Reviving Ophelia - Mary Bray Pipher [113]
Her sophomore year she started dating Paul. She had known him since kindergarten, but they began dating after a church hayrack ride. For over a year it was a wonderful relationship. He was a handsome football player. All of Lizzie’s friends told her how much they envied her. Lizzie’s parents liked Paul, and his parents liked her. Their junior year they were homecoming prince and princess. Everyone was sure that their senior year they would be king and queen.
The summer of Lizzie’s junior year she worked all summer at a camp in the Rockies. It was great. The kids were fun, the scenery was breathtaking, and she liked one of the counselors. At first she and Myron were just friends. They took walks in the mountains and canoed on the clear lake under the cold stars.
Myron was from Chicago and on his way to Northwestern in the fall. He was everything that Paul was not—worldly, sophisticated and new. Lizzie resisted falling for him, but he was around every day and, as she said, “It’s easy to fall in love in the mountains.”
One night after talking for hours under a blanket on the shore of a mountain lake, they began kissing. Myron took off her shirt and then her slacks. He was eager for sex and Lizzie, while not quite so eager, was eager to please Myron. They became lovers that night.
The summer sped by. Lizzie answered Paul’s weekly letters carefully. She told Paul that she missed him but was too busy to call or write long letters. She never mentioned Myron.
In late August she said good-bye to Myron. He invited her to come visit Chicago, but he didn’t believe in long-distance relationships and warned her that he would date other girls. Lizzie was hurt about this, but told herself that, after all, they weren’t engaged.
When she returned home, Paul asked, “Did you sleep with anyone?”
Lizzie looked stunned but didn’t deny it. Paul interpreted that as an admission of guilt and he began to sob. They talked far into the night. Paul was hurt and upset, but communicative. He left saying he wanted to be friends.
The first few weeks of school were fine. Her friends were happy to see her and she was busy with cheerleading and the yearbook. She had some classes with Paul and his friends, which at first were comfortable, then awkward, then unbearable. Paul quit speaking to her. When she walked down the hall, Paul’s friends called her names—slut or bitch—names she was surprised they would use, especially with her.
Lizzie tried to talk to Paul but he refused. His friends grew more belligerent and even warned her to leave him alone. She tried to wait it out, but time didn’t seem to help. In fact, more friends chose sides over time. Most of the boys and several of the girls whom she’d known all her life quit speaking to her.
In October she was not invited to the party for the cheerleaders and athletes. She resigned from the cheerleaders. She considered talking to her parents, but knew that they would be most upset that she had had sex. So she went to the school counselor’s office.
Telling me about all this, Lizzie was sad and angry. She knew this wasn’t fair. She knew she had a right to decide who she would date. She resented being called a slut.
At first we managed the crisis. I encouraged her to cry, shout and do whatever helped her express all her feelings. We talked about immediate practical problems: Who could she sit with at lunch? (There were a few friends who had remained steadfast.) What should she do when guys called her names in the halls? (She decided to look them in the eye and say, “I hope you never have to go through something like this.”) How could she spend her Saturday nights? (She decided to work at a shelter for abused women. That would help her feel less sorry for herself.) She decided to stay at her school. She didn’t want to give Paul’s friends the power to drive her out of her school in her senior year.