Chapter 46: Turning Thirty-Nine

April 21, 2002, Chicago, Illinois

🎤 Steve

The question that immediately sprung to mind was why Rachel had revealed that ‘advice’. It seemed out of character for her to say something like that to me, but then again, I didn’t know the ‘before’ Rachel, only the ‘after’ one. In my layman’s diagnosis, she was suffering from something akin to PTSD, having never recovered from the emotional trauma of her failed relationship. In my mind, unless that was resolved, her sister’s suggestion, whether made in jest or not, was likely to make things worse, not better.

“Can I ask you something?”

Rachel nodded, “Yes.”

“Was this guy your first boyfriend?”

“I don’t think you could even call him a boyfriend because even though we went out, we never moved beyond the ‘friend’ stage. I know he was attracted to me, but he could never get past my faith. Even abandoning it didn’t help, because he was convinced I’d never stop being Catholic. Before him, I’d gone out a few times, but I’d never had a boyfriend. And obviously never since, given what I’ve told you.”

I thought back to Bethany, and how she’d carried herself when I first met her. It took her a long time to recover a semblance of her fun-loving, pre-rape self. As she’d detailed in her book, she had survived a rape, and it had indelibly changed her. Through counseling, she’d come to terms with it, but that hadn’t been enough, and she’d chosen a solution very close to the one Rachel’s sister had suggested.

“May I give you an opinion based on fairly significant experience?”

“Sure.”

“You suffered severe psychological and emotional trauma from that failed relationship, and until you come to terms with it, having any kind of successful relationship, even a friendship, is going to be difficult, if not impossible. You knew that, perhaps only subconsciously, and that’s part of what drove you to cloister yourself. You were distraught, felt rejected, and were probably afraid. And in twenty years, other than your parents and your baby sister, as you called her, you’ve had nothing except what I’d call formal relationships — your employer and your co-workers.”

“You?”

“Mostly formal, though you’ve tentatively edged a bit towards friendship. In a sense, because our relationship began as instructor-student, you felt safe. Your reluctance to talk to me was a product of your fear of any kind of relationship, most likely because you were scared to death of rejection. And that’s why you were so careful speaking to me until about five minutes ago.”

“Revealing what my sister said?”

I nodded, “That was your way to show you trusted me and were comfortable speaking to me. My question for you is, how close did I come to the truth in my analysis?”

Rachel sighed, “Spot on.”

“I think I can help, if you’ll allow me to.”

“How?”

“By being your friend. May I say something indelicate?”

“I suppose.”

“‘Yes’ or ‘no’, please.”

“Yes.”

“Your sister’s solution would likely make things worse, not better. Your emotional and psychological condition is such that you can’t really consent. Oh sure, you can say ‘yes’ and actively participate, but given your current mental state, it wouldn’t truly be consensual, and that would make it abusive.”

“I’m missing something,” Rachel said. “If I agreed to do it and actively participated, how could it be non-consensual?”

“I can illustrate, if you’ll allow me to. The circumstances are very different, but I think it will make what I’m trying to say clear.”

“Go ahead.”

“When I was sixteen, I was at a party, and I danced with a girl who I knew liked me a lot. After a few dances, we found a private place to make out. Things got pretty hot and heavy, and went beyond just making out. She was an active, enthusiastic partner, and the encounter was pleasurable for both of us. The next day, she told me she was ashamed of what we’d done. I was confused until she made it clear that she’d become so excited she simply couldn’t help herself.”

“But she never said ‘no’ or pushed you away or anything, right?”

“Correct. She even helped me undress.”

“If that’s not consensual, I don’t know what is.”

“You asked if she said ‘no’, and she didn’t. But she didn’t say ‘yes’, either.”

“But she willingly did it!”

“Did she?” I asked.

“I’m totally missing something.”

“She did something she didn’t want to do because I managed to get her so worked up. It took years before she came to terms with it, and I learned a valuable lesson.”

“What lesson?”

