Ch. 1
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” groaned Keri as the group of high school girls filed into the camp cabin.
“Weren’t you listening?” asked Ana as she bounced into the room, auburn ponytail swinging behind her.
“I don’t believe anything I do now will have anything to do with when I grow up. It won’t ‘haunt’ me,” Keri groaned.
“You have no conscious,” Ana rolled her eyes. Keri and Ana had debates like this daily. Ana was the upbeat, positive, slightly hyperactive girl while Keri mostly sulked.
“Keri is right,” added Jen, “People always say that what happens to you when you are a baby or growing up makes you who you are as a grown-up. I think that’s a crock. It’s just an excuse to blame your parents for your problems and get sympathy for stupid choices.” Jen was an ordinary girl, fair skinned, blue eyes, light brown hair. Not pretty, but not homely either. She was quiet for the most part, didn’t participate in group discussions.
“The past is the past,” added Keri.
“All those statistics the preacher guy quoted can’t possibly be true!” stated Joey quietly from the corner of the room. Her real name was Josephine but she dared anyone to call her that. Joey was a self-proclaimed tough-guy and hated every second of summer camp.
“The Bible,” continued Keri as she applied more black eyeliner, “doesn’t say anywhere that you can’t have sex before marriage.” Keri had thick black hair with long thick bangs and dark brown eyes. The combination gave her a very haunted look.
“Didn’t you hear what the preacher said?” asked Ana, as her friend and bunkmate nodded in agreement from the top bunk. Ana continued to flit across the room from bunk to bunk.
“Yeah, sure, but he didn’t quote any scripture, so he made it up. Besides, as long as you don’t get pregnant, what’s the big deal?” Keri groaned.
“Did you see that fine guy sitting across from us?” asked Sabrina, trying to change the subject.
“Ohh, yeah, he’s hot,’ agreed Eva, the only black girl in the room. Eva was an aspiring model, dressed more for summer camp in the Hampton’s than in the woods of central Florida.
Angel listened to this banter for a few more minutes, wondering if they had just been in the same room for the last hour, listening to the same devotional on purity. Then it hit her. “You know girls, I was wondering all week why God put me with this particular group of girls. I always pray about the group of girls I would be assigned to for weeks before camp, but this year seemed different from the start. I’ve been a counselor at this summer camp for years and your group is the first I’ve questioned my abilities. Sometimes students come here thinking that we adults have lived perfect lives and couldn’t possibly understand you and the things you deal with on a daily basis. Angel reached into her duffle bag, pulled out an old, folded piece of paper, then sat on the edge of a cot and prayed silently, help me God, “It is obvious to me that most of you don’t want to be here. Some I know were sent here by their parents for specific reasons, to separate from a boy, to get you away from certain friends, and because your parents wanted a break from you. I also believe I know why you need to be here and why God put me in your life at this time. Gather round girls, I want to tell you a story- my story.”
Angel slowly unfolded the yellowed paper as most of the girls begrudgingly moved a little closer, took a deep breath, then read the letter out loud, “ Dear Karl, Thank you for everything you do with the youth group! I have to confess, your Wednesday night classes have touched me more than any preacher or teacher I have heard in my entire life. Sitting there listening to you talk to our teens, I feel like you are talking to my 16-year-old self. As a teen, I did everything wrong, believed all the lies. Everything you tell them not to do, I did. And I just want to scream – Why wasn’t I told these things? Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t anyone care enough…I never thought I still had regret, thought I had forgiven myself, but there is so much turmoil going on right now, all stemming from mistakes made as a teen-ager. I will be forever grateful to you, for loving these kids- my kids enough to let them know not only that they should do is right, but why and what happens if they don’t and that God loves them and will forgive them and forget their past. I wish I could do the same. I pray these kids – my kids do not repeat my mistakes. Thank you.”
“You wrote that?” Asked Ana.
“Yes.”
“Too scared to send it?” said Joey in an accusatory voice.
“Actually, no, “ I answered, “I kept a copy so I would remember that day.”
“Why?” asked Ana.
“It was a very pivotal point in my life. I wanted to remember that moment, that Aha! I get it moment. We all make mistakes growing up. I felt like I was the worst sinner ever, made the worst, most unforgivable mistakes. Like a lot of us, even you at your age, I have led a double life. When I was in school, middle school, high school, I was the person nobody noticed, the wallflower. I was quiet, made good grades, never got into trouble. When I started working after high school I was a good employee. Always on time, did what was required of me and more, followed all the rules. As an adult, at church and around people who “knew me well” I was again the wallflower. Quiet, worked behind the scenes, never drew attention to myself. Most days I felt like I could walk around naked carrying a sign that said ‘help me’ and nobody would notice.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” groaned Keri, getting bored, not caring about Angel’s story.
