In single file each person would silently await their turn to enter the Main Area to face the music, but only after knocking on the door and being told to enter. At Kinsman Hall if you play, you pay! Whatever flavor of the day cast of staff members were selected to dole out haircuts, did so loudly, sternly and with the conviction of setting the resident back on the straight and narrow. It was like sitting before a Baptist preacher when he was giving a fiery Hell and brimstone sermon. The paybacks were supposed to fit the incident, but sometimes the payback was much harsher than what it should have been or much softer depending upon the person and the circumstance. Repeat offenders often times seemed to be severely disciplined. One would think such disciplinary tactics would eventually impede someone from breaking rules, but quite the contrary was often seen. Some people had iron wills that were virtually impossible to bend or break.(i.e. Bernie McHugh)
All haircuts were aimed at making the person think about their bad behavior thus in time curbing and ultimately changing those things that acted as catalysts to entice a resident into breaking rules. I guess for some, that type of behavior modification worked, but for others it only acted as fuel to dig in and be more defiant. Some of us tried to blend in and invisibly go with the flow using the ones who needed to be the center of attention and thrived on drama as a shield. Some of us actually played by the rules and did things the Kinsman Hall way because for them the Kool-Aid actually worked. Some of us never seemed to get it and struggled every minute of every day. Getting in trouble for some of us was always on the horizon.
As people work together on crews some strong attachments usually form. People who spend most of their time together every day naturally become like family to one another. But how does a relationship between a male and female start at Kinsman Hall when those things are expressly forbidden? What attracts a person to someone and not to someone else? Is it all just chemistry and hormones? Personal preferences? Some other intangible force driving a person in someone’s direction? Or maybe the person has been selected as the lucky recipient of Dean and Jack’s matchmaking services. Sometimes at Kinsman Hall a few glances or a smile is all it takes to pique a person’s interest before you cleverly create reasons to be around that person until you’re suddenly spending free time together every day. It’s a process and one that like everything else at Kinsman Hall has a name. It’s called building a bridge and by Kinsman Hall standards it’s expressly forbidden. Keep in mind the building known as Kinsman Hall housed about 100 healthy men and women under 30 with raging hormones but they were expected to keep their primal, baser instincts under check. How realistic was that? How normal was that?
My attraction to Stacy Brown started rather quickly and unexpectedly. All it really took to get my attention was a quick, rather well-placed snap of fate! We all were horsing around in the dishpan area cracking each other with wet dish towels after finishing up for the afternoon. I turned to get Nancy with mine and just as I did, Stacy planted a tight fast one right across the cheeks of my butt and it instantly smarted! As he landed his hit with precision and with a little too much intentional force meant to ruffle my feathers, he roared with laughter. It got my attention alright! I looked at him and announced, “You did that on purpose!” He just smiled proudly looking like he just had hit a bullseye. About that time the department head came in and broke up the dishpan festivities, but after that Stacy and I began flirting with each other shamelessly. Whenever Stacy would threaten to get me with a wet dish towel again to “humble” me when he thought I needed it because I had gotten too full of myself, I’d threaten to stab him in the eye with a fork. I’d tell him sweetly, “You’re much too handsome, Stacy Brown to have a fork hanging out of the front of your face.” We seemed to understand each other perfectly. He’d just laugh at me and always say the same thing. “We really need to know each other on the streets. You’re a force to be reckoned with, Karen Goggins.”
Once in a while a staff member would throw a crew like the kitchen crew a bone and take them outside for a walk on a beautiful summer day. Look at it like a mini-family outing. The staff member was like the parent looking over their unruly and often times ungrateful youngsters. To say taking a walk or just being outside on such a day is anything less than orgasmic would be an understatement. Like so many others, Stacy and I spent more than our fair share of time caged up in the kitchen so when we went on a walk that day it was like being suddenly emancipated. I think I actually heard angels singing from the heavens above…
Freedom is just another word for nothin' left to lose
Nothin', don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free, no-no
And feelin' good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues
You know feelin' good was good enough for me
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.
