by Leanne Baugh
“From what I know of the workshop,” Owen says, “they’ll be covering a variety of acting techniques, speech, movement, playwriting, and stagecraft.”
As usual, Mason, Dax, and company are waiting for me on the landing.
“Anything else you can tell me?” I ask Owen.
“There will probably be some on-camera work, audition prep, and such,” Owen says and nods at Mason and Dax. “And then, of course, a chance to be in their summer festival, which draws hundreds of people each year.”
As we walk past, I give Mason and Dax the best fake (crooked) smile I can muster. Mason gives me the finger.
“That sounds amazing,” I say and breathe a humungous sigh of relief as we walk down the last flight of stairs.
***
Simon is waiting for me in the parking lot.
“I never see you anymore,” I say. “It’s as if you’ve grown an Olivia appendage. Speaking of Olivia…”
“No, we haven’t had sex yet, if that was what you were going to ask.”
“I wouldn’t ask you anything so personal,” I say with a huge grin.
“Since when?” The Jeep fob beeps, a loud click unlocks the doors. “And what about you? You seem to be hanging with the Sticky Hive as if you never left,” says Simon.
“Oh, I’ve left all right. I have absolutely nothing in common with Serena and Briar, but at least Grace is coming around.” I climb into the passenger seat.
“Yeah, I don’t see her shadowing Serena as much these days.” Simon puts on his seat belt. “Speaking of Serena, I overheard her and Liam talking at lunch today.”
“What about?”
“Apparently Liam got accepted into first year sciences at Queen’s University.”
“Where’s that?”
“Kingston, Ontario.”
“Why is everyone moving to Ontario? First you and now Liam!”
“Don’t take it personally, Abby.” Simon starts the Jeep.
“What else were Liam and Serena talking about?”
“Well, turns out Serena has now decided to apply to Queen’s, too,” says Simon.
“Figures.” I get a sharp pain in my chest, right where my heart is.
“It is fitting, if nothing else. The Queen Bee going to Queen’s,” says Simon, chuckling to himself as he pulls out of the school parking lot.
***
I wave at Simon as he leaves my house. When I open the back door, Ruby runs to greet me, whines until I scratch behind her ears, then runs outside.
I open the freezer door and pull out a carton of double-fudge-heaven ice cream and grab a large spoon. I plop down in the family room and stuff a huge spoonful in my mouth. All I can think about is Serena and Liam together at Queen’s University. Studying together at the library, walking hand in hand across the campus, drinking beer at pub night with all their new friends, sneaking into each other’s dorm rooms. I take my phone out of my pocket and press Home.
“Siri, should I apply to Queen’s University?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she says.
Me neither, Siri. Me neither.
***
Nadine stands in front of the room for part two of the Facing It teen workshop. “I’m hoping tonight that everyone will learn at least a few strategies to move toward positive self-esteem and self-acceptance.”
She writes on the flipchart: Awareness.
“Awareness. Being alert, consciously aware of your thoughts, feelings, words, and actions. Your self-esteem is a reflection of what you think and how you feel about yourself. Therefore, it’s important to be aware of thoughts and feelings that undermine your self-
esteem. When you start noticing critical, judgmental, and sabotaging self-talk, you’re on your way to upgrading the software, or brain pathways, in your mind.” Jade gently elbows me and smiles. Just what she talked to me about after the last workshop.
Next, Nadine writes Choice. “Choice is the act of picking one alternative over another. Consciously choosing the thoughts and actions that support your positive self-esteem and self-acceptance. Can anyone give me a good example?”
“Instead of always turning down invitations,” says the girl who commented on the beauty magazines, “start accepting them and believe that the person asking sincerely wants your company.” It makes me think of how I planned on weaseling out of Grace’s invitation to the bush party.
“Excellent, Paula. Your example is both choosing a new thought process—maybe this person really does want me around—as well as an action—accepting the invitation and going to the party, or on the date, or whatever.”
