Grace

It wasn't until Friday – the very last day - that he finally asked me about it.

He caught me on the way out of chapel, said he wanted to know how I was getting along. We made small talk as we walked around to the back of the building, where we sat on some flat rocks by the chimney facade. I finally felt like I was pulling off a believable smile.

"I just want to know why."

The ground beneath gave way, the air was gone from my lungs, but I wrestled my face into the blankest expression I could muster. I avoided eye contact tried to imagine my frozen gaze burning through his counselor's shirt, but his words swiftly pierced a tender, hidden pressure point in my psyche, and the world was hidden behind a curtain of burning tears. I couldn't remember the last time I cried. With what willpower I could muster, I groped the darkness of my frustration for an answer. Not the answer to Jeff's question, but the why it hurt me so much. I'd been asking myself the same question every day, but it never affected me like this.

In chapel earlier, I had listened with all my will, aching with guilt, sore heart tugged everywhere and nowhere. I imagined what it would be like on that final day. I imagined imagining. I wanted to care so badly. I knew two masters. I knew no one could love two masters. I wondered if I could love either one.

I woke Friday morning feeling alright. This was a relief - I'd been tossing and turning hours after my bunkmates drifted off Thursday night. Eventually, my anxious heart found a humble peace from the endless and earnest petitions for forgiveness I made to the God of the Universe. But I knew my reputation would be harder to assuage. God would wipe away the eternal stain of my sin. As Thursday night drifted away, I slowly accepted that I didn't have anywhere to turn for help with the mess I'd made on earth.

I sat with the counselors at lunch Thursday. They smiled a lot, I tried to fit in. Then Steph called something "fruitful", and I lost it. I'm not really sure why that hit me so hard - it was probably the third time I'd heard it that day, but then again it was the only time I'd heard it in a real conversation. Maybe it was just that when these people talked from the heart, they sounded like sermons. But unlike any sermon I'd ever heard, they sounded - real. I felt like I'd never heard something so honest. But when they looked at me, the honesty disappeared. As hard as they tried to look accepting, I couldn't buy it. They didn't hate me, far from it, but I did disappoint them. Three days ago, I'd been earnest, honest, loving, caring, pure, and righteous. But now they didn't see anything but a defiled temple. Something for pitying, and not much else. The sinking feeling that started with their honesty only got worse when they started to play pretend for me. I excused myself from the table and went to my quiet time early, walking to the lightly wooded far side of the lake where I tried to take a short nap. Soon, I was woken by music echoing across the lake, announcing ten minutes until the start of Chapel. I made it just in time to sit in the middle of the kids with poor hygiene and social skills. Before I even realized I wasn't listening to a word of the sermon, I was chastising myself for inattention.

I had woken Thursday morning wanting to put everything behind me, but Wednesday night my muscles ached to be angry. All day long I’d seen eyes averted, heard wordless whispers cut short when I walked near, I knew they all knew, and I knew there was no way to make them understand. I’d lost my best friend and my whole entourage in one stupid act. My heart slowed, my blood pulled out of my biceps, it felt like a slow and willing paralysis. My mind screamed, “FIGHT!! FIGHT!!”, to no avail. I heard nothing but a placid in and out - the breathing of my peers, asleep in the bunks around me ╨ and as my body filled with lead, I yelled all the louder in my head. It didn’t occur to me then, but my body was probably just trying to preserve itself. It knew the only person I really wanted to hurt was myself.

Wednesday afternoon I sat in the pool gazebo across from a small group of girls, thinking some friendly talk would do me some good. At the very least, it would distract me. Whenever I thought of something clever, I’d try to join the conversation, but they wouldn’t acknowledge a word I said. I would have left, but shortly some more boys joined us. It didn’t escape my notice that they sat directly between me and the girls, to the girls’ visible relief. But at least the boys would make eye contact with me every now and then, and laugh at some of my jokes.

After quiet time on the third day, Heather came to me in tears. Mascara dripped pitifully down her face. We walked behind the cabins, facing the athletic field, a place I felt sufficiently private, yet not intimate in the slightest. She was grateful, I imagined, for my selfless thoughtfulness. A dark curl, frizzy from daily swimming and hard water showers, fell past her face. When I tried to hug her, she forcefully pushed me back. Roughly whipping her hair back behind her ear, she still said nothing, but looked at me. We spoke with our eyes,
-I don't even know what to think anymore.
-I know.

We began to talk, but our eyes still said more.

"Don't blame yourself for this."
-Did we really do anything wrong?
"What are you saying? It’s my fault. The only people involved were me and you, and you wouldn’t have –“
"Simon…
-I think I might know.
-You might know what?
"Heather, if it was any other boy-"
"Who cares? It wasn’t, it was you, and me, and..."
-Can I trust you?
-Of course, yes.
"I’m just so mad at myself."
-I love you.
-Please, don't.
"I know."
"I wish I could help you, but I can’t even help myself."
-But I love you.
-How can this be so simple for you?
"I know."

I slumped over toward the ground, away from her.

"We can’t be around each other anymore, not the way we were."
"Yes, yes, we need time apart if we’re going to grow through this."
-Why must I love you?
-Why must you?
"Thank you for talking with me about this."
"Heather, I'm so sorry about this all. I'm so sorry talking is all I can do."
-I must.
-Then why mustn't I?
"That’s not your fault."
-Because one of us has to be mature.