Just to be out of the kitchen was like a dream come true! For just a short while Stacy and I could be two teenagers…just a guy and a girl taking a walk. We were able to immediately pair off even though that sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen, but who cares? When you can, you push the rules somewhat without breaking them. The trick was to walk close enough to make casual contact occasionally because remember physical contact isn’t allowed so whatever gets brushed against or touched has to be done very discreetly and quite accidently. In other words, we couldn’t stroll hand in hand or have our arms around each other, so when Stacy and I wanted to touch each other, he might brush the hair from my face or I might grab his arm as I say, “Hey Stacy” to get his attention for a moment to point out an eagle flying high above us. In those situations, you learn how to let your fingers linger a little longer to savor the moment.
Our destination that day was to cross the train trestle and take a short walk on the opposite side of Moose River. Everything went without a hitch during the first half of the walk. Stacy even picked a bouquet of wildflowers for me. I know he was embarrassed when he did it because there were other people around. Young guys can be so awkward about making gallant gestures! His friends would hear all about it later no doubt and give him a hard time for doing something that wouldn’t be considered cool by them. Peer pressure can really suck at times! Stacy was getting pressure these days from all sides and it was taking its toll on him.
I thought his gesture was sweet and I didn’t care what anyone else thought. I held my bouquet as if it were a prized possession cradling it close to my heart. I predicted we’d most likely be slapped on a ban because he picked some flowers for me. I’m sure Carol Hepper took note of it. Not much slipped past her prying eyes! It wasn’t like Stacy got down on bended knee and proposed to me! For Christ’s sake, he picked a few daisies, a few black-eyed Susan’s and some Queen Anne’s lace and gave them to me. Was that wrong? I guess time would tell. If he got a shaved head for it then flower picking at Kinsman Hall was one more thing to add to the lengthy list of things not to do. (BTW he didn’t get a shaved head.)
I was genuinely surprised Stacy didn’t grab me and kiss me while we strolled along the railroad tracks so they’d actually have something to put us on a ban for. That was the kind of mood he was in that day. He was cocky and feeling his oats! He and his cohorts were always poking the stick at staff and trying to antagonize them like they were a wasp's nest but today he was just a healthy 17-year-old male walking in the sunshine with someone that made his pulse quicken. I’m sure he thought about kissing me. I know I did. How could people not think about stuff like that?
He told me one day he would climb Sally Mountain and piss on Kinsman Hall from the top. Of course, I’d be with him but the pissing part for me would be a little difficult. He told me I could piss in a cup and throw it at the place. We both laughed at that. We always enjoyed spending time together even if it had to be in the confines of the kitchen. Being in Hell as we both called Kinsman Hall seemed okay as long as Stacy was there with me. We seemed to fall into such an easy groove with each other. That groove felt custom made for us and I had a feeling that things could get pretty interesting, adventurous and outrageous if left to our own devices!
It was us against them. It’s funny how those things start and how people gravitate toward each other as if being drawn together by some invisible force. For Stacy and me our bond formed from our common seething hatred for authority, especially the abuse of it we saw every day all around us. Stacy carried a deep unbridled rage for all things stamped with that title and me, my darkness was cold and calculating. Staff continually hammered at Stacy. He knew how I felt about their torment of him. But today we were the smiley twins! Just two well-adjusted teenagers out for an afternoon stroll. Nothing could touch us! Nothing could rain on our parade!
Being outside felt incredible! Having the sun drench our pale, vitamin D-starved skin was such a rare treat that when it did happen we had to savor the moment and to have such a precious moment be with someone special like Stacy well, it was like some supreme being had smiled down upon us to let us just feel the magic of that moment and of each other. Perfection rarely happens! This came close to it.
All good things come to an end unfortunately and before long it was time to head back to the house. All of us walked a little slower on our return. Stacy and I lagged further behind than the rest of the group. We just wanted those few extra seconds together, but with each step closer we talked a little less and our laughter became nonexistent as if some impending doom loomed over us waiting for us back at Kinsman Hall. And then it happened. I couldn’t walk another step! My legs were paralyzed! I made the mistake of looking down between the crossties at the river below us. I was completely paralyzed with fear. I didn’t know what vertigo was, but I had a classic textbook case of it compounded with panic. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything. I could barely breathe. I know my eyes had to be as big as saucers. My mind was screaming, “HELP ME!” but no words came out. I stood there motionless and silent trembling in fear.