Nadine continues. “Becoming more self-accepting means you non-judgmentally affirm the person you are, no matter what strengths, weaknesses, flaws, personality disorders, or facial differences you have. And it’s not future-oriented: ‘I’ll be okay when…’ or ‘Maybe I’ll accept myself after my next surgery.’ Self-acceptance is about already being fine with who you are, right here and now. Even if you don’t yet feel it in your bones, keep telling yourself: ‘I am confident. I am worthy. I am acceptable just the way I am, flaws and all.’ Other statements?” Some people pipe up.
“I’m smart.”
“I’m funny.”
“I have a different kind of beauty.”
“I’m talented,” I say with some confidence.
“Well done, everyone,” Nadine says. She writes Change on the chart. “Change is where the rubber meets the road. It’s where you practice the choices you’ve made. This doesn’t mean there won’t be times when you feel like crap—less than, or not enough. But when those feelings come up, be aware, shift to more positive thoughts and feelings. In order to change, you have to keep practicing this over and over again.”
“I’m not saying I’m the queen of self-acceptance or anything,” Jade tells the group. “But sometimes you just have to fake it until you make it.”
This makes me smile. I’ve got a whole lot of faking ahead of me.
THE GIANT PETTING ZOO
I work for hours tearing apart my monologue and then reconstructing it. I think I finally nailed it—but then again, I thought the other drafts were brilliant too.
“Dancing with the Bear, by Abby Hughes,” I say out loud to myself in the bedroom mirror. My tongue feels like a mousetrap is stuck on the end of it, so I do some enunciation exercises that Owen taught me over the past few years, starting with my new favorite.
“Big black bug bit a big black bear and the big black bear bled black blood. Big black bug bit a big black bear and the big black bear bled black blood.” I say that over several times and then try some others: “Can I cook a proper cup of coffee in a copper coffeepot? Yoda met a Yeti on the Plains of Serengeti. Jingle jungle jangle joker. Xylophones exist or so existentialists insist.” I keep up the exercises until I get bored, which doesn’t take very long.
I look at my face closely in the mirror from every angle. Now that everyone at school has gotten used to my facial “difference,” I wonder if anyone really cares about my story. Maybe it’s old news by now. Liam probably already told everyone what happened that day. But then maybe not. He’d have had to confess the guilt he feels, which I’m pretty sure he hasn’t wanted to.
I start rehearsing. “The strange thing was I didn’t feel anything, at least not while it was happening.” I use my full voice, clear and direct. Eyes straight ahead to the mirror, not on the script. “Her bear smell was overpowering, like a hundred dead skunks on a pile of rotting leaves. I buried my hand in her thick, oily fur.”
I rehearse my monologue about twenty times, until I finally get it right. Or at least as close to right as I can get it for now. I hear Owen’s voice in my head: “If you have rehearsed well, it will be in your muscle memory, and you will be able to just relax and perform.”
I lie on my bed, open my laptop. Thankfully, I
blocked UR SO FN UGLY, and Mason and Dax obviously figured out that there’s no use sending more hurtful stuff. I check out Liam’s Facebook profile. Although he hasn’t posted anything new on Facebook for months, he recently shared a memory from last year: the two of us at the top of the Cascade Amphitheatre, hamming it up with crossed eyes and stuck-out tongues. There are craggy rocks all around, with a snowy peak sticking up behind us. No comment from Liam, just the photo. Grace, Justin, Gus, mountain climber Matt, and a bunch of others “liked” the memory. Surprise, surprise, there isn’t a “like” from Serena. All I remember from that day is we had a big fight on the drive home. I can’t even remember what the fight was about—something stupid, I’m sure. I froze him out for a few days. What a bitch I was. He finally called me and we made up. I should have been the one to call him.
