saying, “We have new friends now. Just be happy.”
Aaron warned us that it was easy to grow apart, even in a large group, and said we needed to practice a “sharing” exercise, to bring us closer. He asked us to write letters, confessing any wrongdoings and negative thoughts, no matter how shameful or darkly hidden. He said it was to seek our own truths, an inner examination that no one will see, but when we were done, he’d gotten another vision. We needed to read them in front of the commune, to let go of all separation, even in our thoughts.
When people protested, he said, “It’s the only way to clear yourself from your past. If you aren’t ready for this step, then you shouldn’t be here.”
The crowd quieted. No one wanted to leave.
Aaron pointed to the young man who looked after our horses, and said, “Billy, I know you’re ready.”
Billy stepped forward, his face flushed, and read from his letter, admitting that he’d experimented sexually with a cousin when he was a teenager—a male cousin, and that he still had fantasies about men. We listened, embarrassed, as he stammered through it. We waited for Aaron’s reaction, and when he reached out to embrace him, we all breathed with relief. Other people ventured forward to share their sins, and each time Aaron praised them. It was painful. People were sobbing, or silent, heads downcast. Others stared around with glazed eyes, looking shell-shocked.
Then it was my turn.
I confessed that I’d snuck food to the animals and had angry thoughts about other members. My hands shook, and I was crying so hard I couldn’t finish. Aaron grabbed the list and read my final confession. Then he handed the list back to me.
“You’re not done.”
“I can’t. Please, I don’t want to.” I met his eyes, begging for leniency, but he was impassive, his only expression one of disappointment.
“Don’t you want to be like the group? Everyone else shared theirs, and if you don’t, you’ll disrupt our harmony.”
I looked around at the angry faces, Heidi touching her belly, her face scared. I read my last confession, my voice quavering. “I love my mom, but sometimes … sometimes I hate her. I wish she was more like my friends’ moms. I wish she was normal.” I searched the crowd, finding my mother, her blue eyes filling with tears. I held her gaze, my own tears dripping down my face. Trying to convey my thoughts: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just angry.
She turned away.
* * *
By the time we’d been at the commune for five months, I had retreated into myself, barely speaking. I spent all my time with the animals and began to have fantasies about running away. I might have tried if it hadn’t been for Willow, a pretty, doe-eyed teenage girl, with caramel-colored hair that hung to her waist, who joined the commune that June. She told me about the places she’d hitchhiked to, the people she met on her way. She also told me I was going to be beautiful when I grew up. She gave me a beaded necklace, draping it around my neck, teasing me with her husky laugh for being shy. That day she’d been wearing faded bell-bottom jeans and a man’s cinnamon-colored leather vest with tassels, which hung on her small frame, her feet bare, and one toe sparkling with a ring. I didn’t know if I was going to be beautiful or not. I just knew I wanted to be like her. I wanted to be free.
CHAPTER SIX
Before I started my rounds, I consulted with the nurses. Michelle told me that after Daniel left the day before, Heather had gone back to bed and slept through the night—she had to be coaxed out for a shower and breakfast. Then she’d gone back to the seclusion room and had been sleeping ever since. She was only responding briefly when spoken to and was still lethargic. I wasn’t surprised that she’d retreated into herself after our initial meeting, as patients’ moods often ebb and flow. When I entered the seclusion room, I found her in the
Aaron warned us that it was easy to grow apart, even in a large group, and said we needed to practice a “sharing” exercise, to bring us closer. He asked us to write letters, confessing any wrongdoings and negative thoughts, no matter how shameful or darkly hidden. He said it was to seek our own truths, an inner examination that no one will see, but when we were done, he’d gotten another vision. We needed to read them in front of the commune, to let go of all separation, even in our thoughts.
When people protested, he said, “It’s the only way to clear yourself from your past. If you aren’t ready for this step, then you shouldn’t be here.”
The crowd quieted. No one wanted to leave.
Aaron pointed to the young man who looked after our horses, and said, “Billy, I know you’re ready.”
Billy stepped forward, his face flushed, and read from his letter, admitting that he’d experimented sexually with a cousin when he was a teenager—a male cousin, and that he still had fantasies about men. We listened, embarrassed, as he stammered through it. We waited for Aaron’s reaction, and when he reached out to embrace him, we all breathed with relief. Other people ventured forward to share their sins, and each time Aaron praised them. It was painful. People were sobbing, or silent, heads downcast. Others stared around with glazed eyes, looking shell-shocked.
Then it was my turn.
I confessed that I’d snuck food to the animals and had angry thoughts about other members. My hands shook, and I was crying so hard I couldn’t finish. Aaron grabbed the list and read my final confession. Then he handed the list back to me.
“You’re not done.”
“I can’t. Please, I don’t want to.” I met his eyes, begging for leniency, but he was impassive, his only expression one of disappointment.
“Don’t you want to be like the group? Everyone else shared theirs, and if you don’t, you’ll disrupt our harmony.”
I looked around at the angry faces, Heidi touching her belly, her face scared. I read my last confession, my voice quavering. “I love my mom, but sometimes … sometimes I hate her. I wish she was more like my friends’ moms. I wish she was normal.” I searched the crowd, finding my mother, her blue eyes filling with tears. I held her gaze, my own tears dripping down my face. Trying to convey my thoughts: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just angry.
She turned away.
* * *
By the time we’d been at the commune for five months, I had retreated into myself, barely speaking. I spent all my time with the animals and began to have fantasies about running away. I might have tried if it hadn’t been for Willow, a pretty, doe-eyed teenage girl, with caramel-colored hair that hung to her waist, who joined the commune that June. She told me about the places she’d hitchhiked to, the people she met on her way. She also told me I was going to be beautiful when I grew up. She gave me a beaded necklace, draping it around my neck, teasing me with her husky laugh for being shy. That day she’d been wearing faded bell-bottom jeans and a man’s cinnamon-colored leather vest with tassels, which hung on her small frame, her feet bare, and one toe sparkling with a ring. I didn’t know if I was going to be beautiful or not. I just knew I wanted to be like her. I wanted to be free.
CHAPTER SIX
Before I started my rounds, I consulted with the nurses. Michelle told me that after Daniel left the day before, Heather had gone back to bed and slept through the night—she had to be coaxed out for a shower and breakfast. Then she’d gone back to the seclusion room and had been sleeping ever since. She was only responding briefly when spoken to and was still lethargic. I wasn’t surprised that she’d retreated into herself after our initial meeting, as patients’ moods often ebb and flow. When I entered the seclusion room, I found her in the
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