“I’m getting there, but the beginning is usually the best place to start a story, so I’ll begin there.”
“Why are you telling this to us?” asked Joey, not wanting to hear a boring story from a boring adult. “We just got a huge lecture, do we really need another one so soon?”
“For 2 reasons. 1, I need to tell it, 2 you need to hear it. If you’ll humor me and listen, I think you’ll figure it out. I have an older sister, by 3 years. She doesn’t look anything like me. Our parents divorced when I was about 2 or 3. I have 2 memories of him. The first, he is laying on the couch, watching TV. My sister and I were playing on the floor and he was just laying there, watching the TV. The second, my sister and I are going to visit my father. Must have been shortly after the break-up. I remember trying to think what he looked like. He must surely be an old man with a white beard. He wasn’t. Don’t remember what he did look like. He gave us a puzzle. It was a map of the United States. We never saw him again. He never wrote or called or had visitation. They divorced and Mom, my sister and I moved away. For years I would dream about him, that he would come and rescue me, tell me he loved me and how sorry he was about leaving me. I didn’t miss him, because I didn’t know him. But I guess I knew a part of me was missing and wanted to know why he didn’t love me.”
“That’s so sad,” whispered Penny shyly from behind her pillow. Keri groaned.
“My mother met and married Ted,” Angel continued, “when I was 5. I was afraid of him. He was very tall and carried a gun. He was a government employee of some kind, not a regular police officer. He also had a really bad temper, I mean bad. He cursed, a lot, and he drank a lot, too. He was not a ‘drunk’, though. I don’t recall typical personality swings of the usual sober, not sober type. He was just loud, opinionated, and got mad very easily. He used to pat my sister and I on the bottom every time we passed by. I couldn’t stand it. His hand didn’t ever linger from what I remember. He never abused me or anything, but it made me very uncomfortable. It got to where I would avoid him or pass by him in a way where he couldn’t touch me. I think he was an atheist because he always said things like “those damned Southern Baptists” and of course he never went to church, except when I was 13 and was baptized. To say the least, I didn’t like him.
“It’s funny, although we did a lot together as a family, Ted, mom, my sister and I, we didn’t talk. Not about important things like religion, family, dating, values, morals, expectations. Ted and I never talked about anything other than the bare necessities. My sister and I argued a lot over typical sister things, and mom and I didn’t talk about much. Mom talked at us mostly.
“Oh, sure, the information I needed for life was out there. I learned it at church. Mom took us to church every Sunday and most Wednesdays. We grew up Baptist. My grandfather and his family were Baptist. My uncle became a Baptist preacher. I learned about God, I learned about Jesus. Jesus loves me. I grew up knowing that. I never questioned the existence of God. I cannot remember a time not knowing that God created the world in six days and on the seventh day He rested. I cannot remember a time not knowing that Jesus Christ died on the cross for my sins and arose on the third day. Every Sunday when the preacher finished his sermon and we sang ‘There is a fountain free…will you come, for you and me’ or ‘Just As I Am’ I wanted to walk down that isle, however, I was a very shy child, didn’t like to be in front of people, so I didn’t. I have nothing against the Baptist faith, so don’t think I’m bashing them. I’m just giving history.
“One day, when I was 13 the preacher came to our house. Mom said it was high time we got baptized, my sister and me. The preacher talked. I listened. I nodded my head yes when he asked if I believed that Jesus was the Son of God. It was arranged that on Father’s Day, a few weeks later, that my sister and I would be baptized. And so, I became a born again Christian.
“My life didn’t change any after that. Not in a spiritual way at least.”
“You were 13,” said Ana, “what’s to change?”
“Well,” Angel continued, “I didn’t read my Bible or pay closer attention at church for one thing. About a year later my mother told me she and Ted were getting a divorce. I was ecstatic! I thought, finally she’s getting rid of him! He wanted to tell me himself, she said. When he came home that evening he sat me down in the dining room and with tears in his eyes he told me. I had to restrain myself, act upset, pretend I was shocked. But on the inside I was jumping for joy! He left that day. Little did I know how much his leaving could have such a huge affect on my life.”
“How could it?” Asked Ana. “You didn’t like him anyway.”
“When there is no man in the house things change. My mom changed, became self-absorbed. I became interested in boys at about age 11 when I started dance lessons. There were boys there. The interest in getting boy’s attention intensified after the divorce. I liked dancing, it was expressive and freeing. At the dance studio I could be me. It was very different from school. No click’s, no jocks, no cheerleaders, no clubs. Just dancing. I had found the one place I could be me. The mask came off and I bloomed – as long as I was in the dance studio. I loved dancing and I loved my teacher, Miss Danielle. We became great friends even though she was 10 years older than me. She filled that maternal role that I didn’t get from my mother and the best friend or older sister role all rolled into one.
