Chapter Fifteen
Good Enough
The next day was another lazy, hot day on the lake. After spending most of the morning in the water, my friends and I decided to play the card game Mafia in the front dining area of the boat. While we were playing, Jeff came by looking for Paul.
“Nope, he’s not here,” we said.
He threw his hands in the air. “Who can keep track of that guy?”
Jeff decided to hang out and play cards with us. When we were finished, Jeff and I moved to the front deck of the boat and reminisced about Mexico and how much we missed the niños.
“Once you make those connections, it’s so hard to leave,” I said.
“Yeah.”
Jeff looked at me like he was trying to read my face.
“Miriam, you seemed to be having a hard time on that trip,” he said carefully. “Was everything OK? I mean—what was up?”
“I guess I was just emotional and overwhelmed,” I said, glossing over the real issue. “Senior year is a crazy time in life. Right now I feel like I am trying to hold on to things and make them permanent because before I know it everything will be different—college, friends, teachers …”
He looked at me like he knew there was something more. “Does that mean you are trying to hang onto—what? A boyfriend?” he asked, returning to his teasing tone. I looked at him for a moment, thinking, “Did Paul say something to you?” Suddenly, I was terrified and embarrassed.
“What do you mean?” I asked, unable to control the expression on my face.
“Uh-oh, Miriam. Who is it?” he asked. “No, no, no, let me guess.”
“No way!” I cried. “I am not telling you anything, you big bully.”
“Jared?”
“No!”
“Kyle?”
“No! Don’t even—Ah!” I put my hands over my ears.
“Do I have to go ask Kelly, or are you going to tell me who it is?”
“Oh, my gosh, Jeff, I am not seeing anyone.”
“Kelly!” he yelled so she could hear him from the back of the boat. “Who does Miriam like?”
There was a pause. “Wyatt!” we heard a voice call. Kelly saved me without even knowing it. I was happy with her answer because no one in our group knew who he was.
“Wyatt?” Jeff gaped, smiling like he had won.
“You don’t know him. He went on the college ski trip.”
“I know him. Tall, blonde, crazy?”
“Crap!” I said under my breath.
His timing was impeccable. Paul was walking up the steps, still wet from his ski run.
“Hi guys,” he said. “What’s so funny?”
In my heart I begged God, Please don’t let Jeff say anything!
“I guess there’s a little something going on between Miriam and Wyatt,” Jeff blurted.
“Really,” Paul said, stopping in his tracks. I was astonished by the look of shock on Paul’s face. He looked straight into my eyes.
“Is that true?”
I flashed back to our conversation at the park. “Do you think you can finish college in three years?” He had wanted me back then. But what would he think of me now? Was I even the same person anymore?
I didn’t have enough time to think about how this would affect my chances with him. I was trapped. I decided to tell them the truth about Wyatt.
“We were hanging out for a while,” I said. “But not anymore.”
“Did you guys—you know… ” Paul finished his sentence by making a small kissing sound with his lips.
The gesture disgusted me.
“Uh-oh,” Jeff continued. “Did you kiss him?
I couldn’t lie. I wished I had a different answer.
“Yes.”
Jeff and Paul burst into joke after joke until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop! Stop it!” I cried, covering my ears. I ran through the boat and climbed the back ladder, trying to escape. I was furious. I felt harassed and disrespected by the people who were supposed to cherish and uplift me. On top of the boat, I dove onto my sleeping bag, which was so hot from sitting in the sun that I could hardly take it. I wrapped my pillow around my head and screamed as loud as I could. After moaning and complaining to myself for a few minutes, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I was sure it must be Kelly. I unburied my face and found myself alone with Paul on the top of the houseboat.
He was squatting next to me, his elbows on his knees.
“Miriam? Are you OK?”
“Do I look OK? I am a wreck. I feel like I’m falling apart.”
“Jeff and I are sorry. We didn’t mean to upset you.”
“That’s not why I’m upset. You know why I’m upset.”
We were silent for minute, looking away from each other.
“Why did you come up here?” I asked expectantly.
“To apologize. And to tell you one thing.”
“What?”
“You are too good for Wyatt. I know him really well, and you are too good for him.”
“How can you even say that to me?” My lip was trembling.
“It’s true.”
“Then who is good enough for me?” I begged.
He didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He got up and walked away.
