Have a Little Faith in Me

by Sonia Hartl

  “Thank you for apologizing.” Astrid’s eyes cleared and she smiled, as if forgiveness came that easily to her. She patted the ground next to her, and I took a seat. “You weren’t kidding about these things being slippery. I feel like I’ve dipped my fingers in motor oil.”

  “They put something on them to make them easier to slide in, I think.” I blew one up and tied it into a balloon. “If you want to put a condom on something more realistic though, try starting out with a peanut.”

  “Nice burn,” Sarina said. “But there aren’t any peanuts at camp either.”

  I flicked the condom balloon in the air and Sarina and Mandy bounced it between them. “I could help you find something more fitting and show you how they go on.”

  “Are you okay with that?” Astrid asked. “Because we’re doing this for our secret workshop. We’re trying to learn how, so we can teach it.”

  “I know. And I’m okay with that.” I’d think of it as community service. The kind I wouldn’t get credit for toward graduation. “I don’t want to see any nice Christian boys lose an eyeball to a rogue slingshot incident.”

  “We should probably cancel our first meeting then,” Mandy said. “Until we have something more appropriate to put the condoms on.”

  “When is the first meeting?” I asked.

  “In an hour.” Astrid gathered up the cucumbers and threw them in the trash.

  “I’ve got this one,” I said. “I don’t think condoms are the right place to start anyway. There are other things worth talking about first.”

  “You want to lead?” Astrid asked, her eyebrows rising toward her hairline. “Don’t get me wrong—I’d rather have you do this than me—but I don’t want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable. I feel horrible about how things went last time.”

  “No, I want to. Not regularly, but I have a specific topic in mind for today.” All the things I never knew overlapped with the things I knew now. If I could prevent even one girl from going through the same experience as me, it would all be worth it. “Someone needs to take notes, because we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

  Astrid grabbed her pen and notebook. “I’m on it.”

  Thirty girls gathered in a clearing in the woods, double the amount of the last impromptu meet-up. Word had spread. Everyone had blankets and comforters and had lain them over the pine needles and fallen leaves. Like a giant sleepover. Astrid brought along a canvas camp chair, so I’d be high enough for everyone to hear, and if everything went well, I’d even consider opening up a question-and-answer segment.

  I sat crisscrossed and took a drink from a bottle of water. “I know a lot of you came here today expecting to learn how to put on a condom, but due to technical difficulties, we have to put that particular lesson on hold. I think we need to go back a little further than that anyway. Keep in mind that I’m straight and cis, and my experience is limited. I’m not the be-all and end-all of sexual knowledge. I’m in this with each of you, so it’s going to be more of a discussion than the workshops you’re used to. I’m hosting this first meeting on consent.”

  A girl in the front row rolled her eyes. “We know what consent is.”

  “Do you?” I motioned to her with the water bottle. “What is it then?”

  She pulled on the ends of her dark curls, clearly not thinking I’d put her on the spot. “It’s when you let a guy have sex with you.”

  “No.” Did that sound harsh? I didn’t mean for it to come out harsh, and I might’ve said the same thing a month ago, but I needed to be firm in this area. I glanced at Astrid, who gave me a thumbs-up. “Does anyone else have a better answer?”

  Autumn raised her hand. “It’s when you say it’s okay.”

  “Still no.” I took another drink. It felt like it was a hundred degrees in the shade.

  A girl wearing braces who sat in the back row raised her hand. “It’s when you say yes after being asked.”

  “Getting warmer, but still not there.” I looked at the confused faces. They’d run out of answers, and still had no clue. I saw myself in every one of them. “This is why we’re having this meeting. Because I used to think consent meant all those things too.”

  A girl leaned over to whisper in Autumn’s ear and she raised her hand again. “We’re having a little trouble understanding this. Are you saying consent isn’t saying yes?”

