Training Ground

by Kate Christie

  This should be good.

  “—well, have you ever kissed anyone?”

  She shot up on the bed. “Of course I have!”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you, honestly.”

  “I know.” Jamie shut her eyes briefly, glad for once that she and Emma weren’t in the same room. “It’s kind of embarrassing. I’ve only kissed two people, well, boys really, at a party right before I came out.”

  “Let me guess. Spin the bottle?”

  “You got it. Or, as Mr. Hanson, our GSA advisor, calls it, the classic adolescent heteronormative shakedown.”

  “Sounds about right.” Emma cleared her throat. “Actually, um, speaking of GSA, I’ve been thinking about checking out a meeting up here.”

  Jamie almost dropped the phone. No freaking way. Then she focused on the second initial: Gay-Straight-Alliance. Was Emma considering joining because of their friendship? “That’s awesome. What does Justin think?”

  “How would I know? I’m not exactly in the habit of asking the people I date for permission to live my life.”

  “Easy there, champ,” Jamie said, laughing at her feistiness. “How about saving it for someone who actually wants to fight you, huh?”

  Emma exhaled noisily. “Dork.”

  “Nerd.”

  “Anyway, back to the reason for this entire conversation. What did you tell Amanda?”

  “I haven’t answered yet. Hello, I was waiting for advice from my best friend.”

  There was silence again at the other end. Then: “Am I really your best friend?”

  “Who says I was talking about you?”

  “Jamie!”

  “Kidding.” She touched the bracelet Emma had given her. She still hadn’t taken it off, not even for national team camp. “Why, do you not want to be?”

  “No, I do. I just didn’t know you thought of me like that.”

  They were both quiet, and Jamie remembered how Emma had said she was thinking of joining the GSA; how she didn’t ask the “people” she dated for permission to do what she wanted; how she had always seemed cooler about Jamie’s queerness than the average straight person. Was Emma trying to tell her something? Wait—was Emma…? Her mouth went dry. Seriously, no effing way. She could not handle the possibility that Emma Blakeley might be into girls because… Well, she couldn’t. Her brain was physically incapable of processing such a thing.

  “I guess the obvious question,” Emma said finally, “is do you want to go out with her?”

  “Yes,” she said, the single syllable markedly more assured than she felt. All at once it seemed vitally important that Emma know she wasn’t some immature kid who freaked out at the very idea of a kiss. Even if she’d already admitted that she basically was.

  “Then go for it. Text her back and say yes.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  “Good. You totally should.”

  Another silence fell, which was odd for them. They rarely ran out of things to say, as their cell minute usage more than proved. But for some reason, Jamie could feel the tension building, as if neither of them was saying what she really meant. She reached into her bedside table and found the pen case, fingers lingering on its cool, solid surface.

  “I should probably let you get back to Family Fest ’04,” she said.

  “Probably. My dad is going to give me puppy dog eyes as it is for interrupting the Cranium tournament.”

  “Cranium’s my total fave. Who’s winning?”

  “My mom and I are kicking their butts.”

  “Naturally. Girl power and all.”

  “Exactly.” Emma paused. “Good luck on your date. You said it’s tomorrow, right?”

  “Right. Are you going out with Justin?”

  “Dani and I are planning to check out a party, and he’ll probably be there too. Everyone is starting to get all, ‘It’s our last chance to hang out.’ As if we aren’t sick of each other after going to school together our entire lives.”

  “Meg’s friends are the same way.” Meanwhile, she was stuck in Berkeley for the foreseeable future, waiting for the rest of her life to begin… “Anyway, world history is calling. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

  “Okay.” Then she added, “Are you okay, Jamie?”

  “I’m fine.” It came out more strongly than she intended. “Bye, Emma.”

  “Bye.”

  She turned off the phone even though something in Emma’s voice made her want to stay on the line. What was wrong with her? They had talked about everything, from favorite colors and breakfast foods to the assault and Emma’s father’s affair. Why was she suddenly uncomfortable talking to her about dating?

  “I believe you know exactly why,” Shoshanna’s reasonable voice intoned inside her head.

  “Shut it, doc,” Jamie muttered aloud, and pulled the pen case from her bedside drawer.

  But she couldn’t exactly say that to Shoshanna’s face in their session the following day. So instead of mentioning Emma, she shared her anxiety over her upcoming date.

  “First of all, are you sure that it’s a date?” Shoshanna asked.

  What a straight lady thing to say. “Um, yeah.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she asked me if I wanted to go out with her. Besides, she broke up with her boyfriend over winter break and has made a big deal about being single.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “She’s bi. As in, sexual?”

  Shoshanna seemed unperturbed by her sarcasm. “All right. I simply wanted to make sure you had all the facts.”

  Jamie shook her head.

  “You seem upset.”

  “Well, yeah. If a guy had asked me out, you wouldn’t be so concerned about ‘the facts.’ The assumption would just be there, unquestioned.”

  “Hmm.” The therapist turned her head a little. “You know, I believe you’re right. Thank you for feeling comfortable enough to point that out. Heterosexism is so pervasive that sometimes I need to check my own privilege. I apologize.”