I wanted to stay up there, alone, for the rest of the day, crying myself to sleep. But the sun was too hot and I couldn’t stand the heat for more than another few minutes. I was forced to pull myself together and go back inside the boat, pretending everything was fine. Luckily, Jeff and Paul were gone.
When I was in middle school, I cried myself to sleep every night. I would lie in bed staring up at the ceiling, praying and complaining to God. Why had he made me ugly? I prayed for braces, contact lenses, a tan. I prayed that my mom would buy me clothes instead of giving me Gretchen’s hand-me-downs. I prayed for guys to like me. I cried because I thought that I could never possibly be beautiful. Once I even begged God to show me, just for a moment, what I would look like when I was older. Would I be beautiful? Elegant? Confident?
I was sure that I was the only girl in school who cried about stuff like that. I was convinced that everyone else had a perfect family, friendships, and self-esteem, while I was a pathetic loser. And even though I knew that there were people around the world who were worse off than I was, that didn’t prevent me from feeling the pain of selfish insecurity deep down in the core of my soul. So I would cry every night, which was the next best thing to having a gentle, selfless mother hold me and rock me to sleep. I believed that somehow the God of the universe was holding me, telling me that everything would be OK. In the morning, things never seemed nearly as bad as they did the night before.
At the lake, things never seemed nearly as bad when I was swimming. I jumped in the water and swam over to the guys and girls who were doing what high school students should be doing: splashing, laughing, and flirting. The guys were trying to invade the girls’ raft, climbing on, dragging the girls off one by one, and then taking over the whole raft until it was a swarm of bright swim trunks. Next it was the girls’ turn, and, of course, they could not get the guys off—there were too many of them. So they had to pick on the smallest freshman guys and pull them off first. Soon, it was everyone against one big senior guy, and no one could take him but Bob.
When everyone was too tired to fight for the raft, the game subsided. I found Ansley, and we talked and floated leisurely until it was time to go back to the boat for dinner.
At the evening meeting, the boat leaders took turns sharing about difficult situations that had shaped their lives. One leader shared how God had helped her overcome insomnia, another about her recovery from a date rape. Bob shared what it was like growing up as the “fat kid.” Kelly talked about her father’s tragic death. Paul told about his childhood with a father who was a Mormon fundamentalist.
It struck me that there was a lot more to these people than I even cared to ask, and I could see th
at there was a lot more to Paul than I imagined. Most of what I knew about him was limited to what he shared with the group over the years. But still, I felt like I knew everything about him. And he was beautiful. I didn’t care that he came from a polygamist lineage. I didn’t think less of him. I didn’t mind that he’d been in love with another woman, and he was still dealing with it. I trusted him.
That night after the meeting, my friend Dina ran over to me and asked me if I would pray with her.
“Of course, Dina. What’s going on?”
She started crying uncontrollably. I put my arm around her and walked with her up to a big rock on the beach, away from the rest of the group. First, I just held her and let her cry on my chest. She felt so tiny and frail. I stroked her long blonde hair and waited for her to be ready to speak.
Finally, she started whispering through her sobs.
“I …”
“Yes?”
“Last summer I went to my friend’s house and some guys came over. They gave us some drinks, and I got really sleepy. One of the guys asked me to go for a ride with him to get some food.”
She was weeping and shaking, and it was difficult to hear her whispers. But I held her tightly and waited.
“I thought I liked him, but I didn’t know him that well.”
“What happened?”
“I am so ashamed!” she heaved. It was a while before she could go on. “He parked the car in an alley. I knew what was happening, but I was too tired and weak to stop him!”
“Oh, God! Dina!”
“It hurt so bad!” she broke down and collapsed in my arms.
“Did he rape you?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell anyone? Does your brother know?”
“No! No one knows. You are the only person I’ve told. I can’t let anyone know.”
“You can tell your brother—you have to. You can tell your parents; you don’t have to feel ashamed.”
“No, you don’t understand. They will call me a whore.”
I was dumbfounded. “How could they?”
“In my family,” she said, “If you get yourself in that situation, you are considered a whore.”
I looked into her beautiful face. How could this happen to such a precious girl?
“You can tell Kelly,” I insisted.
“Please, please understand. I can’t tell anyone. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
“OK, I promise.”
We prayed together. First I prayed for her, and then she prayed.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever prayed out loud,” she said. “I’m not even sure I believe in God. But I know I need someone, something more. I need healing. I want to feel whole again.”
I gave her another hug. We were quiet for a while, enjoying the cool evening breeze. She collected herself and put on her happy face again before I walked her to her houseboat.