By this time everyone had crossed the trestle except me. Suddenly Stacy realized I wasn’t walking with him any longer and he turned around to see me frozen like an ice statue in the middle of the trestle. He knew immediately what was going on and hurried back to help me. Everyone else was hollering and laughing at me to get off the trestle before the train came. When he got to me the first thing he did was to keep talking to me to redirect my focus from looking down at the river. He gently took both my hands and kept saying over and over again, “Karen, look at me” until I finally looked up at him. I was shaking all over, I was so frightened. When Stacy finally had me looking at him squarely in his eyes, he told me not to look down as he led me slowly step by step off that trestle to safety. Surprise! Surprise! That’s how I found out I was deathly afraid of heights. Where that came from is a mystery to me because I climbed trees and other things when I was a kid.
I have a real problem with the fact that not a soul at Kinsman Hall was trained to handle a simple crisis situation. Not just this minor one involving me but any incident that went outside the norm. There I was in the middle of a full-blown panic attack and a staff member was hollering at me to get off the trestle instead of coming to help me or at least coming to assess the situation. I guess I needed to have someone explain how irrational fear is to that Sigmund Freud wannabe masquerading as a staff member. Stacy was the only person out there with enough sense to instinctively know what to do. He didn’t holler at me. He didn’t belittle me. He didn’t laugh. He stayed calm. What he did was the was the right thing to do to get me off that trestle while the rest of the idiots would have made the situation much worse if Stacy had not been there.
What upset me most after the incident had passed wasn’t that it had happened or that Stacy was the only one who helped me, but that I had dropped my flowers on the trestle. I looked back and most of them had fallen to the river below. I thanked Stacy for helping me and we never talked about it again after that but I knew it bothered him that nobody else tried to help me. The reality of Kinsman Hall’s many inadequacies reared its ugly head once again! I think he wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t been there to help me. I could see how angry he was as we approached the rest of the group. He waved them all off as if to tell them to leave me the fuck alone. Even Carol Hepper backed away and let us pass by without saying a word to either one of us. I think she knew she had screwed up. Something in Stacy's eyes and in his demeanor told her and the rest of them not to fuck with him or with me. He saw that what had just happened really shook me up and he tried to shelter me from having anyone approach me until I was okay. Yes, even the mighty have their weaknesses and fears. Mine had been in the form of a fear of heights mixed with a healthy dose of panic. I saw a side of Stacy that day that I had never seen before. Caring and protective. That was the Stacy I wanted on my side the next time I needed to be protected. I may be wrong but I think Stacy took a huge step into manhood that day.
Things were always pretty intense between Stacy, Bernie, Rick, Mike and the staff. In fact, it got so bad Rick got his arm broken in one of the more brutal late nights “let’s teach these bad asses some manners the hard way” sessions. A few of the senior male staff members (all named Mike) would keep those four downstairs after the rest of the house had gone up to the dorms for their nightly extracurricular activities. Everyone in the house knew what was going on after hours. It sounded like a demolition team downstairs minus the explosives. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before someone got injured badly. Rick’s “accident” was just step one up a rickety ladder leading to more pain for those four. I can only imagine what the hospital staff in Jackman must have thought about some of the questionable injuries that came through their doors late at night.
While I was always friends with Mike Morra, he did not like any of those four, especially not Stacy or Bernie. Being from New York, maybe he had a thing against people from Connecticut! Who knows? Several times I tried talking to Mike on Stacy’s behalf without Stacy knowing, but nothing I said seemed to work. In fact, the more I pleaded the more Mike knew I liked Stacy. That was a grievous error on my part because it only seemed to fuel Mike’s insatiable drive more. He and the powers that be had cooked up their sick plans and nothing would alter them. They were set on breaking Stacy through any means necessary.
One day Stacy and Mike Morra got into a heated fight where Mike actually ripped Stacy’s clothes off him because Mike didn’t like something Stacy was wearing. Or so he said! I found that hard to believe since both makes and females wore bacically the same thing...jeans, t-shirt and a flannel shirt. I think it was just an excuse to go after Stacy yet again. Mike was a big guy; I mean really big so it didn’t take much to physically overpower Stacy. A few other staff members jumped in and held Stacy down and they manhandled him as they put a diaper on him in front of everyone as he struggled to et free. The whole thing was incredibly humiliating for Stacy and the worst part was that they made Stacy wear that diaper for days before allowing him to get dressed again. You see, Mike was a junkie, too and they were pretty brutal towards anyone who wore that tag. Mike flat out told me that Stacy and I would never have a recognized relationship and since he was assistant residential director, I figured he knew what he was talking about. I got to the point where I had had enough…The constant torment they were putting Stacy through was getting to be more than I could bare.