“That acquiescence is not consent, and neither is participation. I was very experienced, and she was a virgin. Conscious or not, I knew exactly how to get her to do what I wanted, because I could control her body and she couldn’t. It wasn’t rape, but it also wasn’t truly consensual. Now, apply that to your current situation. I don’t believe you are in the right frame of mind to give consent, and I strongly suspect you’ve realized that after this conversation. May I take this a step further?”

“At this point? Sure.”

“Your family is very traditionally Catholic, right?”

“Five kids, regular church attendance, four Catholic weddings, nine grandkids, and all the usual Catholic stuff — baptisms, first communions, confirmations, and so on.”

“When you were twenty, you struggled mightily with the teachings of the church about sex and birth control, and you rejected them by offering yourself to the young man. You then abandoned the very foundation of your life and cast yourself adrift. That might have worked out OK if you’d achieved what you so desperately wanted — marriage to the young man with whom you were madly in love. Of course, there would be no guarantee of success, and giving yourself to him might have backfired and left you in exactly the same situation as you find yourself in today.”

“Did you study psychology?”

“Only as a layman,” I replied. “But my best friend growing up, in fact, my best friend until a few years ago, is a renowned psychologist who specializes in helping women who have been abused. She wrote a couple of books, and I think you would benefit from reading one of them. Actually, come to think of it, both of them.”

“What books?”

“The one I think you ought to read first is Why Me? A Woman’s Guide to Surviving Sexual Abuse, Rape, and Incest. You didn’t suffer any of those, but you are suffering from psychological trauma that is similar enough that I think the book may help.”

“And the other one?”

“Smart Teens; Smart Choices. It’s basically a comprehensive guide to puberty, adolescence, and relationships, with a heavy dose of very good sex education.”

“A book for teenagers? I’m forty!”

“A book for anyone who is inexperienced,” I countered. “Another indelicate question — your sex ed was limited to a few hours of a nun telling you not to do it, and giving the vaguest description of your monthly cycle and even vaguer descriptions of intercourse, right? And telling you not to do anything of which the Church didn’t approve.”

“You were raised Catholic, right?”

I nodded, “I was, but I think I told you that I quit going to church at fifteen. It was because I rejected the Church’s teaching on sexuality. Read the first book, at least. I think once you do, we can have a productive discussion, or if you aren’t comfortable with me, I can refer you to a female counselor.”

“Weirdly, I feel comfortable with you.”

“I have two things going for me,” I said. “One, you don’t really know me, so that lessens your risk because you could, in the end, simply walk away. Two, you feel safe here, because I’ve gained your trust, at least with regard to instruction in self-defense. Anyway, read the book and we can discuss it next week.”

“Will Miyu be back?” Rachel asked.

I quickly debated if I could say something, and given Rachel wasn’t a regular student, and I was sure she wouldn’t say anything to anyone, I decided I could answer her question.

“Unfortunately, no. She discovered she’s in a delicate condition.”

Rachel laughed softly, “Pregnant. And she can’t risk being thrown.”

“The risk is actually fairly small, except for blows to the stomach, but once you know about it, it’s better to be cautious.”

“Your daughter again?”

“Probably,” I replied. “If not, there are others who could fill in as well. But please keep what I’ve told you about Miyu confidential. Nobody but her husband and I know at this point. She’s seeing her OB this week to confirm, and then she’ll let our «shihan» know because she’ll need accommodations for training.”

“What’s that word you used?”

“«Shihan». It means ‘Master’, and is the term used for the person who is in charge of the dojo.”

“Someone senior to you?”

I nodded, “Yes. Well, until the end of June. Then he’s retiring and one of the younger black belts will be «shihan».”

“He’s higher ranked than you?”

“No. I’ll be his closest advisor, but he will be master of the dojo. That was decided by the master of our parent school in Oguni, Japan.”

“So you outrank him, but he’ll be in charge.”

“Yes. And it was the correct decision. My style is not appropriate for being master of the dojo.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a hard ass and a real prick. I demand absolute obedience and absolute submission from my personal students. That would work in Japan, where it’s the norm; most Americans would reject it outright. I have a group of six students who specifically asked for my personal instruction, as well as one who is master of her own dojo in Racine.”