“Let me know if you ever need to talk again,” I said.
“Thank you so much.”
I put my hands in my pockets and started walking back to my houseboat, staring up at the stars. When I passed the stragglers that were still on the beach, I saw Paul squatting next to the dying bonfire, chatting with a few students. He stood up when I passed.
“You going back?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll walk with you. Goodnight guys.”
We walked side by side along the rocks while the lake tossed miniature waves at our feet.
“Is Dina OK?” he asked. “I saw you talking.”
“She will be OK.”
“People are drawn to you,” he said. “You have a gift.”
My heart started pounding.
“Do you really mean that?” I asked, begging for more. This was the Paul I remembered, walking by my side, encouraging me, seeing the good in me, enjoying my company.
“I’ve always seen something special in you. You’re not like other girls.”
The conversation ended as soon as we walked up the steps of our boat, but his words echoed in my daydreams.
Dina had been through something serious. She was holding on and working through it. She was stronger than me. I was a selfish, stupid girl.
That night I lay in my sleeping bag, looked up at the beautiful sky, and scolded myself for being so shallow about my dumb eyebrows. The all-or-nothing mentality did not work in real life, I could see. I could not make ultimatums with God. “Give me what I want, or I’ll just . . . slit my wrists?” How would I win in that situation? “God, if he doesn’t like me, then I’ll just . . . wither up and die of depression?” Nope, that wouldn’t help me get my man. “God, help me right now, or I . . . won’t believe in you?” Oh yeah, that really teaches God who’s in charge.
Each attempt to manipulate God into giving me my way was utterly useless. I was ill inside my spirit. Even though I was still connected with God, still praying, still believing, I was far from him. I was too filthy with my own self-centeredness to feel his presence. I was praying selfish prayers when it came to my future. He would only let me see today.
The last evening on the lake was special because it was the night when students have the opportunity to be baptized in the lake right before sunset. It was just one year since I had been baptized in the same spot. It felt like ages ago because since then I’d had a taste of how difficult and complicated life can be.
When the students filed onto the beach to watch the baptisms, Dina found me and grabbed my hand.
“Miriam, I want to get baptized. Will you go with me?” she asked.
“Of course.”
When it was her turn, Dina waded out to the leaders, and I followed. It was a beautiful moment. Dina knew she needed God in her life.
After she was baptized, a symbol of being washed clean and born again in spirit, she glowed with a new radiance. Jesus, please give her a new life starting today!
Together, she and I sat on the beach, looking out at the lake and the sunset. Dina was wrapped in her beach towel, and I had my arm around her.
“When I am here, I know there is a God,” she said. “And I feel like everything is going to be OK. But what about when I go home? What do I do in those moments when I wish I wasn’t alive?”
I tried to think of the right answer for her. But I didn’t know the right answer. So I just shrugged my shoulders, smoothed her towel over her back, and said, “What do you think you should do?”
She thought hard and then said, “I need to remember this day and how I feel, I guess. I need to hold on to that hope I feel today.”
“Dina, that is so true. It’s also true for me and everyone else here.”
Just before bedtime on the last night of the trip, each houseboat had affirmation time. Every member of the boat had a turn on the Affirmation Seat, and each person had to compliment, encourage, and affirm one another. Of course, I don’t remember what anyone said about me except for Paul. I had been anticipating the moment all week. It would be a public declaration of what Paul saw in me.
“Miriam: You are God’s. Those are my three words for you. You are his.”
And that was it. It was short and sweet, but it was uttered for my whole boat to hear.
“Thank you,” I said, wishing he had said more—something that would give me hope for a future with him.
The final day of the trip arrived. We didn’t want to leave, of course, and we were not looking forward to cleaning out the boat. In spite of the scorching heat at the dock, we brushed the last of the sand from the boat floor and schlepped our luggage back to the bus.
On our way back to California, we stopped close to the Nevada border at a casino for the buffet lunch. Ansley and I ate quickly and then wandered around the game room. We found Paul and Jeff playing air hockey and we stayed and watched, making fun of them as much as we could. Soon it was the four of us again, wandering around, teasing each other, laughing, causing trouble, and eventually chasing each other through the casino.
> It was just like old times—except it was me pursuing Paul, instead of him pursuing me, like he did in Mexico. I could feel it, and I didn’t like it. But I wanted to be near him, so I didn’t care.
That was the last time I saw him before I moved away to college.