  Jamie blinked. “Oh. Well, that’s okay.”

  “If you feel all right continuing, perhaps we could explore the root of your uneasiness over a date with someone whom, by your own admission, you find attractive.”

  At first, Jamie talked in an elaborate circle around her feelings as she always did while Shoshanna waited patiently for her to narrow in on the real issue. Eventually the therapist heard something that interested her.

  “You said you’re afraid she’ll figure out that you’re damaged.” When Jamie nodded, she continued. “Why do you consider yourself damaged?”

  “You know why.”

  “Because of the assault?” Jamie nodded again, and Shoshanna hummed a little. “When I look at you, I see a very capable young woman—a talented athlete, a good student, a loyal daughter, sister, and friend. How exactly are you damaged?”

  “He’ll always be the first person I slept with. Whenever anyone asks me about my history, I’ll have to tell them.”

  “Why would you have to tell anyone?”

  Jamie stared at her. “I thought you wanted me to tell people. Isn’t it supposed to be this major sign that I’m, like, moving on with my life?”

  “What you’re talking about and what I meant are very different things. You were tested after the assault and there were no complications, correct?”

  She nodded, remembering the hours she and her mom had spent at the hospital the night they got back from France—the rape kit, STD tests, emergency contraception pill the doctor had prescribed, and follow-up blood tests weeks later to make sure she wasn’t HIV positive or, almost as disturbing a possibility, pregnant.

  “And you’ve said the panic attacks have almost entirely ceased, and the flashbacks have significantly reduced as well, correct?”

  “Yeah.” The tools Shoshanna had given her—meditation, guided imagery, and a focus on rational over “magical” thinking—to combat the psychological aftereffects of the attack had not only h
elped quell her fears but had also given her better focus at school and on the soccer field.

  “Then tell me more about this feeling you have of ‘damage.’”

  “I can’t.” She shook her head. “Unless it’s happened to you, I don’t think there’s any way you can understand.”

  “You may be right. However, I think the cognitive part of the work we’re doing together involves separating out damage from hurt. Are you hurting? Absolutely. Will you carry the pain of what happened for the rest of your life? I suspect you will, and it sounds like you do, too. Most of us have some painful thing—or things—that we carry with us. But ask yourself this. If your sister had been assaulted, would you think she was damaged, or would you see her as someone who was strong enough to survive and keep striving to be happy?”

  This sounded so much like what Emma had once said to her that Jamie sighed. “I get your point. But I’m not sure that telling myself I’m not damaged will make the feeling go away.”

  “How do you know until you try?”

  Jamie shrugged. “I feel like such a wuss with all of this. Other people have it so much harder than I do. Look at 9/11. Look at all the girls my age in Asia who are being sold into slavery. Meanwhile I have this awesome family and we have more than enough money and never have to worry about the kinds of things way too many other people do, like food and shelter and clean water.”

  “None of that changes the fact that you’re recovering from a major trauma, Jamie. Let’s get back to your date tonight. What worries you the most?”

  “I don’t know. What if she asks if I’ve ever had sex?”

  “I would be surprised if that subject came up on a first date. But regardless, as we’ve discussed before, there’s a difference between having sex and being raped. If you had contracted an STD or had other physical repercussions from the assault, then the ethical underpinnings would be very different. But your wounds are primarily emotional, and that’s what we’re working on together. Please don’t ever think you have to tell anyone what happened unless you decide you want to.”

  “But you seemed really psyched for me to tell Emma.”

  “That’s different. Emma is someone with whom you already share a close emotional bond, and telling her was a way to reinforce and deepen those ties.” She paused, looking at Jamie over the top of her glasses. “Have you told Emma about your date?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “She said to go for it.”

  “Is that all she said?”

  “Look, I know what you’re getting at with that ‘close emotional bond’ stuff. Everyone else thinks it, too—Meg, my parents, Blair, even Becky said something. But there is nothing going on between Emma and me.”

  Shoshanna took off her glasses. “Okay.”

  “What?”

  “If you truly believe you feel nothing but friendship for Emma, then I believe you.”

  Jamie toyed with her bracelet, aware of the older woman’s gaze on her, as unrelenting as ever. “I hate it when you do that.”

  “Does that mean you don’t believe it?”

  “No,” she grumbled.

  When she didn’t say anything else, Shoshanna asked, “Do you want to know what I see when you talk about Emma?”

  She shrugged again.

  “I see a wonderful person who came into your life at the right moment and offered you the kind of caring relationship you needed. But Emma is a safe emotional outlet specifically because she lives so far away. With her in Seattle and you here, there’s not much chance of a physical relationship. And while that has helped you in the short term, a long-distance friendship is not going to meet all of your emotional needs in the long run.”

  Jamie leaned forward, elbows on her knees. In the back of her head, unbeknownst to the front of her head, she had been holding on to the hope that someday, somehow she and Emma might be more than friends. If she was honest with herself, though, what Shoshanna was saying made sense. Emma was going to UNC and she was staying in California, at least for the next couple of years.

  “If you’re saying I should ditch her, that’s not going to happen.”