I miss Liam and ache to talk to him right now, but I’m too chicken to phone or text him. I check to see if he’s on Facebook chat, but he’s not, so I “like” the photo and write a comment: One of our many awesome days together hiking in the Rockies. As soon as I write the words, I want to delete my comment. I don’t want Liam to think I’m creeping him, even though I often do. I leave the comment as is. What do I have to lose?
I check to see if there’s anyone else online, but only Briar, Keegan, Devin, and no one else I want to “chat” with. Messenger pings. It’s to Liam and me from Matt. Hey you two, Lisa and I and maybe a few other climbers are heading to Mount Louis on Saturday. Come. We’ll already be in Banff, but let’s meet up at the base around nine. I belay you can fly!
Just reading Matt’s message makes my heart pound hard. The thought of being in the mountains. Bears. Liam. Joy. The mental gymnastics while climbing. Exhilaration. The risks. My bum leg. Yikes! Finding the perfect holds to grip, placing my feet just right, pulling myself higher. The rush. I send both Matt and Liam a message back: Ya, sure-cu saturday.
I can’t believe I just did that. What am I thinking? Will I even be able to get out of my car? I can always bail. But what if Liam decides to go?
Matt writes back: Excellent. Glad to see you’re getting “boulder.” Ha ha.
I send him back a smiley face, but it really should be the emoji with the crazy, anxious, wide-open eyes and the little straight line for a mouth.
I can’t help myself— I send Liam a text.
Did you get Matt’s note on Messenger?
I suddenly feel like I’m too pushy and immediately regret texting him. I stare at my phone for what feels like an eternity until he finally responds.
Ya
Think you’ll go?
No, gotta work.
Can’t get someone else to work for you?
No
A year ago no one could tear Liam away from the mountains. He would always get someone to work for him if there was a hike or a climb.
K, c u
Yup
Am I the reason why he doesn’t want to go climbing? Is it because he feels guilty whenever he’s around me? Is he going through his own trauma—as freaked out about being in the mountains as I am?
I feel disappointed. Empty. Sad. Sad that Liam’s so over me. And sad that I’m so not over him.
I go to the “Evolve” Facebook page for some inspiration and solace, and there’s oodles of it. Quotes, aphorisms, self-help articles. I close my eyes and scroll down and down. When I open my eyes, this is the quote on my screen:
“Look around. This is how it is. Not how it might have been, or should have been, or how you thought it would be. It is how it is.”
I read this over a few times, let the words sink in. I scroll through Matt’s Instagram photos. Ninety-five percent of them are of climbing. I know that expression on his face. There are a ton of photos of me with that same look. Total awe and amazement getting to the top of a rock face, gazing across a mountain range at the other peaks, knowing that not many people in the world have seen that same exact view.
***
I slept through my alarm, so I drive as fast as Rusty will carry me down the highway toward Banff to meet Matt and his buddies. When I hit Canmore, the snowy peaks against the blue sky with fluffy white clouds look too perfect somehow. Surreal, like a photoshopped postcard. I realize I’m now right in the mountains. I check myself. No sweating, pounding heart, or shaking. Progress.
When I enter Banff National Park, traffic slows to a crawl, and there’s a long line of cars and RVs pulled over to the side of the highway. This pretty much always means there’s wildlife close by. Some tourists think the national park plans it—puts the mountain sheep and mountain goats on display just for them, like a petting zoo. Morons!
Although I’m late, I’m also starving, desperate to stop and get the granola bar in my pack, which happens to be in the backseat, out of reach. So when a truck parked on the shoulder pulls out, I take its spot. Sure enough, right beside my car is a young black bear munching on some roots. Perfect. Just perfect. I’m too close. Even though I’m in my car. Protected. I’m way too close. Here I go—heart beats wildly, hands get all sweaty, head goes a little dizzy. I am courageous. I am strong. I am confident. I am courageous. I am strong…I look out my window at people who are insanely close to the bear, taking pictures. One tourist, very tanned, buff, and handsome enough to be a movie star, starts feeding the bear rice cakes. A wave of rage comes over me, opens my car door, and pushes me outside. My car is the only thing between the bear and me.