Each time I ran various scenarios through my head, logic told me that "they" (staff) couldn't really do anything to me against my will. They couldn’t physically make me work regardless of anything they could think up to toss my way. My negative thoughts about going "on strike" always produced a cocky grin on my face and the good old “I’ll show them” attitude that had become my signature move over the past few years. I was delighted with the prospect of being naughty and knew it was doubtful they would use brute force to make me go back to work. I was a female and as far as I knew females weren’t manhandled in that way. The more I dwelled on this idea, the more appealing it became. What was the worst thing that could happen to me at this point? Perhaps they'd send me back to Hallowell, but even that didn't seem horrible to me anymore. I had reached my breaking point! I was at the point where I firmly knew there was no turning back or selling out.
As I stood at these crossroads, I stood confused not knowing which direction to take. I knew each path would have different outcomes, but I just wasn’t interested in the paths that were predictable and safe at this point. My closest friend, Charlene had gone home and although I had other friends, I felt alone now. I had a new love interest, but I knew that was never going to go anywhere. I was at Kinsman Hall where all love comes to wither up and die! I felt as if my last several years had been pointless and all I wanted to do was sit down and think about it in peace without people hounding me about whether not I was indulging myself in negative thoughts. Sometimes a person has to weed through their mistakes, see what they’ve learned...if anything, and then go on from there. I needed the negative thoughts and the garbage that I had learned to bury away somewhere deep inside me. I needed to sift through them and the need was growing more urgent with each passing day.
After days of careful deliberation, the verdict finally came in. Nothing was happening. All was quiet on the homefront as the “to thine ownself be true” spirit guided me into a quasi-emancipation. During a brief lull in the dishpan, I let that spirit move me into taking off my yellow apron covered with the Renault car logo. As I slung my wet apron onto the counter, I felt a weight being lifted from my shoulders. Until then, I hadn’t realized just how heavy that weight had been. No wonder I was worn out and ready to listen to my negative thoughts. That weight had been immense! I finally let my freak flag fly!
I walked slowly from the kitchen to the dining room and paused on the large makeshift wooden stage that spanned the width of the room just long enough to scan the room to see where I wanted to sit. I stretched my arms out as if I was going to hug the world. For some reason the whole dining room looked quite different to me. Until that moment, it never had an air of freedom in it. The whole room bore only the stench from the kerosene space heaters even when none were being used and from a constant haze of cigarette smoke that soaked into every crevice of the unfinished construction. Now, that empty room beckoned me to step forward and regain myself. I stood momentarily next to the piano and wished I had finished taking the piano lessons my mother had insisted on me taking. Now would have been an excellent time for someone to break into something loud and wild. Great Balls of Fire, maybe? I noticed that no music was playing on the house stereo system and wondered why no staff member had been by to correct that oversight. I was almost tempted to correct that oversight myself, but figured I had bigger fish to fry than listening to music.
As I slowly walked down the stairs into the empty dining room, I gave a begrudging nod to the staff tables and smiled. I always thought it was funny how elaborate the place settings were on the staff tables. It was as if they were dining in a five star restaurant. Everything had to be EXACTLY in place! I guess that was one of the perks of reaching that staff status. The comical thing about it was that the tables may have been set nicely, but one couldn't escape the surroundings of the unfinished construction and the distinct blend of cigarette smoke and faded kerosene fumes. For the rest of us eating from metal cafeteria style trays sufficed and didn't make the food taste any different from the food that staff members ate except for the special orders they requested the kitchen cook to rustle up for them when they had a case of the munchies.