  “God, no,” Shoshanna said, her usual mask of decorum slipping. “I don’t see any reason for you to stop being friends with Emma, do you?”

  Jamie shook her head.

  “I’m simply suggesting you avoid the temptation to use your relationship with her as an excuse to avoid dating someone who might be a more realistic possibility. Assuming you’re ready to date.”

  “How do I know if I’m ready?”

  “Only you can answer that question. Remember, I’m here to help you figure yourself out, not to tell you what to do or how to be. Your life is your own, and granting other people power over what you think or do—even someone like me—can be risky.”

  The session ended a little while later. Before Jamie left, Shoshanna looked through a shelf on her floor-to-ceiling bookcase until she found the title she wanted.

  “I think you might be ready to read this,” she said, handing it over. “Hang on to it as long as you need. I can always get my hands on more copies.”

  Jamie looked at the title: The Courage to Heal. She wondered if Shoshanna was trying a little reverse psychology on her, challenging her to be brave because she knew Jamie wouldn’t want to back down. Once again, the therapist’s strategy was on point.

  “Thanks,” she said, tucking the book into her backpack alongside her math textbook and To Kill a Mockingbird, the novel they were currently reading in American Lit.

  And then she hustled down the stairs to meet her sister. They were going to have to hurry if she was going to be on time for her date.

  #

  On the last Friday of March, Emma stood in the hall outside the classroom, trying to get up the courage to enter. This was the second time in a month she had stood outside a GSA meeting fidgeting with the straps on her messenger bag. Her phone vibrated and she moved off down the hall, hoping no one had noticed her skulking about. Maybe next time she would find the courage to actually walk through the door.

  The text was from Justin, asking what time he should come over tonight. Emma’s parents had been in Hawaii for the past week and were due to come back on Sunday. With Ty spending the night at his best friend’s house, this would be their opportunity to reach teenage relationship Mecca: spending an entire night together without chance of adult intervention. It would also be their first time having sex. They had already messed around a few times at his house, but she had stopped things before they could go too far. His parents seemed much more willing to give them space than her parents, who were liable to knock on her partially closed door—a fully closed door was not allowed—at any time to see how homework was going or if Justin wanted to stay for dinner. This was code, she and Dani had joked, for “Wanted to make sure you’re not boning.”

  Sometimes she insisted they hang out at her house for that very reason. Not that she didn’t like what they did together, but he was an eighteen-year-old boy, which meant that was pretty much all they would ever do if he had his way. At her house they could talk and listen to music, do homework or watch a movie, and while they might make out, she never had to worry about losing her bra. Emma had only had sex with one other person. Not Josh, who had been respectful to the point of occasionally seeming uninterested, but with Drew, who’d broken up with her the previous summer because he didn’t want to be “tied down” when he left for U-Dub.

  He’d been her first and she’d thought she loved him. But looking back now, she wasn’t sure what she’d loved more—Drew himself or the idea of having a boyfriend. His parents, Jan and Richard, had been so sweet and supportive through her parents’ near split. His mom in particular had helped her to view her mother and father as individuals outside of the family unit, which in turn had allowed her to accept that she and Ty weren’t responsible for the marriage’s problems, no matter how much it might feel they were. Jan still invited her over to dinner every once
in a while, and sometimes Emma even babysat Melissa, Drew’s little sister.

  In the school parking lot, Emma slid into her car and clicked reply to Justin’s text. Then she sat there staring at the phone, unsure what to write. Did she really want to sleep with him? The last time they’d fooled around, she’d kept picturing Tori, the girl from the national team. Justin wasn’t exactly the hairiest of guys, and when he kissed his way across her neck she’d closed her eyes and pretended it was Tori’s mouth on her skin, Tori’s soft hair under her fingers, Tori’s hand sliding under her shirt.

  National team camp in Texas at the end of February had been short but sweet. The powers that be had assigned Tori as her roommate at the hotel in Dallas, and they had been inseparable all week. The last night of camp, they’d snuggled under the covers in Emma’s bed way past lights out supposedly watching a movie. Emma had barely noticed the flickering television screen in the darkened room, too aware of Tori’s body next to hers. Nothing had happened, unless you counted some tickling contests and a few longer than average hugs. But she was pretty sure something could have. Still, they hadn’t texted or emailed since, so maybe it was one of those camp flirtations that she had heard her school friends who didn’t spend their summers playing soccer talk about.

  While she was debating how to answer the text, her phone vibrated again. Jamie. She smiled as she pulled up the message, her stress fading.

  “Hey, girl,” Jamie’s text read. “How goes Shoreline?”

  “Good. What about Elmtown?”

  “It’s Elmwood!”

  “Ha ha, kidding. When are we watching your team lose?”

  It was the knockout stage in Champions League, and both Man U and Arsenal had played for a spot in the quarterfinals earlier in the week. Given school and their conflicting club team schedules, they hadn’t found time yet to watch together.

  “I’m still getting over this stupid cold,” Jamie wrote, “so I was going to suggest we ditch our dates and watch tonight. But maybe I’ll watch without you.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “I might, and then text you the scores…”

  “That’s totally against the bro code,” Emma replied.