“Hey!” I call out to movie-star guy.
He looks over at me, checks out my face, and frowns.
“Yeah, I mean you,” I say. Who is this person speaking words out of my mouth? The bear’s sharp teeth are on one end of the rice cake, this idiot’s hand is on the other. “Are you crazy, or what?”
“Just communing with nature,” he says.
“Stop it! Stop right now!” I yell like a crazy person. “That bear is a wild animal. Not only could you get mauled, but you’re putting the bear’s life at risk.”
“Screw off,” he says and pulls another rice cake out of his bag.
“You’re making the bear feel comfortable near the highway, which means it could get hit by a car.” I notice some of the people slowly backing away or heading to their vehicles. I’m on a roll and I can’t stop. “And do you know what happens when bears get a taste for people food? They wander into campgrounds and towns like Banff and have conflicts with humans and then guess who pays for it? Usually not the humans. The bear is the one who gets killed. Loses its life because people are careless and stupid. People like you.” Tears are pouring down my cheeks.
The jerk turns his back and takes a selfie with the bear behind him. Gives me a dirty look before he heads back to his monster motor home.
I get back in my car and wipe my wet face with my sleeve. The bear looks so calm and peaceful munching on the rice cake, almost looks like its hamming for all the people taking pictures. So trusting that it won’t get hit by a car or shot by a wildlife officer. The bear turns and looks right at me. We lock eyes for a long time. It starts chewing again and then wanders off into the forest.
I get a text from Matt.
Where are you? We’re all geared up and ready to go.
Sorry, crazy traffic on the highway
I’ll stay back and wait for you.
No don’t, I’ll catch you guys next climb
You sure?
Yup
Remember, Abby-climbing is the only cure for gravity.
A true Matt-ism
Later.
I scroll through the contacts on my phone. “Hey, it’s me. What are you up to today?”
***
“He just stared at me for so long,” I say as Gramz and I walk along a trail just outside of Banff. Tall trees line the path and there’s a reflection of the mountains in the small stream beside us. “It was like he was thanking me or something.”
&
nbsp; “It took a lot of courage to do what you did, Abby,” she says. “Not only standing up to that man, but standing up for the bear.”
“Don’t be too impressed, it was just a black bear.” I catch myself. Positive thoughts about myself. I am courageous. I am strong. I am worthy. “No, you’re right, Gramz. It was courageous of me, considering what a chicken I’ve been just being in the mountains, let alone a few feet away from a bear.”
“Sounds to me like you’re starting to finally make peace with the mother grizzly.”
“Not sure about the grizzly, but look at me. I’m walking with you on a mountain trail. Yes, there are busloads of tourists and mountain bikers around us scaring away all living things, including the birds, but I haven’t had a meltdown. Not yet, anyway.”
“You’re doing spectacularly well, sweetie.” Gramz smiles and links her arm through mine. I breathe in the earthy forest, one of my favorite smells. I’ve missed it so much.
“Gramz, do you think I’d make a good drama teacher?”
“I think you’d make an excellent drama teacher. You’re a talented actor, you’re bright and hardworking, you’re a good communicator, and you care about people.”
“But how do I know if it’s my life’s purpose?”
“What excites you? What are you passionate about? What do other people say you’re good at? Answer these questions and I’ll bet you’ll be well on your way to figuring it out.”
I am definitely passionate about drama. And when Carter and I taught that improv class, I felt a jolt of energy run through my body. I really connected with the students.
“I still can’t believe that high school is going to be over so soon,” I say.
“Graduation will be here before you know it. By the way, when we get back, I want to show you something,” she says as we head down the path toward town.
***
“I found it in a trunk in my attic.” Gramz searches through her bedroom closet. “It was your mom’s. Must have been a bridesmaid dress or something.” She pulls out an emerald-green satin dress and spreads it out on her bed. “Can you believe I kept it all these years?”