About the time I reached the sofa on which I was going to perch for a while, I heard footsteps quicken behind me. Several people had decided to come ask me what I was doing. I looked at each one of them and then sat down without saying a word. I simply took a cigarette out of its box and lit it up. Welcome to Marlboro country! Eventually, after figuring out that I wasn’t going to answer any questions, they scattered and disappeared somewhere behind me. As I leaned back against the sofa to get comfortable, I gazed out the window to enjoy the scenery. All of a sudden, I realized I really didn't remember what walking outside was like without having a job to do or a specific destination in mind. I had forgotten what aimlessly wandering felt like, but I wasn't going to chance getting a refresher course right then because I knew the kind of wrath that would bring down upon me. At that moment, I was content to just sit and stare out the window into the beautiful nothingness.
Over the next few days, several staff members attempted to talk to me and got the same results each time. I had put myself on a ban from work and with talking to anyone. I really had nothing that I wanted to discuss with anyone. As a result of my actions, staff felt they needed to put me on an existence ban with the whole house. My presence had become a distraction to others and my actions were labeled as being a negative influence. Imagine that! What a wonderful thing to do to me because that meant I could enjoy my solitude without being questioned by anyone. I was hoping my friends wouldn’t let staff suck them into viewing my actions as being detrimental to the whole house. I hoped they would understand the break I was taking and how much I really needed it. If Charlene was still there, she would have cheered me on or maybe she would have been sitting right next to me! I kept wondering if anyone understood what I was going through.
Of course, various staff members still tried to coax me into talking and going back to work periodically, but I wasn't ready to do that. Maybe I'd never be ready to do that! Maybe I would just sit there until I turned 18 and could just walk out the front door. I couldn’t begin to imagine how good it would feel to be a free person again! Maybe as I sorted through everything and put stuff in proper perspective, the concept of freedom would become crystal clear once again. For now, all my thoughts were jumbled and nothing I viewed was viewed with complete clarity. With the exception of the occasional staff member coming to check on me, I was left alone to start my new endeavor of rediscovering me and my clarity.
A few changes were made to my habitat after the first day. The sofas were moved so they no longer faced the picture window. I now had to face the stage so I could watch people work in the kitchen. How unfair was it that I could gaze upon the Kitchen Crew, but not one of them could acknowledge my existence? They weren’t even supposed to think about me. To them, I was non-existent. I had never existed. Did that mean I could go back in time to some point and do things over differently? Getting into a push-pull match with staff over the sofas wasn’t worth it, so I just left them facing the stage instead of moving them so I could look outside or perhaps I should just sleep on one of them instead of going to the dorms at night after the house had retired.
During the third day I was on strike, Stacy walked into the dining room and without any hesitation walked towards me. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the plywood floor and made his way through the maze of tables and benches. His body language illustrated his determination and that his final destination was to walk over to me. Everything about him as he approached me boldly told me that he knew exactly what he was doing. When he finally reached where I was sitting, he said nothing to me. He just sat down next to me and as I looked at him, I smiled. At first I assumed staff had him try to talk to me. That would be a different tactic, but I was wrong.
We sat there several hours before I finally spoke to him. As my voice broke the icy silence, he immediately laughed at me as I began to speak. He confessed that he thought I had lost my voice because he had never seen me quiet or ever sit still this long. I told him there was many things he didn't know about me and that I was a person of many talents. I proudly reminded him that the sofa we were sitting on was one of the sofas I had reupholstered and that he should be impressed by my handy work. He got up, walked around the sofa giving it a thorough inspection for flaws. Then without saying anything, he sat down again next to me.
Clearly, of the two of us, I was the only one impressed by my handy work and creativity. at 17, I thought I had it going on! A few minutes later, Stacy nudged me with his elbow. “So how did you learn how to reupholster furniture?” He seemed proud that he had just yanked my chain, a feat so few people could actually accomplish. From that moment on, we talked about everything imaginable because I knew I could trust him again and he wasn't sent there by staff.
He told me he had come to sit with me because I looked like I needed some company. Here, I thought I was sending off vibes of major independence and rebellion, but Stacy saw me as being lonely and vulnerable. He was always trying to rescue me! I must have been his damsel in distress. I reminded him that he was on an existence ban with me, but he chuckled as he told me we could be invisible together. I knew it was pointless to tell him he was only going to get himself into trouble because I got the distinct impression that he had carefully thought out his decision to come join me and knew exactly what was at stake. Stacy knew exactly what he wanted and he was where he wanted to be.
