Getting Somewhere (13 page)

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, whatever. 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 pointedly 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.

“Because . . . it's all you know.”

“She has all the power, doesn't she? And, as far as you know, all the information.”

Jenna shrugs, doesn't answer.

“So, at some point, you're going to act out, aren't you? Because it hurts like hell to believe her, and nobody can live with that kind of pain.”

Jenna hasn't taken her eyes off of Ellie, but she still isn't saying anything.

“So, is it wrong to be angry? Are
you
wrong if you're angry?”

It takes Jenna a long time to respond. “I don't know.”

“Really? I think you do.”

Okay, Cassie definitely doesn't like this. Ellie is challenging Jenna, and Jenna is being pushed into a trap, given no choice but to retreat or fight. Cassie wants Ellie to just smile, clear the air of all the tension. Isn't that her job? Cassie doesn't understand why Ellie seems to be, instead, rocking the boat, poking and prodding until she forces a hole that will send them all plunging into the surf.

Yet Jenna is not retreating. She is not looking away or jumping up from her seat or even appearing upset. In fact, Cassie can almost make out the slight bobbing of Jenna's head.

Ellie's voice is a little quieter now but no less insistent.

“I think you know that your feelings, your anger and your sadness and your pain, tell you exactly what you need to know. They have been doing their job—protecting you, telling you the truth. To get your power back, you have to stop believing her and start believing you.”

Jenna still doesn't say anything. The room is completely silent. Nobody moves.

Cassie thinks the session might be over when Jenna says, “To do that, we'd have to believe you first.”

Ellie smiles. “You're right. That's exactly what I'm asking you to do. In the meantime though, you have to believe Sarah.”

Sarah's head jerks up and she looks at Ellie with confusion. Ellie focuses her smile on Sarah.

“Didn't you just say what everybody needs is a mother? Or maybe we should say, someone in your life who cares for you in a mothering way? Well, that's it. You have to be a kind of loving mother to yourself.”

Cassie's mind is reeling. A loving mother. She knows other important things have been said, but she can only focus clearly on the last part—being a loving mother.

She is hoping someone will ask how you do that when Lauren says, “So, you're trying to be our mother?”

“No, Lauren, that's not what I said. I—”

“Because, see, I already have a mother. Maybe not the best one in the world but I certainly don't need you to be one for me. You don't even have kids, probably never will, so I can't imagine what you would know about it.”

Lauren is glaring at Ellie who is trying to hold Lauren's gaze. Cassie can see from where she is sitting that Ellie is swallowing hard.

“Okay, Lauren. Tell us what you've learned from your mother about how to be a successful, empowered woman.”

The room goes completely silent again. There isn't a single person here, Cassie thinks, who can't hear that Ellie's words are attacking, challenging. Except maybe Lauren. She is sitting up a little straighter, seems glad for the opportunity to describe her mother, hasn't noticed that the rest of them are shifting uncomfortably in their seats, looking away.

“My mother loves me,” Lauren declares. “She has devoted her whole life to me and my dad. She works hard to keep herself looking great, and everybody comments on how put-together she always is. I suppose my file says something about her drinking, but she's never let that stop her from being there for me and Dad. She's not the reason I started shoplifting. You can't blame her for it just to fit your little theories. I
had
everything I needed. I'm not angry about anything other than being stuck here, having to be around people who think I'm better off with them than with my own family, with a
real
family.”

“What's a real family, Lauren?” Sarah is not even trying to hide her contempt.

“It's a mom and a dad and kids. It's certainly not a bunch of women living together, and it's not what you think either, Sarah, a bunch of run-away drug addicts living on the street.”

“So, there's only one kind of family?” Sarah challenges, her voice rising. “And you can only have a family if there's a man in it? Do you have to have a certain number of children, too? Like two point two or whatever is ‘normal'? You're an only child, right? Does that mean someone could decide that yours isn't a real family?”

“I'm not . . .” And Lauren hesitates, glances over at Ellie and then back to Sarah.

Ellie leans forward. “You're not what, Lauren?”

Lauren doesn't answer.

“You're not an only child, are you? You have a brother, right?”

“No.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I thought it said in your file that you had an older brother. I must be remembering it wrong.”

“You are. And if it said that, someone got it wrong. I don't have a brother.”

Cassie is watching Lauren, fascinated. Her face has gone completely white and her teeth are gritted. She is almost violently yanking the ponytail holder off the back of her head and pulling her hair back tightly in order to attach it more severely. When she is done, she turns to rest her gaze back on Ellie.

“Let's just go on. This is totally ridiculous. I don't need to tell any of you anything about my family.” She spits the last word out so that it hangs in the air like a bomb ready to drop.

Cassie realizes she has been staring at Lauren and quickly averts her eyes. Something is definitely wrong, and it's obvious that Lauren is working very hard to cover it up. Does she have a brother or doesn't she? Why would someone say they don't when they do? Other than a mother, Cassie can hardly imagine a thing that she could want more for herself than a brother or sister. And then Cassie is seeing Lauren in the hallway, clutching those cards to her chest that she insisted Ellie had given her permission to borrow. Was that lying? Is this? And, if so, what, exactly, is Lauren trying to hide?