“You aren’t like that with me.”

“You aren’t a karate student. I don’t conduct self-defense classes that way because students aren’t trying to be «karateka» — followers of the Way.”

“You make it sound like a religion.”

“In a sense, it is, though ‘philosophy’ is a better term. Learning the forms is easy; being a true «karateka» is not. Karate isn’t really about fighting or self-defense, it’s about mastery of self. The only true goal is enlightenment.”

“That sounds Buddhist.”

“Only because the term I chose is one used by Buddhism. The path to enlightenment is unique for every individual, and no specific spirituality is necessary. That said, it is much more difficult for people raised on Western philosophy and religion than it is for those raised on Eastern philosophy or religion. Or, perhaps more accurately, with a few exceptions, the Abrahamic faiths are mostly incompatible with healthy spirituality.”

“Judaism, Christianity, and Islam?”

“Yes. In most cases, but certainly not all, there needs to be deconstruction, or even deprogramming, to get to a point where you can even truly begin the journey.”

“What you called a,” she hesitated, then lowered her voice, “‘mindfuck’?”

“Yes.”

“And you believe that’s what I need?”

“If you recall, I said what you need is a friend. That’s where to start.”

“I sense a ‘but’ there.”

“Despite not having been to church for twenty years, you’re still Roman Catholic and it still controls your thinking.”

“Not you, too!” she exclaimed, sounding exasperated.

“I don’t mean it the same way he did. He meant you could never change, and part of the problem is you actually agree with him. I don’t. You can change if you truly want to. Start with reading the book I recommended.”

“And then what?”

“A journey of a thousand miles begins under one’s feet,” I said.

“That’s different from how I’ve heard it.”

“And has a slightly different implication — you have to start any journey from where you are, and have to take the first step. The nuance is the starting point is important, not just the first step. See you next Sunday?”

Rachel nodded, “Yes.”

🎤 Birgit

“You took a long time before you came home!” I said to Dad when he arrived back at the house.

“I had a counseling session with Miss Kealty.”

“She’s pretty!” I smirked.

“Keep your impure thoughts to yourself, young lady!”

I laughed, “You do not think sex is impure!”

“No, I don’t, but that doesn’t mean you should imply what you did with your smirk. There’s a difference between observing she’s pretty and implying I was having sex with her, which is what that smirk did.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Being a teenager is all about learning how to be a grown-up,” Dad said. “And that’s why we give all of you so much freedom and independence. It’s the only way for you to learn. But that also means taking responsibility for what you say and do, and learning appropriate behavior, which for you means learning to control your tongue.”

I bet I could control my tongue just fine, I thought. Aunt Bethany’s book explained exactly what to do, and I was sure I could do it! But I knew that wasn’t what Dad meant.

“I know,” I replied.

“Yes, you do. And yet...”

“I’m trying.”

Dad held out his arms for a hug and I moved quickly into them, wrapping my arms tightly around him, enjoying the feel of his strong body against mine.

“I know, Pumpkin,” Dad said. “Just make more of an effort. I know you can do anything you set your mind to.”

“You think so?” I asked hopefully.

“I know so!”

He loosened his arms and I reluctantly let go of him. He went to find my mom, so I went upstairs to my room to see if anyone was online. Nobody was, so I sat down with a pen and my fancy writing paper and wrote a chatty letter to Fatimah. I knew I had to be very careful about what I wrote, because I was positive her control-freak parents would read it before they allowed her to read it.

When I finished the letter, I went down to Dad’s study to use the scale, looked up the correct postage in a small book he had, and put on enough stamps to get the letter to Saudi Arabia. I put the envelope in the ‘outgoing mail’ basket in the kitchen, then went to find Ashley to hang out until our friends arrived for lunch.

🎤 Jesse

I was not surprised when Father Basil asked me to his office immediately after he’d blessed the food in the parish hall. Both of us had small plates of carrots, celery, and other fasting-acceptable items.