  “It’s more than that,” I said. “If you say no first, if you feel pressured, if you feel like you’re going to make your partner angry, if they don’t make it clear it’s okay to say no, how much do you really mean that yes? Yes is just a word. You have to mean it for it to be consent.”

  The girls buzzed among themselves and Astrid raised her hand, probably to keep things moving along. “What happens if you say yes and change your mind?”

  “It’s okay for you to say no after you say yes,” I said. “If you’re uncomfortable, if you’re having regrets, if you’re bored, if you just plain don’t feel like it, it doesn’t matter the reason. You have a right to say no or stop whenever.”

  “Whoa.” Autumn had a dazed look in her eyes. “I never thought about any of this.”

  “I know, right?” This meeting was way different from the last one. I didn’t feel like an oddity on display. I had something important to say, and the girls looked at me like they were open to listening. “There’s more. After you say yes, your partner should check in with you to make sure you’re still okay. And it’s okay to lay down those ground rules before you start. Have a conversation. Let them know what you want.”

  The girl who whispered to Autumn raised her hand. “I’ve never come close to having sex. I’ve never even kissed anyone before. What if I don’t know what I want?”

  I didn’t really have an answer for her. This was where having a little more experience would’ve come in handy. The idea of telling a guy what I wanted scared the crap out of me, but I had to tell her something, or this meeting would fall apart.

  “How do you know what kind of food you like to eat?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I just try different things, and oh—” Her eyes lit up. “I see what you did there. Are you saying the key to finding what you want is trying different things?”

  I nodded. That was exactly what I meant … after she’d provided the answer.

  A girl with a narrow face, a camper I didn’t recognize from the last meeting, raised her hand. “I’m not meaning to be disrespectful here, but isn’t talking about wants and telling us to try different things just encouraging premarital sex?”

  “Didn’t you come here to learn how to put on a condom?” I asked.

  She bit her lip. “Never mind.”

  I got out of my chair and kneeled in front of her. “If you’re concerned about protecting your body, shouldn’t you be equally concerned about protecting your heart?”

  “That makes sense in my mind, but …” She tightly laced her fingers. “My whole life I’ve been told sex before marriage is a sin.”

  “Do you think I’m a sinner?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes filled as another girl pushed her in the back. “I’m not judging you, and I don’t think Satan is working through you. I believe we’re all sinners.”

  “Do you believe sinners should be punished?”

  “No.” She shook her head as her bottom lip trembled. “Nothing like that.”

  “Okay.” I gave her a hug. “You’re okay. If you want to wait for marriage, that is perfectly fine. The awesome thing about taking control of your body is that you get to make that choice. But once you’re married, it’s still important to know this stuff. Consent doesn’t end when you say ‘I do.’”

  “Thanks,” she whispered in my ear.

  While I didn’t agree with most of her beliefs, it wasn’t my place to argue. I wanted everyone here to be honest, without feeling like they needed to defend themselves. Especially because I was still learning along with them.

  I stood and paced in front of the group. “Here’s the deal. I didn’
t know any of this before I had sex, and when it was over, I felt like I’d done something wrong. It’s not supposed to be like that. You should be able to share the experience with someone you trust. If you can’t trust someone to be considerate of your needs, how can you trust them at all?”

  Sarina raised her hand. She quickly glanced at Autumn, and the two of them made the briefest of eye contact before looking away. “Are you afraid of having sex again?”

  “No.” I tapped a finger to my lips. “Maybe a little. But I’d like to think I’d make better choices now that I understand how it feels to make the wrong ones.”

  A junior girl with bright red cheeks, who sat on the opposite side of Autumn, raised her hand. “This might not be in line with the workshop, but is Paul really single?”

  “I’m pleading the Fifth on that.” Sure, Paul was single in the technical sense, but the idea of him dating other people made an angry snake coil in my belly. “Any other questions?” A dozen hands shot into the air. I spent the rest of the afternoon fielding a million questions about every scenario imaginable. What if you had laryngitis and couldn’t talk? What if the music was too loud and he couldn’t hear you? What if he tripped when he had a hard-on and fell into you? I had to shake my head and pass on that one.

