Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped (12 page)

“I hear your girls are trouble,” he says.

“Man, word gets around, huh?”

“Well, I was talking to Pastor Ray . . . I’ve got a couple of guys that make me wanna punch something. He mentioned that you’ve been having some challenges too.”

So we sit there and swap war stories for about twenty minutes, and I can’t believe how much better I feel when we’re done.

“I think I should give you back the quarter,” I say.

“Why?”

“In payment for that little therapy session.”

He laughs.

“Seriously, it’s comforting to know that I’m not the only one going through the wringer. That little bit of information might actually help me get through cabin time tonight instead of jumping in the lake.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Of course, even if I survive cabin time, they might find me dead in my bed by morning. Kendra gave me the evil eye during dinner, and I keep having these visions of her suffocating me with a pillow while I’m asleep.”

He laughs even louder now. “Yeah, they should take out special life insurance policies on counselors with problem kids.”

“I’m sure my parents would appreciate that.”

“Well, keep the quarter,” he says. “I had a good therapy session too.”

Then the horn goes off, which makes me jump. That means there are thirty minutes until campfire. Just enough time to herd the girls to the cabin for sweatshirts and remind them to use the restrooms and brush their teeth. (For those who believe in this practice—I’ve heard some of the middle-school boys don’t brush their teeth for two whole weeks—
eeuw!
)

“Hey, Emily,” Brett says before we part ways. “Why don’t we make a pact to pray for each other? Like when things get tough with your girls, you pray for me, and I’ll do the same for you when my guys start making me crazy.”

“Awesome idea!”

Now he sticks out his hand as if he wants to shake on it. “Deal?”

I take his hand and we shake. “Deal.” Okay, I know it’s just a handshake between friends, but I actually get goose bumps.

“Cool. See ya, Emily.”

And so, as I gather up my girls and we head back to the cabin, I am feeling way better than before. It’s like I’m totally high. Even when Kendra takes a jab at me for taking too long to brush my teeth, I barely even react. I actually smile at her, revealing those pearly
whites, and say, “Hey, isn’t it worth it?”

Okay, Em,
I tell myself as we all parade down to campfire in our usual formation (Kendra, Faye, and Jenna bobbing around like fire-flies up ahead of us, pausing now and then to complain about the slowpokes, Chelsea walking with me, and Hilary and Penny trailing along just a little behind us),
don’t get all carried away by this little development. Brett is just being nice to you. Maybe he feels sorry for you. If anything, he just wants to be friends and prayer partners. No big deal. Just chill.
Even so, I am walking on air. And I am keeping that quarter as a keepsake!

I
WISH I COULD SAY THAT THE SECOND WEEK OF CAMP GOES BETTER THAN THE
first, that the girls all mellow out and begin to open up and share, and when it’s all said and done, we go our separate ways feeling even closer than sisters. Unfortunately that’s not the case. And now I know that it’s totally my fault. I am a failure as a counselor.

All week long, Kendra continues to pick on the “geek” girls (as she calls Penny, Hilary, and Chelsea). Of course, she mostly does this behind my back, although I do catch her occasionally. And Faye begins imitating Kendra until she’s as big a headache as her evil leader by the last day of camp. Jenna never says much one way or the other, but her allegiance is definitely with Faye and Kendra.

As a result, our cabin times are the absolute worst. I try to take the girls through the devotions, but other than Chelsea (my hero) no one really speaks much or opens up. If I hadn’t brought my guitar with me, I’m not sure what we’d do to pass the time. But I tell myself as we sing worship songs together that maybe God can reach these girls through music. I know I can’t seem to reach them through anything else.

But the day before camp ends, things get really ugly, and all I want to do is go home or just crawl under a rock somewhere. I guess I could blame it on the heat (it’s in the high nineties) or on the fact
that we’re all a little tired, but that’s probably a cop-out.

It starts during lunch. I can tell that Jenna isn’t feeling too well. It’s like she’s been slogging along all morning. Then, after picking at her food and not eating, she leaves lunch early and goes outside to lie down on a bench. Feeling worried, I follow her and ask if she’s okay.

“Yeah,” she says, slowly sitting up. “Just tired I guess.”

Okay, I know this might be my best chance to talk to her, since I am totally convinced that she’s not only anorexic but also in danger. I caught her partially dressed once, and she was nothing but skin and bones. Really scary. Especially when you consider she is only twelve and not even fully grown yet. I can’t understand why a girl her age would fall into this stuff.

“Jenna,” I say quietly, thankful that no one else has left the mess hall yet. “I know that you’re anorexic.”

She doesn’t say anything, just looks down at her thin little legs poking out of a pair of shorts that look too big. Jenna wears T-shirts layered over tank tops, so you don’t always notice how skinny she really is.

“And I’m worried about you. Do you have any idea how this can destroy your health?”

Now she turns and looks at me, but instead of looking ashamed or contrite, she has an accusatory expression. “You should talk.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, it’s true that I’m dieting, trying to take off a few pounds, but you and I are different, Jenna. What you’re doing is — ”

“Different?” she shoots back at me. “You mean because you’re fat?”

Okay, this hurts. But it’s not like I’m not used to it. “Yeah,” I tell her. “Because I’m fat, therefore I can afford to eat less. But you’re — ”

“I’m fat too,” she says quickly, folding her arms across her chest.

And I have to laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“I am. And I used to be way fatter.” She turns and looks at me now, as if she’s trying to guess how much I weigh. “I used to be kind of like you.”

“But can’t you see that you’re way too thin now?”

She just shakes her head.