“What happened between you and Viktoria?” he asked.

I had to answer in a way that was both truthful, but which also didn’t reveal the exact contents of our conversation. I’d know pretty quickly how much she’d told her dad, and I could respond to anything Father Basil said, but I wouldn’t reveal anything she hadn’t, if I could help it.

“We had a disagreement about dating,” I said. “I don’t want to get too serious with anyone, and she has her eyes on wedding crowns.”

Father Basil nodded, “Not uncommon for girls in the church who are in their late teens or early twenties. And your reaction is not uncommon for young men in their teens. Given your past confessions, I have to ask...”

“This has to be under the seal of confession,” I said.

Father Basil nodded, got his epitrachil, and put it on. He came over to sit next to me and draped it over my shoulders. He indicated the large icon of Christ on the wall, and I looked up.

“Behold, my spiritual child, Christ stands here with us and receives your confession. Therefore, do not be ashamed nor afraid, and conceal nothing, so that you may receive pardon from our Lord Jesus Christ. His icon is before us, and I am but a witness, bearing testimony before Him of all things which you confess. I have no power to forgive, but God alone, and it is to Him you confess. Take care, therefore, that having come to the Physician, you not depart unhealed. What is it, Jesse, that you need to confess?”

“Viktoria and I didn’t do that,” I said.

“Then why confession?” Father asked.

“Because you’ll eventually ask about that when we talk about my reasons for not wanting to be a couple with Viktoria.”

“Because you’re still sexually active.”

“Yes,” I admitted freely.

“The problem I have is that without any repentance, or any sign that you wish to stop, you ought to refrain from the Eucharist. I find it very difficult to deny the medicine of immortality to any faithful Orthodox Christian, because it would be similar to a doctor refusing to provide life-saving medicine because of some spiritual weakness in his patient. I do take into account that you come to confession regularly, which many teens avoid, so as not to have to tell me. That said, you should seriously consider refraining so long as you continue to willfully sin. I won’t belabor the point.”

“It’s not just sex,” I said. “It’s that Viktoria seems possessive and controlling, and even without having sex, she’d want me to stop hanging out with my close female friends, and that’s something I can’t do. I made that as clear as possible, and went on a few dates with her to see if something would change or she’d mellow about my female friends and about the destination she had planned for us.”

“I have the impression from Deacon John that you put pressure on Viktoria to engage in inappropriate behavior.”

With the exception of speaking to Libby, and very recently to CeCe, I really tried to avoid confirming or denying anything about sex, though I wasn’t perfect, because I’d said some things to Kwame that I’d felt were necessary to get good advice. The question was, should I basically throw Viktoria under the bus? I had one possible dodge.

“You’ve always taught that in confession, we should focus on our own actions, not those of others.”

Father Basil nodded, “I have, though when you’ve sinned against someone, sometimes it’s necessary to reveal that.”

“I was thinking more of revealing another person’s sins.”

“You’re correct. That is rarely appropriate.”

“What about when they’re not telling the truth about something that happened? A false accusation, if you will?”

“That’s a tricky situation. Are you saying you didn’t pressure her?”

“I didn’t,” I said, then decided I couldn’t beat around the bush. “It was the other way around. She put pressure on me. I believe she felt that if we did that, I’d be exclusive with her and she’d get what she wanted. I made it clear that wasn’t going to happen.”

“That you would engage in sexual intercourse? Or that you would, but wouldn’t limit yourself to her.”

“I put it very starkly that if we did that, it wouldn’t mean what she wanted it to mean. I knew how she would respond to what I said, and she became very angry with me, just as I expected.”

“I have two very different stories,” Father Basil said.

“Yes, one in confession, and the other hearsay from someone who I suspect is biased.”

“Are you telling me the complete truth?”

“Yes. We made out, she made it clear she wanted to go all the way, and I refused because I knew what it would mean. I couldn’t make that commitment and I told her so in very clear terms. She became upset and demanded I take her home. That is the complete truth.”