The Summer I Wasn't Me (14 page)

The next day, we all pretend like last night never happened. I’ve got a killer headache, and the others don’t look so great either, but we don’t talk about it.

The exercise for the day is baseball—the boys have to play; the girls have to watch. I have a pretty good feeling that most of the girls would rather be playing and most of the guys would rather be on the sidelines, but I guess it’s supposed to be another way to instill appropriate gender roles in us. Girls don’t play sports. Boys do.

It’s fine by me though. If I had to swing a bat and run around on a field with this hangover, I’d probably puke all over home plate. I don’t know how Matthew and Daniel are managing to hold it together.

It turns out Ian, the kid who had to hit Gabe during the Father Wounds, is an incredible baseball player. He hits every pitch that comes his way. By the third inning, the score is 11–0 and the male counselors join in the game—“to even out the teams”—but Ian tramples all over them too. Everyone is rooting for him, even the guys on the opposite team. It’s pretty great, watching him put the counselors in their place.

My eyes keep wandering over to Carolyn during the game. She hasn’t said much since last night, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am: the reparative therapy isn’t working.

I know what I said about it being about choices and the diet analogy and everything, and I do think that can probably work for some people; the idea that the camp doesn’t zap us completely free of our SSA but rather gives us the tools to fight back against the SSA and be content choosing a different path in life isn’t so hard to believe.

But the thing is, I don’t know if it’s a diet I can personally commit to. God knows I’ve been trying to fully entrust myself to the de-gayifying exercises I believe in, and to find the gray area in the others, but I still keep drifting back to Carolyn.

Carolyn, who looks so completely miserable right now. I hate that whatever is on her mind is making her so sad. So, on the off chance she’s thinking the same thing I am, I whisper, “There’s still five weeks left.”

She looks up at me.

“It’ll be okay,” I say. “You’re going to be okay.”

She nods. “There’s still five weeks left,” she repeats.

“Five weeks is a long time.”

“Thanks, Lexi.” She gives a small smile and goes back to watching the game.

But now that I’ve consoled Carolyn—or as much as I can without knowing exactly what it is I’m comforting her about—I have nothing to distract me from my own misery.

The
reparative
therapy
isn’t working for me.
I have all these tools, and I’m trying to use them, but nothing’s happening. And I’m pretty sure five more weeks isn’t going to change that. I feel it, deep down in my core. This just isn’t going to work. Maybe I’m different from Mr. Martin and Kaylee and Peter. Maybe I just wasn’t meant to be gluten free after all. Maybe this is what God has wanted for me all along…

But I
cannot
go home to my mother and look her in the eye and tell her it didn’t work. It would kill her.

After the game (final score: 21–0), Brianna whisks the girls away to do some gender activities in the main cabin. Today’s lesson: laundry.

“Are you
serious
? The boys get to play sports and we have to
clean
? That’s not fair!” Melissa blurts out as Brianna presents us with the ginormous pile of pink and blue laundry in the cabin’s basement laundry room.

“Melissa, I’m really getting tired of your complaining,” Brianna says. “Another word and you’ll be on laundry duty for the rest of the summer.”

Melissa zips her lips and throws away the key.

That’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful
little fool.

“Mrs. Wykowski usually takes care of the camp’s laundry, but we gave her the day off today,” Brianna explains. She shows us how to sort the laundry into lights and darks and work the settings on the row of washing machines and dryers. I already know how to do all this stuff, but it seems like a lot of these girls have never had to do their own laundry before.

I’m on hand-wash duty (the girls’ sweaters are hand-wash only—yet another reason to loathe them), but I actually don’t mind. The repetitive motion of soaking, rinsing, and wringing is conducive to thinking, and I have a lot to think about. The de-gayifying isn’t working. So what the hell am I going to do?

By the time the sweaters are all laid flat to air dry and it’s all hands on deck for the Great Fold, I’ve come up with a new plan: I will stick with the program for the rest of the summer. I will do everything Mr. Martin and the other counselors say to do, so they can tell my mom what a model camper I was. And I will spend the rest of my life lying to my mother.

If I’d done a better job of keeping that damn sketchbook away from her in the first place, she never would have known I was gay. Just like if I tell her the de-gayifying worked, she’ll never know that it didn’t.