  This hadn’t been my intended purpose when I’d come to camp, but it filled that empty place inside me with something meaningful. My experiences mattered. What I had to say about them mattered. These girls were open and imaginative, they cared about everything almost as much as they cared about each other, and it made me damn proud to be part of this.

  Chapter 19

  Today marked the last day I’d have to help out in the nurse’s station. Thank God. Half the kids at camp expected the healing hand of Heaven to cure their everyday ails. I wasn’t good enough at science or the Bible to take on this job. I’d be rotated to the arts and crafts room, which I hadn’t set foot in, but that suited me fine. I’d made awesome macaroni necklaces in elementary school.

  Nurse Holland, a gray-haired lady with a wide smile, told me I’d be showing my replacement around for the next hour. Though there wasn’t a whole lot to the cramped room with three chairs, a single cot, and a wall of metallic shelves packed with first-aid supplies. I’d have at least fifty-nine minutes of my shift left to spare.

  “I’m going to take my lunch and watch my stories now.” Nurse Holland had a mean General Hospital addiction. “Radio me if things get out of hand.”

  She left and Ethan walked in after her, wearing a lime-green shirt with a picture of a tractor on it. He took one look at me and turned a deep shade of red. I couldn’t read his expression. My hand reached for the radio on instinct.

  “Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” He took a step forward, and must’ve seen something on my face, because he stepped back again. “You actually think I’m going to hurt you. Wow. How did we get here?”

  “I’m not comfortable being alone with you.” It stung a little, saying that out loud and knowing it was true. “Either you can leave or I can. I don’t really care which.”

  “I’ll go. I’m sorry being around me bothers you.” The troubled look in his eyes almost made me feel bad for him. Almost. He turned to go, and a young kid who must’ve been a freshman burst through the door holding his face as blood ran between his fingers.

  My stomach went woozy. I couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Just another reason why this job was the worst. “Sit him in the chair and get him a towel!” I yelled at Ethan.

  Ethan shifted the weight between his feet. “I thought you wanted me to go.”

  “We’re clearly not alone.” I flung my arm toward the bleeding kid. “Help him.”

  Ethan guided the kid toward a chair and got a white towel off the counter. He tilted the kid’s head back and had him grab it while he got another to clean him up. Across the room, I bit my hand and tried not to throw up. Eventually the blood flow slowed to a trickle, and the kid switched to tissues. Ethan threw the bloody towels in a bag and took them out back.

  “What’s your name?” I asked the kid.

  “Jonah Phan.” He dabbed at his nose with a tissue. “I think I broke my nose.”

  “How? Where are your friends? Did anyone see you get hurt?”

  He flinched as I fired questions at him. “No one saw me. I was messing around by the dock and tried to balance between two canoes. I fell and hit my face on one of them.”

  “Why on earth—never mind. Don’t need to know.” I poked at the bridge of his nose and it didn’t wobble. “It might swell. I’ll get you some ice and you can wait here for Nurse Holland to get back.” She was going to be pissed at this kid for interrupting her stories.

  I snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, picked up one of the tissues by the white corner, and brought it to the trash. Jonah threw his hand out. “Wait. Don’t throw that away yet.”

  “Are you serious?” I held the tissue away from me and curled my lip. “Do you want to keep it as some kind of souvenir?”

  “Can you pull it apart?” His eyes shone as he looked at the tissue. “My mom found an image of Jesus on my bandage after the first time I skinned my knee, and she told me it meant I was blessed. I just want to see if it’s still true.”

  “If you were truly blessed, you wouldn’t have fallen face-first into a canoe.”

  “I guess you’re right.” He kicked the chair leg.