“Boys, boys and dancing. A great mix when you’re a little girl. Or so I thought at the time. Disco was king those days…”
“What’s Disco?” Joey hissed under her breath. Keri shrugged.
“There was one boy who was into disco- like John Travolta he was! I know, you don’t know who that is. He was good-looking, all the girls drooled over him. I secretly was in love with him. I did everything I could to get noticed by him. I ignored him, I wore the cutest dance outfits. I danced with the other boys. Eventually, he talked to me – at the dance studio. At school he ignored me. At school he had a reputation. He dated, a lot. Rumor had it that he slept with a lot of girls. Well, I did not want to be added to the list. I did not want that type of reputation at school. Even though I loved, and craved the attention I got from at the dance studio, I moved on.
“I met my first real boyfriend when I was 15. Danielle had 2 daughters. I babysat them quite often. In the summertime I would spent a lot of time at their house babysitting or just hanging out with the girls at the neighborhood pool. My mother trusted Danielle, she went to our church, so I was allowed to go over to her house anytime and even spend the night. The summer I turned 15 the pool got a new lifeguard. He was the cousin of my friend, who was also a lifeguard at the pool. He was at least 18, from California, and very tanned and muscular. Being 15, I was ‘in love’. He being older and wiser, told me he was infatuated with me.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Keri.
“He wanted her for her body,” answered Joey.
“My first sexual encounter was with him,” Angel nodded. “I didn’t know anything about him, but I liked the attention, liked the way he made me feel. First there was then ‘innocent’ flirting that led to touching and kissing in the pool, after hours and at night. I liked it. I had never been paid attention to by the boys in school. I had never dated anyone in school, not that I was old enough in the first place. I always thought I was ugly, not the type to be popular or even noticed by anyone, much less boys. So, here was this boy, this nearly man not only paying attention to me but being sexually attracted to me. I didn’t once stop to think, I am doing the right thing, should we be doing this? Good golly no! A boy was kissing me! I had never been kissed before. How could I possibly think about anything else?”
At this point, the girls moved in a little closer, sat up in their beds and stared at Angel intently. She had their attention. Even the girls in the adjacent set of dorm rooms and their counselors were hovering by the adjoining door. She took a deep breath, thought to herself, “Help me God,” waved for the new listeners to come in then continued.
“On our first real date, we went to dinner, then to his apartment. My mother gave me permission to go out with him. She liked him. Who wouldn’t, he was cute and polite! What was she thinking? I was only 15 years old. While we were kissing, at his apartment, on his bed, he asked me if I was a virgin. I was embarrassed to say yes, but I did say yes. To his credit, he said, ‘Then we can’t have sex. You’re underage.” I was relieved. Disappointed in a way, but relieved.”
“He could have been charged with statutory rape,” exclaimed Ana.
“Probably,” Angel continued. “However, that didn’t stop him, or me, from doing just about everything else. Oral sex is sex. I lot of kids don’t think so, but it is and 15-year-olds shouldn’t be doing it. I did. I had never been told no, that it was wrong. I didn’t even know what oral sex was. I was told you can’t have sex, and to me sex was intercourse. I liked it. This was more attention than I had gotten up to this point in all the 15 years I had lived. I was absolutely terrified of all of the feelings going through my body, but I liked it.”
“You were scared?” asked Keri.
“Very. I had no idea what was going on. He was doing things to my body I didn’t know existed. My mother had never talked to me about sex. My friends at school didn’t talk about sex, not that they knew the facts. I think I laid as still as a statue and didn’t move or say anything the whole time. It never happened again. A few months later, he moved back to California. I was devastated. He didn’t tell me he was leaving. Suddenly, he was just gone. He didn’t call. He didn’t answer his phone. He wasn’t home. No one knew where he was until he called his cousin, my friend, and she told me. My first love, my first broken heart, my lost innocence – at the age of 15.”
“Jerk,” scowled Joey.
“You’re lucky the dude didn’t give you a disease,” stated Eva flatly.
“I started a new high school in the 10th grade. A magnet school for the arts. I almost fit in. I actually did, but I still felt like I didn’t belong. Everyone was different. Singers, musicians, actors, dancers, artists. We were all free to express ourselves. The people who were made fun of in traditional high schools flourished at this school. We were all accepted for who we were, not made to fit a mold. I learned about homosexuality at that school. One of my best friends was a drag queen. I, however, was still a shy little girl with no self-confidence. I still wore the mask even in a place where masks were not needed. I thought I was a good dancer. Dancing was freeing, liberating at my dance studio. At this new school, however, everyone was better than me, lots better. I was intimidated. Mask on.”
“What does that mean – mask?” asked one of the girls in the doorway.
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