“Jenna,” I say in what I hope is a sympathetic tone. “This is really unhealthy. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that you’re hurting yourself by not eating?” I hear voices and footsteps behind us now and I know that lunch is over, but I don’t want to let this go. “Maybe you and I could go talk to the camp nurse,” I urge her. “I’m sure she could tell you about anorexia and how it’s not — ”

“Why don’t you go talk to the nurse?” she tosses back at me, standing up defiantly. “You’re the one who’s anorexic, Emily! I’ve seen what you do with your food. You’re the one who needs help!”

Now Kendra and Faye are by Jenna’s side, like reinforcements.

“How can she be anorexic?” asks Faye in disbelief. “She’s fat.”

“A fat anorexic,” says Kendra like it’s a big joke. “Is that what you call an oxymoron?”

“Oxymoron?” shrieks Faye. “That sounds nasty. What is that?”

“A fat anorexic,” says Kendra in explanation.

Now it seems like all the campers are standing around listening, and some of them are laughing. Even Brett is there with his boys. I feel so humiliated that I just want to die.

But I just shake my head and stand up. Without saying anything, I walk off. And even though it’s not time yet, I head down to the activity area. Sure, I would like to just go hide somewhere or simply pack my bags and leave this place. But I know I have a job to finish,
and I am determined to do it. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not usually a quitter. And even though there are tears of embarrassment streaming down my cheeks when I reach the deserted activity area, I tell myself that I can survive this. And I remember my prayer pact with Brett. Okay, I’m still feeling totally bummed that he just witnessed that humiliating scene between Jenna and me. But it’s not like I can change that. It’s not like I can change much of anything.

So I sit down on a rock and tell myself to pray for Brett, and yet when I try to pray, it’s really hard. It’s like I’ve forgotten how, or maybe it’s more like a part of me is shutting down or fading away—a deep spiritual part. Now more than ever I feel like a total hypocrite, a loser, and a fat, pathetic geek. Really, who do I think I am to confront Jenna about her eating disorder when I’m dealing with the exact same thing myself? And even though I’ve rationalized my behavior, excusing myself because I really am overweight, deep down I know that what I’m doing to my body is wrong. But I also know that
I don’t want to stop
. More than anything, I still want to lose this weight. That’s the only thing that’s driving me right now. It’s like I’ve left God completely out of the equation. And I have a feeling that God isn’t too pleased with that. And that makes me feel even more guilty. Yet there’s nothing I can do about it. I feel stuck.

So what do I do? I get up and start exercising. Like a fanatic, I put myself through the obstacle course several times, until I am hot and sweaty and panting like a dog. Then I go and refill my water bottle, still my constant companion, and I drink it down like it’s food. Do I feel good? Not really. But I do feel empowered. And maybe that’s enough. I tell myself that I’ll get through this. Life won’t always be this way for me.

By the time the kids start trickling down for activity time, I feel like I’m in control again. And I almost don’t care what anyone thinks
about me. If anyone confronts me, I’ll just deny what Jenna said about me, and I’ll point out that she’s obviously in serious denial about her own problems and that she was simply trying to switch the focus from her to me—like a big smoke screen. I think that’s pretty believable.

But things only get worse during activity time. Because it’s the last whole day at camp, the activities director has a pretty full program planned—still based on the Survivor theme. The two tribes will face their biggest challenges today. It’s funny, but as I stand watching on the sidelines, I feel like I’m playing a Survivor game of my own, just hoping that I can survive twenty-four more hours with these girls and this torture without totally losing it.

Anyway, for some reason, Kendra, Faye, and Jenna are really stoked about this (I’m pretty sure it’s a boy thing), and they are determined to clean up in today’s challenges. Not that the other three girls in my cabin don’t care about it. In fact, Chelsea (the most athletic of the whole group) probably has the best chance of anyone to actually win.

But I can still tell that Jenna isn’t feeling well. She looks paler than usual and isn’t moving very fast. A part of me says that I should intervene, make her sit down and rest and drink some juice or maybe even take her to the nurse, but another part of me is still burning from her embarrassing accusations, and for that reason I just ignore her.

Suddenly, I hear someone yelling my name. Faye. She and Kendra are standing over someone. I run over and see that Jenna is lying on the ground. Her eyes are closed and she’s not moving.

“She just fainted,” says Kendra.

“Yeah,” says Faye. “She finished the obstacle course and then she fell down. We thought she was faking it.”

I’m kneeling beside her now, putting my face close to hers, and it doesn’t seem like she’s breathing. “Help!” I scream loudly. “Someone call 9-1-1!” Before I can do a thing, the lifeguard steps in and immediately assesses the situation and begins CPR.

“Move away,” someone is saying. “Give them room!”

And then a small group of campers and counselors gather together, and they begin praying out loud for Jenna.

I feel like I’m watching everything from a distance and in slow motion, although I know that I’m standing only a few feet from Jenna. But it’s like I can’t move, like one of those dreams where your feet are stuck in cement. Without praying or barely even thinking, I just stand there like a statue, watching as the nurse steps in to assist the lifeguard in CPR, and before long there are paramedics and all the bystanders are cleared away as Jenna is transported to the emergency vehicle.

“Is she going to be okay?” Faye is asking me as the sirens fade in the distance.

I blink and look to see that all the girls in my cabin are standing around me now, waiting, I suspect, for me to say something reassuring, something to make them feel better.

“I don’t know,” I say.

Then they all begin talking, speculating over why this happened until finally Kendra, the consummate leader, proclaims, “It’s all because of the anorexia.”

The group gets quiet, waiting for her to go on, tell them more.

“I told you guys on the first day that Jenna was anorexic,” she says in that know-it-all voice.

“How did you know?” asks Faye.

Kendra rolls her eyes. “Well, you saw how skinny she was. And she never ate anything. Like duh.”

“Yeah, but some people are just skinny,” says Faye.

“Not like that,” says Kendra. “Jenna
is
anorexic. And she probably had a heart attack or something.”