  “Okay, I’ll do it, but just this once.” The kid looked so downtrodden, it wouldn’t hurt to let him have a go at the Christian Rorschach test. I used my index fingers and thumbs on the corners and pulled the tissue apart. “See anything?”

  He tilted his head. “I don’t know. It could be Jesus, or a butterfly.”

  “Maybe it’s Jesus warning you not to fly too high. Keep those feet on the ground and off boats.” I threw the tissue and the gloves in the trash and immediately pumped a gallon of hand sanitizer into my palm. “I’ll radio the nurse to make sure nothing is broken.”

  Once Nurse Holland came back to fuss over Jonah, the boy who’d tried to walk on water, I stepped out into the sunlight. Warm rays washed over me, burning off the chill of the nurse’s station. I turned the corner, and bumped into Ethan.

  “Sorry.” I spun around and went the other way.

  “CeCe, wait.” Ethan caught up to me. “Can we talk? Out here in the open, since you’re not okay being alone with me.”

  “I’m not really interested in anything you have to say, to be honest.”

  “Please.” His deep brown eyes pleaded with me. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to say I’m sorry, and I can’t seem to get you alone. I don’t want to upset Mandy by going around her when she doesn’t want to see me.”

  “Fine.” I crossed my arms and tapped my foot against the gravel path. An apology was about the only thing I’d be willing to hear from him. “Make it quick.”

  “Are you afraid of me?” The anguish in his voice caught me off guard. I’d almost gotten accustomed to the cold and distant version of camp Ethan.

  “I’m not afraid. I’d just rather not be anywhere near you. Especially not alone. Not after what you did to me at the bonfire.”

  “I feel terrible about that. I’m sorry. The bonfire got out of hand, but I still would’ve shared my testimony, even if you hadn’t been here.”

  “Are you serious? That’s your idea of an apology?” Not only did he have zero regrets about the bonfire, he still saw himself as the victim. “You lied about me to the whole camp. You referred to me as Satan in disguise.”

  “I didn’t mean you were Satan.” He stared at his feet. “I meant the act of sex.”

  “Sex isn’t dirty or immoral, and it’s certainly not Satan’s doing.” I didn’t know why I even bothered. “If you really felt that way about sex, maybe you should’ve told me that before you put so much pressure on me to do it.”

  “That’s how Satan works.” He shook his head as if I were the one who didn’t get it. “He influences your heart and ma
kes you do things you wouldn’t normally do.”

  “What a load of bullshit.” I threw my hands into the air. “If you want to be sincere, try taking some responsibility for your actions.”

  “That’s not what I believe, though.”

  “Isn’t that convenient?” This whole conversation was pointless and a complete waste of my time. “Have you ever thought maybe your beliefs are screwed up?”

  “Yes.” He tilted his head back and rubbed his eyes. “I question everything I’ve been taught. All the time. I questioned it the most when we were together.”

  I looked for the guy I thought I knew, and couldn’t even find the one I’d created in my head. “How did you become like this? That crap you pulled at the bonfire? You don’t act like that at home; you don’t talk like that. It’s so fake.”

  “My pastor advised me to seek redemption. I went through some intense spiritual lessons with him, which forced me to confront how absorbed I’d gotten in mainstream culture once I started public school.”

  “You’re making it sound like you were brainwashed.” Or maybe he’d always been like this. Maybe he’d tried to change himself to fit in at school. While I understood that particular problem more than I cared to admit, I didn’t use people and throw them away on my path to finding myself. “Why didn’t you talk to me? I would’ve listened.”

  “I got scared.” He rubbed his eyes. “The day after we had sex, I had so many doubts. About what we’d done, and about who I was becoming.”

  Part of me felt bad for him. The part that was trained by society to think of my fears and needs and wants as lesser. The part that demanded I feel guilty for the shortcomings of others. The part quick to shoulder blame where I’d been hurt.

  The part I refused to accommodate, because I knew all the ways it could break me.