As we sat in the less than stately dining room taking our extended break from doing any work, we never ran out of things to discuss. We even discussed what would happen when or if we went back to work. One day out of shear boredom, I picked up a tattered copy of Love Story lying on the table in front of me and began to read it. Before too long, Stacy joined in reading it with me and the whole scene seemed to take on some weird, surreal feeling as we read the paperback together while the rest of the house carried on around us. We both took turns reading the story out loud. It gave us the opportunity to sit close to each other as we read. Thigh to thigh rubbing up against each other as the words of the story almost magically came alive. He jokingly started calling me a “snotty Radcliffe bitch” like the character in the book (a name that remained with me until the day I left Kinsman Hall) and each time I heard him call me that I laughed at just how untrue those words were. With each page that turned, more sparks flew between us until the story came to a fever pitch.
By the time we finished the book, I was ready to go back to work. As I left Stacy sitting in the dining room, I knew he would return to work as soon as he was ready. He still had things to sort through and put in their proper perspective just as I had needed to do. Our payback for that little stunt was a 20-hour indefinite contract and an existence ban with each other, but we had shared something tender and unspoken, which made the payback worth the agony of the next few weeks. Somehow I knew we'd get through it. We had the memory of what we had shared to get us through.
Before Stacy decided to return to work, he followed me around anytime I left the kitchen. Each time he followed me, he would try to talk to me. I'd remind him we were on an existence ban. His response was always quick and sharp! He told me that they could put us on an existence ban, but they couldn't make us stop thinking about each other. I had no counter argrument to his words because I knew what he had said was true. But I also knew the more he fought the less likely staff would ever approve a relationship for us. Compliance was in neither of our natures so I knew a relationship was out of the question. What were we going to do?
Things finally came to a head after a few days when Stacy had watched me go down into the Red Room. I had been sent there to retrieve something for a staff member. As I walked down the stairs into the dimly lit room, I heard the door open at the opposite end of the room. Just as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw Stacy quickly walk down the stairs at the opposite side of the very large room. The quick creeks of the aged stairs sang his song of urgency. I instinctively knew what he wanted. My pulse raced. As he walked towards me, his eyes pleaded with me as they pierced my heart. I knew he wanted to touch me...to hold me…to talk with me again. I knew he missed me, but I knew from the moment we sat together in the dining room in open defiance, a relationship with him would never be approved by staff. They would see us as being a negative influence on each other and they'd do everything to keep us apart. I had seen it happen time after time to many other people and knew it was a no-win situation, but Stacy hadn't resigned himself to the reality of the situation as of yet. He only knew what his heart wanted and he was acting out because of it.
Until this point, I hadn't been truly emotionally involved with anyone at Kinsman Hall. Sure, I had a few infatuations along the way, but we all know how superficial, one-sided and short-lived infatuations can be. This time was different and it scared me! Before he could reach me, I quickly turned and walked back upstairs. I knew if I had stayed, I wouldn’t have been able to leave him. I had to be strong for both of us or else we would be on a contract and a ban forever. I couldn't do that to Stacy after all he had gone through. A few hours after that, I noticed they had shaved Stacy’s head and he had gone back to work. My eyes immediately filled with tears, but I quickly turned away so the rest of the people working with me on contract could not see my face and the sadness in my eyes. I had to stuff down my feelings and deal with them the best way I knew how.
A few days after I had completed my contract, I was called up to be in a marathon group. When I left to go up to the Marathon Cabin, Stacy was still on contract and we were still on a ban. My thoughts remained with him as I faced the inevitable. I’d come back to the house in a few weeks a newly transformed person and ready to do things the Kinsman Hall way. That thought made me smile for a moment because I knew the only force I felt now was the one steering me away from Kinsman Hall.
From the start, this marathon was like no other. The group was not made up of strictly peers, but of residents and staff from all phases of the program. Unlike a typical marathon that lasted about a week, this marathon lasted for over 100 days. When we went up to the cabin that had been built in the woods to house marathons, it was late summer. When the group returned to the house, it was winter. I hadn't talked to Stacy before I left because we were still on a ban, but I could see him watching me as I left the house and walked up the path to the Marathon cabin with my pillow and blanket in hand. I turned when I thought no one was watching and I waved good bye to him and blew him a kiss. I wondered if our ban would be lifted after I had completed this marathon. I guess time would tell.