I can get married. I can have babies. You don’t have to be in love to do those things. You don’t even have to be in like. I repeat to myself what I told Carolyn:
it’ll be okay. You’re going to be okay.

***

The following Sunday marks the summer’s halfway point—and brings with it a couple of surprises.

The first thing that happens is that Mr. Martin announces at breakfast that we’ll get the chance to call our parents today. My heart immediately swells up—for the first time in a month, I’m going to get to talk to Mom!

We all line up outside Mr. Martin’s office and go inside one at a time for a five-minute supervised conversation.

Matthew is in line right before me, and he whispers just before he goes in, “I’m calling Justin.”

My jaw drops. “You can’t! Mr. Martin said parents only! He’s going to be watching you the whole time.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he says and disappears into the office.

I listen through the door. After a few moments of silence, I hear Matthew say, “Hi, Dad, it’s me.” Pause. “I know, I’m glad to hear your voice too.” Pause. “It’s not so bad. I’ve got some friends here so that’s good. How’s everything at home?” Long pause. “Yeah, I bet!” Laughter. “Okay, well, I have to go, but I’ll see you in a month.” Short pause. “I miss you too. I love you.” Short pause. “Say hi to Mom!” More laughter. “Okay, bye.”

The door swings open and Matthew’s face is pure joy. I can’t help but smile.

I go into the office and sit down. With a quick glance at Mr. Martin, who’s sitting behind his desk watching me, I pick up the phone and dial my house number.

As it rings, the excitement I’d been feeling as I waited in line turns to apprehension. What if she’s not “doing fine” after all? Or what if she’s not home again and I don’t get another chance to speak with her for four more weeks?

But she picks up on the third ring—and her voice sounds bright and happy.

“Mom?”

“Lexi! Oh my goodness, how are you?”

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“I’m doing really well. Oh, Lexi, I wish you were here to see it.”

“You sound great,” I say, relieved—and surprised. “I heard you went camping?”

“Yes! It was such fun, but I am so sorry I wasn’t here when you called. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, Mom. I’m so glad to hear you’ve been keeping busy though.”

“I definitely have. I joined this exercise group that goes on long walks and hikes—that’s who I went camping with—and I took on a shift at the church daycare center. And I joined a widow support group—it’s wonderful. I really should have done it earlier.”

I’m stunned. “That’s great, Mom. I’m so happy for you.” Tears spring to my eyes.

“Well, you inspired me, honey. You knew you had to get help, and you went and did it. I realized there’s no reason why I shouldn’t do the same thing. How is everything at New Horizons? Are you making good progress?”

Now I’m full on crying, and I’m not even sure why.

I do my best to make my voice sound normal. “It’s really great. I…” Deep breath. “I really think it’s working.” There it was, lie number one in a lie-filled lifetime.

“Oh, that’s such wonderful news! I’m so proud of you, Lexi. I
knew
he didn’t know what he was talking about.”

Wait—what?

“Who didn’t know what he was talking about?” I ask. “Pastor Joe?”

There’s a pause. “No, no, sorry, never mind. I still get confused sometimes,” she says.

“Oh. Okay…Are you
sure
you’re all right?”

“I’m great. I promise,” she says.

Mr. Martin is making a wrap-it-up gesture. “I have to go, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. You keep working on getting better, and when I come to pick you up next month, we’ll go out for a big celebration dinner. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great.” I clear my throat. “Bye!”

“Bye, Lexi.”

I hang up the phone and leave the room in a daze. She sounded just like the woman she used to be, the one whose specialty was macaroni and cheese casserole with a black olive smiley face baked into the top, who made her own homemade crayons for her students because she thought they deserved the best. I should be glad that she’s doing so well. And I am—I really, really am. My utopia is actually starting to come true.

But somehow utopia doesn’t feel so…well,
utopic
.

At dinner, everyone talks about their phone calls. Daniel is grinning. Over the past week, he’s slowly been working past the dejection he felt during our fateful night of drinking, and now that he’s finally gotten a chance to check in with his mother, the last of his worries seem to have evaporated, his faith in New Horizons fully restored.

Matthew gabs away excitedly about all the San Diego gossip he found out from Justin. Apparently, someone named José cheated on someone named Diana with someone named Jennifer, which “everybody totally knew was going to happen.”

