldn’t have been.” Then Jess tells me about how Ashley would ask Jess to give her back rubs at night. “It didn’t seem like a big deal,” she says. “And afterward Ashley would insist on rubbing my back in return . . . and then it just kept on going.”
“Kept on going?” I query, unsure that I really want to hear this, but knowing that I probably need to, and Jess probably needs to tell me. Even so, I’m starting to feel slightly sick. I take in a deep breath.
Then Jess puts her head down between her knees. “This is so hard, Ramie.”
“Go ahead,” BJ encourages her. “Get it out.”
Jess sits up now. “After everyone in the cabin was asleep, Ashley would come and get in bed with me. And she would do things, you know, things I’d never had anyone do to me before. And she would tell me that she loved me and that it was okay and that I was her favorite camper and the best soccer player and stuff like that.” And then Jess begins to cry again. “And when I told her I didn’t want her to do it anymore, she got mad. Then she made me promise not to tell anyone, saying that we’d both get into trouble and get kicked out of camp and my parents would find out and all kinds of horrible stuff. So I didn’t make her stop.”
“She sexually abused you?” I whisper, worried that someone else might be listening, although the seats ahead of us are empty and the rumbling noise from the bus’s engine seems to be pretty good sound camouflage.
Jess shrugs. “I didn’t make her stop.”
“She was a grown-up, Jess. you were a kid. That’s called sexual abuse,” says BJ in a very authoritative tone.
“BJ’s right,” I agree, trying to imagine how it would feel to be hurt like that, to have someone you liked and trusted take advantage of you in such a creepy way. “You were sexually abused at soccer camp, Jess.”
“But it was my fault too,” Jess says, looking down. “It made me uncomfortable and I was ashamed, but I never made her stop. It’s like I wanted to believe everything she said to me, all the good stuff, I mean. But at the same time I knew what we were doing was wrong.”
“So you’ve lived with that for these past four years?” I ask.
She nods, then looks down, and I can tell she’s ashamed.
“And that’s why you think you’re gay?”
I can’t really read Jess’s expression, but it seems to be a mixture of humiliation and anger. “I am gay, Ramie. I mean I probably would’ve figured it out sooner or later. But the thing is, part of me liked the way Ashley made me feel.” She stares at me now. “I wouldn’t have liked it if I wasn’t gay.”
I look at BJ now, feeling like I’m over my head.
“You need to talk to a counselor,” BJ tells Jess.
I think of my mom. And I know exactly what kind of counsel my mom would give Jess. She would tell her that it’s okay to be a lesbian and that she should join some kind of a homosexual support group where she can talk about her feelings, and she’d give her books on homosexuality to read and just basically condone her as a lesbian. Ugh.
“I agree that Jess needs to talk to someone,” I say quickly. “But how about a Christian counselor?”
“So they can tell me that I’m sinning and condemn me?” Jess shoots back.
“No.” I consider this. Then I tell Jess about the image that went through my head earlier, the image of Jesus and the woman caught in adultery. “He didn’t condemn her, Jess. He forgave her. Then he told her to go and sin no more.”
“But see, you’re still saying that it’s sinful to be homosexual. Not everyone agrees with you on that, Ramie. you should go to some of the meetings I’ve been to. you might begin
to see things differently.”
I hold up my hand so she can see I’m still wearing my promise ring, the one that her dad gave me, just like the one he gave to her. “Remember this?”
She nods, then looks down to her own hand, where I’ve already noticed the band of gold is missing from her finger.
“Well, I still believe in it, Jess. I still believe that sex outside of marriage is sin. Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Really?” I push her. “Tell the truth, Jess. Do you think it’s okay now? Do you think that just because you’ve come out as a homosexual that the rules have all changed, and it’s okay to have sex whenever you like now?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Maybe Ramie’s right, Jess,” says BJ. “Maybe you should see a Christian counselor. At least to start with. I mean you’re still a Christian, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. I mean I think I am. But I know I haven’t been acting much like it lately.”
“None of us have,” I remind her.
“If it would help, we could go with you,” offers BJ. “I guess I can’t speak for Ramie. But I’d come with you, if you wanted some support.”
“I would too,” I say. “I mean if it would help.”
“Who would I talk to?” asks Jess.
Our youth pastor immediately comes to mind. “How about Nathan? I mean he acts like a goofball sometimes, but he does have a degree in counseling.”
Jess considers this. “Yeah. I guess Nathan seems pretty open-minded. For a Christian anyway. But just because I’m willing to talk to him doesn’t mean I’m going to change my mind or anything.”
“I know,” I tell her. But I’m thinking maybe we’re all changing. We talk some more and for the first time since Jess “came out,” I’m beginning to see that my old friend still lives. But it seems like she’s trapped in this persona, this lesbian image that she’s been working so hard to create. It seems to surround her, almost like a protective shell.
Bright Purple: Color Me Confused with Bonus Content Page 11