Since Stacy worked on the kitchen crew, I wasn't surprised to see him bring meals to the cabin for my marathon group. I can only imagine what his department head thought each time he volunteered. Maybe he came off as being eager to please and ready do the right thing, but I knew what his real motivation was. We never talked when he delivered food because talking to people during a marathon was forbidden. I didn’t want him to get in any more trouble, but he always made sure to make eye contact with me. When he knew I was looking at him, he would wink and smile before leaving. It was almost as if he used what was in my eyes as a gauge to if he should keep coming back or not.
That marathon brought many changes and discoveries, but the most awe-inspiring was rediscovering something I learned long before I ever entered that cabin. The marathon simply reinforced what I knew already. Sometimes lasting memories are formed under the strangest of circumstances and sometimes people only need to briefly touch your life in order to have a lasting effect on it. One thing since then I've always wondered is if love really does mean never having to say you're sorry! Somehow I think Erich Segal was wrong! What I think is if you love someone and you hurt that person, an apology isn't enough. You have to be strong enough and resourceful enough to attempt to right the wrong you did. But what do I know? Love means never having to say you're sorry sounds better and sold a lot of books and t-shirts so that's all that counts in the long run.
Until this point, I hadn't been truly emotionally involved with anyone at Kinsman Hall. Sure, I had a few infatuations along the way, but we all know how superficial, one-sided and short-lived infatuations can be. This time was different and it scared me! Before he could reach me, I quickly turned and walked back upstairs. I knew if I had stayed, I wouldn’t have been able to leave him. I had to be strong for both of us or else we would be on a contract and a ban forever. I couldn't do that to Stacy after all he had gone through. A few hours after that, I noticed they had shaved Stacy’s head and he had gone back to work. My eyes immediately filled with tears, but I quickly turned away so the rest of the people working with me on contract could not see my face and the sadness in my eyes. I had to stuff down my feelings and deal with them the best way I knew how.
A few days after I had completed my contract, I was called up to be in a marathon group. When I left to go up to the Marathon Cabin, Stacy was still on contract and we were still on a ban. My thoughts remained with him as I faced the inevitable. I’d come back to the house in a few weeks a newly transformed person and ready to do things the Kinsman Hall way. That thought made me smile for a moment because I knew the only force I felt now was the one steering me away from Kinsman Hall.
From the start, this marathon was like no other. The group was not made up of strictly peers, but of residents and staff from all phases of the program. Unlike a typical marathon that lasted about a week, this marathon lasted for over 100 days. When we went up to the cabin that had been built in the woods to house marathons, it was late summer. When the group returned to the house, it was winter. I hadn't talked to Stacy before I left because we were still on a ban, but I could see him watching me as I left the house and walked up the path to the Marathon cabin with my pillow and blanket in hand. I turned when I thought no one was watching and I waved good bye to him and blew him a kiss. I wondered if our ban would be lifted after I had completed this marathon. I guess time would tell.
Since Stacy worked on the kitchen crew, I wasn't surprised to see him bring meals to the cabin for my marathon group. I can only imagine what his department head thought each time he volunteered. Maybe he came off as being eager to please and ready do the right thing, but I knew what his real motivation was. We never talked when he delivered food because talking to people during a marathon was forbidden. I didn’t want him to get in any more trouble, but he always made sure to make eye contact with me. When he knew I was looking at him, he would wink and smile before leaving. It was almost as if he used what was in my eyes as a gauge to if he should keep coming back or not.
That marathon brought many changes and discoveries, but the most awe-inspiring was rediscovering something I learned long before I ever entered that cabin. The marathon simply reinforced what I knew already. Sometimes lasting memories are formed under the strangest of circumstances and sometimes people only need to briefly touch your life in order to have a lasting effect on it. One thing since then I've always wondered is if love really does mean never having to say you're sorry! Somehow I think Erich Segal was wrong! What I think is if you love someone and you hurt that person, an apology isn't enough. You have to be strong enough and resourceful enough to attempt to right the wrong you did. But what do I know? Love means never having to say you're sorry sounds better and sold a lot of books and t-shirts so that's all that counts in the long run.