Everyone’s glad to hear that my mom’s doing so well. I don’t tell them the part about me not being as happy about it as I thought I would.

“How about you, Carolyn?” I ask. “How did your conversation go?”

She doesn’t look happy; there’s a deep crease between her eyes that wasn’t there before her phone call. “They miss me,” she says, and there’s an edge to her tone.

“Well, that’s good, right?”

“They want me to come home,” she says, picking a biscuit apart with her fingers. “They don’t get it.”

Matthew, Daniel, and I exchange a look. “They want you to come home?” I say. “Like,
now
?”

“Yup. They didn’t want me to come here in the first place.”

“So…then…why…” I’m having trouble forming the question. Carolyn’s parents
didn’t
want her to come here? I know we’re all here for different reasons, but up until now, I thought the one common theme among all of us was that our parents were at the very least
supportive
of the de-gayifying.

I don’t get an answer to my barely formed question though, because Carolyn suddenly throws down the mangled biscuit and storms out of the cabin, slamming the screen door behind her.

I want to go after her, but Kaylee is out the door and following Carolyn before I can even leave my seat. And then Mr. Martin calls everyone to attention, so I couldn’t leave the dining cabin even if I wanted to.

“I trust everyone enjoyed their phone calls home today!” he says. “And now I have another announcement to commemorate the summer’s halfway point—beginning tomorrow, you will all get to wear your own clothes again.”

Oh my God. Finally
—gray area
. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. I feel like I’ve won the lottery. The entire room breaks out in celebration: fist bumps, hugs (between members of the opposite sex only, of course), cheers, and lots and lots of applause.

Mr. Martin waits for everyone to settle down before continuing. “In one month, you’re all going to be leaving New Horizons. So the second half of the summer will focus on the real-life applications of what we’ve worked on thus far, to make that transition back to the outside world as seamless as possible. Of course, you won’t be wearing your New Horizons uniforms in your regular lives back home, so it’s important that we help you practice making good choices in the way that you present yourselves now. Brianna, anything to add?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Martin,” Brianna says. “I’d like to add that while you’ll be getting more freedom in your wardrobe from now on, there
is
a limit to what is acceptable attire. If we see you wearing anything that we don’t approve of, we will ask you to remove it immediately, and we expect your full cooperation.”

We all nod eagerly. Whatever wardrobe restrictions she has in mind still have to be better than the uniforms.

“We also have a limited reserve of men’s and women’s clothes in case you find that your old wardrobe doesn’t comply with who you are now,” Brianna says.

Yeah, there’s no way I’m going to wear anything of theirs ever again.

When we get back to the dorms, Carolyn is already in bed, reading
Gatsby
.

“Hey,” I say. “Are you okay?”

She nods. “I’m fine. Sorry I got upset.”

“It’s okay. I think the phone calls put everyone a little bit on edge. Except Matthew.” I smile.

She smiles back.

“So, I have some good news,” I say and pause for dramatic effect. “We don’t have to wear the uniforms anymore!”

Carolyn sits up, all traces of melancholy suddenly vanished. “Are you serious?!”

I grin. “Yup. Starting tomorrow. It’s so we can practice how to ‘make good choices in how we present ourselves’ or something.”

“Oh my God. Amazing!”

“I know, right?” We stay like that, grinning at each other, for a suspended moment. Then Deb announces fifteen minutes till lights out and Carolyn looks away.

“Here,” she says and hands me the book.

I clutch it to my chest.

***

The clothes in the bottom drawers of my dresser are like long lost friends. “Hi,” I whisper and give them a little wave. I don’t care if I look crazy.

I take all my clothes out of the drawers and spread them out on my bed, my heart giving an excited little jump each time I spot one of my favorites pieces. I resist the urge to roll around in them like a pig in mud, but I do pick up a few of them and bring them to my nose, breathing in the smell of home.

I finally decide what I’m going to wear today and then carefully place everything else back in the drawers. But unlike the last time I did this, this is not a good-bye. It’s just a see you later.

It takes a little longer than usual to get ready today because the counselors have to survey each camper from head to toe. They make little adjustments—buttoning up a top button here, nixing a studded belt there—but everyone cooperates. Even Melissa doesn’t complain.

When Brianna gets to me, she purses her lips, studying my layered tanks, skinny jeans, and black high-tops. “Some jewelry would help,” she says finally.