It was at orientation Monday morning that I first saw her, but I didn’t formally meet her until shortly after we moved into our cabins. She was a friend of Esther's from school. I had never been that good friends with Esther, but she wanted everyone to love her, particularly boys, which combined with her uninspiring, undeveloped figure to make an acquaintance supremely approachable. When Esther introduced us Heather parted her lips in a shy smile and slightly arched a tender eyebrow. We restlessly fidgeted on tree stumps circling a blackened fire pit as Esther's imposing social presence conducted us briskly through friendly jokes and small talk. When we stood to go to chapel, I stood up straight, self-consciously filling my whole height, not slumping for the first time that day. She smiled and took my arm, with Esther on her other side, and the three of us skipped across the soccer field together, laughing. Meanwhile I tried to focus all my observational energy on the inches of forearm she brushed against, and tried to hold in my heart the feeling of her light, thin wrist against my awkward, gangly teenage form.

Monday ended with a late night swim. Dancing light from below tinted laughing faces above teenage boys' hairless chests and girls' mandatory modesty t-shirts, almost all of which were white, and by this time transparently clinging to hidden bodies and swimsuits in a most immodest way. The warm water embraced me and teased my longish summer hair as I dove toward her legs. So far I had done little but watch and laugh, but now I was beginning to feel more confident. My hands slipped around her smooth ankles, I heard a muffled giggling scream filter through the water, and I opened my eyes to her blurry, backlit figure crashing backwards away from me, vague showers of white bubbles shooting toward the surface from behind her billowing shirt as a wave of long black hair flipped forward, encircling her face. I surfaced and helped her up, laughing. She fell back a second in a prolonged nervous giggle, still holding my hand. The instant she was on her feet she jerked my hand, and I instinctively fell in and out of a quick friendly hug. Back at a distance and still caught off guard, I hesitated a half second as her green eyes bloomed. As suddenly as our awkward flirtation had begun, we moved on, returning to the safer laughter of old friends and old jokes. The evening ended without interruption, and I found myself awake long after the rest of my cabin, unable to think of anything but that brief glance.

Tuesday morning I woke with an aimless optimism. I hurried past the empty pool to breakfast, past a lonely striped towel draped awkwardly over the back of a disheveled poolside lounger, damp with a cool dew, while the low sun peaked the surrounding hills, its soft morning light heightening the smell of chlorine and sunscreen left open overnight. I jogged up the astroturf steps and pulled open the glass doors of the dining hall to be greeted by the low rumble of cheerful conversation and clinking dishes. I unconsciously scanned the tables and was quickly rewarded with her warm smile and wave. It was going to be a good day. To this day, I have never started a meal with as much excitement as that morning.

I saw her crying in afternoon chapel Tuesday. When it ended, I half-consciously followed her, even though it was quiet time and we were supposed to be alone. Suddenly, she turned around and looked straight at me. Her steady gaze almost brought me to my knees.

"Am I interrupting your quiet time?"
"Oh, no, not at all."
"Ah, Caitlin’s standing over there. Come on, let’s get out of here."

I led her around the chapel to a dented metal door, bits of weathered steel slowly rusting under flaking black primer. It had no handle, but I quickly found a finger grip where the metal was bent away from the frame and pulled the door open. I motioned for her to enter. Conspiratorially, we climbed in single file, the cramped red-carpeted staircase was hardly wide enough for a person. Reaching behind, my clammy hand met hers. The way ahead was lit by the blue sunbursts of her deep green eyes, sparkling past her dark freckles, shadows on the wall flicking back and forth with her bangs. Suddenly, when ducking to clear a fire extinguisher pipe, my hand grazed her breast. A tremor of excitement ran through my body.

"I'm sorry."
"I don’t care, it's just skin and fat."

It wasn't the first time I'd heard her say that, but I'd never understood it, and I definitely never believed she really felt that way. We were sweating silently in the stale backroom air, and breathing short, excited breaths when we reached at the top of the stairs. A small door lay ahead of us.

"What is this?"
"Open it."

I reluctantly let go of her hand. She cautiously opened the door. Her wide eyes shot around the room. They were so beautiful, like I had never even imagined. When she looked back at me, the graceful curve of her gentle eyebrow became the ultimate feminine. I made myself look into the doorway. It was the attic above the chapel. Rickety walkways hung from the roof, visible only through the streaks of dusty air lit by the chapel lights, as bright as sunlight, shooting up from below. Hidden in the darkness, we could see the college volunteers below, talking in muffled voices while they stacked chairs for the evening social. She turned back to me. I must have already turned back to her. I felt a sinking feeling, surrounded by green and blue, with a moving wet feeling across my mouth, and with a start realized she was kissing me. Her grip tightened as I began to kiss her back.

"Were you really sorry?"

She pulled my hand up her shirt. My body rejoiced in a wild freedom beyond understanding. As we began to move in unison, I realized that most of our clothing was gone. I let myself fall away again, until suddenly I felt a more tender kiss. Her lips suddenly broke with mine, her breathing deepened. Those endless blue-green pools sealed shut, and soon mine, I knew nothing but the rhythm. It led, I followed, I followed, it led, and then I was midair, stretching in every direction for solid ground, unable to recall why I hungered.

My eyes opened, and I saw her. Beads of sweat crept across her face. Her makeup was smudged beyond hope. Her hair – half bound, impotent, loose to fate. We looked at each other and laughed silently. And then we heard the door creak open beneath us. Shame fell over us, and before we could realize what we were doing, we were scrambling to cover ourselves and disguise our recent activities. But it was too late. Caitlin walked into the room.

Wednesday I woke with a bizarre energy. Sure, I lost something beyond value, but I discovered something beyond description. Inside me, a war raged between my conflicting emotions - pride and humiliation, ecstasy and horror. I was already losing my concept of myself. I hadn’t even begun to think of what everyone else would think. My slate wiped clean, a small, nervous energy wormed its way through my psyche. It was as if my routine sin had wrought a wonder worthy of a holy mystery. It felt altogether wrong, but in the best way anything had ever felt wrong.