I’m already wearing the cross (none of us pressed our luck with that one), but I grab a long, beaded necklace from my vanity and slip it around my neck too.

Brianna nods and then walks away.

There’s a palpable change in the camp’s atmosphere today. Everyone’s a little extra smiley, chatting a little extra loudly. I think they all understand now what I knew all along—when you’re wearing something you love, you get to be confident. Comfortable. Happy. You get to be
you
.

Carolyn’s wearing a canary-yellow sleeveless dress with little teardrop earrings and flip-flops. Matthew’s in a pair of cargo shorts and a heather gray V-neck tee. And Daniel’s monochromatic in denim shorts and a baggy blue T-shirt that is way too big for him.

Matthew raises his glass of OJ. “To our last four weeks at New Horizons!” he says.

“And to no more uniforms!” I add.

“Hear, hear!” Carolyn says at the same time that Daniel says, “Cheers!”

We all clink glasses.

“Are you feeling better today, Carolyn?” Daniel asks.

I put my glass down, my good mood deflating a little. Why would he bring that up now, while we’re having such a happy moment?

But Carolyn just smiles and says, “Yes, much. Thanks for asking, Daniel.”

Damn. Now I wish
I
were the one who’d asked.

The activity for the day is Avoiding Satanic Influences. It’s in the classroom cabin, and we’re all in one big group again.

Mr. Martin begins by giving a speech about how the world is filled with evil and how resisting our SSA and resisting Satan go hand in hand. “Book of James, chapter four, verse seven,” he quotes. “‘Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you.’” He looks at us. “What are some ways you can resist the devil?”

Daniel’s hand goes up. “Don’t do drugs.”

“Very good. What else?”

“Go to church,” Sarah says.

“Yes, that’s very important.”

I catch Carolyn’s eye and she gives a tiny smile. I know what she’s thinking:
the
Church
of
Gatsby.

“What else?” Mr. Martin asks.

The list keeps growing. Follow the Ten Commandments. Don’t join a gang. Dress modestly. Wait until marriage for sex. Don’t masturbate.

Matthew rolls his eyes so much I wouldn’t be surprised if they got stuck like that. And a few times he actually bangs his head against his desk in frustration. Honestly, I don’t blame him. Some of this stuff is so ridiculous. I mean, in what world would I ever join a
gang
?

And I don’t really understand how all of these things can be considered on the same level. Joining a gang means
killing
people—obviously that’s bad. But dressing immodestly? How is that even in the same conversation?

The group has exhausted its devil-avoiding list, but Mr. Martin still has some ideas of his own to add.

“Halloween, pop music, sex on television…our culture has become so submerged in evil that half the time we don’t even realize it. Take
Harry
Potter
, for example.”

Matthew and I exchange a wide-eyed
can
you
believe
this?
look. Mr. Martin has really lost it now. How could cute little Harry Potter possibly be bad? Things just elevated to a whole new level of crazy.

“
Harry
Potter
is luring innocent children to witchcraft and the occult,” he explains. “It teaches that you can leave the world of structure, safety, and family and go to a place where the rules don’t apply, where you can get whatever you want—as long as you access dark magic.” Mr. Martin shakes his head in dismay. “How many of you have read the
Harry
Potter
series or seen the movies?”

Almost all of us raise our hands.

“And I’ll bet you never realized how it was corrupting you,” he says.

No one responds, but there are a few shrugs and headshakes. Matthew’s whole body shakes with silent laughter.

Then, suddenly, the silence is broken ever so slightly by Daniel, who whispers something down at his desk. I don’t think Mr. Martin hears way up at the front of the room, but those of us near Daniel turn our heads.

“What was that, Daniel?” Matthew asks.

Daniel looks up. His eyes widen when he sees so many of us looking at him. “Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“No, you said something,” Matthew presses. “If you have something to say, you should say it.”

“What’s going on back there?” Mr. Martin asks.

“Daniel has something to say,” Matthew announces.

Daniel’s face is the darkest shade of red I’ve ever seen it. “No, I don’t.”

Mr. Martin smiles. “Please, Daniel, if you have something to add, we’d love to hear it.”

Of course he wants to hear it—Daniel always agrees with him. If it were Matthew who had something to say though, I doubt he’d be so encouraging.

Daniel stares down at his desk. “Well…I was just wondering…if…” His voice is low, but it easily carries through the small, silent room. “Well, if you’ve ever read
Harry
Potter
.”

“No, I must say I haven’t,” Mr. Martin says confidently. “I practice what I preach, of course.”

“Oh,” Daniel says. “Well, I don’t think it’s what you think.”

Everyone in the room is rapt with attention now, leaning in a little closer, craning their necks a little further. All eyes and ears are on Daniel.

“Oh? Please, explain,” Mr. Martin says, his voice still as sturdy as ever, but his smile beginning to falter slightly.

“Well, I actually think it’s a pretty Christian story. There’re a lot of parallels between Harry’s story and Jesus’s.”

Whoa. Daniel is standing up to Mr. Martin!

“How so, Daniel?” Mr. Martin says, his tone turning sour.

“It’s all about sacrifice and good winning out over evil and finding your faith, you know? And there are even Bible verses on Harry’s parents’ tombstones: ‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death,’ which is from first Corinthians chapter fifteen, verse twenty-six, and ‘Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also,’ which Jesus says in Matthew six, verse twenty-one.” Daniel’s confidence is growing now—he’s looking directly at Mr. Martin. “And of course, one of the main themes in
The
Deathly
Hallows
is resurrection.”

Mr. Martin swallows, and the muscles in his neck strain against his skin. “Thank you, Daniel. You’ve been very informative.” He manages a small smile. “That’s all for now, everyone. Please proceed to the dining cabin for lunch. Oh, and Matthew, may I see you in my office, please?”

“Now?” Matthew asks, surprised.

“Yes. Now.”

***

Matthew fills us in on what happened with Mr. Martin during leisure hours that night. The Monopoly board is set up between us, but it’s going largely ignored.

“He said that he was trying to give me time to adapt to being at New Horizons, but that by this point, my ‘attitude’ really should have ‘adjusted’ by now, and that he’s going to be a lot less tolerant of my ‘insolent behavior’ from now on.” He looks at Daniel. “Basically, he thinks I’m a bad influence on you.”

“I’m so sorry,” Daniel says. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

Matthew shakes his head. “Forget it. I can handle that asshole. And anyway, I’m the one who owes you an apology. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.” But after a pause, he says, “But it was pretty great.” He grins at Daniel.

Daniel smiles too, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can’t believe I did that. Mr. Martin is just trying to help us, and I was so disrespectful.”

“No, you weren’t,” I say. “You were perfectly respectful. You didn’t raise your voice or anything. You just disagreed with what he was saying. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But I shouldn’t be disagreeing with him in the first place,” Daniel says. “I’m here to learn from him. He won his fight with SSA. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Daniel, I really don’t think disagreeing with Mr. Martin about the merits of
Harry
Potter
is going to be the thing that stops you from getting what you want,” I say gently. And that gets me thinking again about how some of us will get what we want and others won’t. I hope Daniel’s in the former category. I don’t know what category Carolyn’s in. I’m in the latter category, but no one will ever know that.

Because really, the only difference between someone who succeeds at the de-gayifying—like Kaylee—and someone who just
pretends
to succeed at it—like me—is the happiness level of that person. The rest of it—the hard work, the commitment, the actively pushing back against your nature—is all the same. It’s just that, for me, I imagine the “diet” will be a lot more like starvation.

Well, that’s depressing.

I look around the rec cabin. Kaylee, John, and Deb, the counselors who used to struggle with SSA, are all here tonight. Why are they capable of this and I’m not? What do they have that I don’t?

Somewhere along the way in my wandering, rambling thoughts, my gaze lands on Matthew as he confidently rolls the dice and gets the Monopoly game started.

There
is
one other possibility I haven’t considered…

What if the de-gayifying doesn’t work at all? What if the success stories are all lies?

Mr. Martin and his ten-year marriage to Nancy. Kaylee and her decision to work at New Horizons after going through the program herself. Daniel’s friend Peter and Counselor John and Marilynn Chaney’s grandnephew and the countless, nameless others…have they
all
made the same choice I have? Are they all faking it?

Or maybe they’ve been telling the lie so long that they’ve started to believe it themselves.

I lower my head and rest my cheek on the tabletop. The only thing I know for sure is there are a hell of a lot more questions than answers. And when it comes down to it, that’s like knowing nothing at all.