Page 59 of Fighting

His dark eyes are intense and full of curiosity and confusion.

I try to push forward verbally and physically by strolling down the next row of trees, kicking apples on the ground as I go.

“So…” he says, leading me to continue.

“So… that summer, I kind of… ballooned? I wasn’t prepared to jump up two cup sizes in, like, a month. All those new, cutebathing suits Ema bought for me? They couldn’t contain me. In a blink, I jumped from girlhood to womanhood. And …” I breathe out, reminding myself that the man I’ve spent time with over the last few weeks is no longer the teenage boy who said those things. I know that. Rationally.

That doesn’t quell the anger I’ve held on to for so long, though. “I suddenly became the butt of every joke everywhere I went. Everything about me was suddenly sexualized, and I wasn’t anywhere close to being ready for that kind of maturity. It went on the whole time, so I just, I just wanted to come home. I wanted it all to stop.”

He swallows audibly, his expression full of apprehension.

“It wasn’t just you. I mean… fuck. The ‘adults’ at camp were just as bad as the kids. Most of them were young. College age. This was the era of paparazzi up-skirt shots and tearing down Jessica Simpson’s body. The world didn’t care about ‘body positivity’ or slut-shaming, or the hyper-sexualization of teens. I think I kind of knew that, but I was fourteen. I didn’t fully understand.” I stomp on an apple and am rewarded with a satisfying crunch.

Not realizing I’ve walked ahead until the echo of a loud snap echoes behind me, I spin to see Mateo kicking apples into tree trunks.

We move this way for another moment. Thwack. Stomp. Crunch. I’m getting mad, but I’m taking it out on the rotting fruit, so it’s fine. “Feelings are all good, Nessa, even the negative ones,” my own therapist’s voice repeats in my brain.

With shaking legs, I pause to inhale deeply and force the words out. “All summer, I was teased. Called a slut because my shirts were too tight. I’ve reflected on this a lot, and I think it was also because I was still a loud and silly little girl in many ways, but my body had decided it was time to grow up.”

I was trapped somewhere between the little girl I’d been and the woman I’d eventually become.

“What does that have to do with us?” Jaw ticking, he sends another apple hurtling toward the tree. His fists are balled at his sides like he’s concentrating on not touching me or hitting something.

With a deep breath, I focus on the toes of my combat boots.

“The Jewish community is small but visible, so this feels a bit like betraying family, but okay.” I exhale another shaky breath.

“The type of summer camp I attended was pretty secular, but the leaders still initiated lots of intense conversations with us about culture. Or, I guess, in America it’s seen as religion. Anyhow, the biggest talking points were that we should date, marry, and someday have babies with a Jewish partner. There was so much pressure around dating, and we were American teens. So, all the typical ‘he’s a stud, she’s a slut’ things were there too.”

My shoulders droop. I don’t think I’m explaining this well.

“Do you watch documentaries at all?”

“Sure. I watch ones likeThe Industries that Built this Nation. That kind of thing. They’re pretty dope.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “Did you know that ketchup exists because people used to eat meat that was practically rancid?”

“Gross. Also gross: purity culture. Your mom took you and Stef to church, so you know what I’m talking about, right? Where we’re taught that girls have to be virgins until they get married and then they have to magically be sexually liberated performance artists for their one true love?”

His eyes widen. “Well, yeah. But that’s, like, the church. This was different. You said it was a Jewish camp.”

“It was inescapable in America. Didn’t matter whether it was from a church or not. Like, obviously, as a Catholic, you’ve heard stories about priests who did terrible things. But other groupshad horrible leaders too.” I swallow thickly, feeling the heat pricking behind my eyes.

“My camp was one of them.” I shake but press forward. “The little brother of my good friend is my hero. He’s a rabbi; their older brother is a lawyer.

“The younger brother, the one who’s now a rabbi, was a victim as a teen, and lawyer brother was, as you can probably guess, his lawyer. He was one of multiple John Does in an FBI case. He was brave as hell. They went public in an op-ed to encourage others to speak up before the clock ran out on the statute of limitations. There have been other articles about our camp too, but this was the closest to me personally.”

I throw my head back and let out a sardonic laugh. I swallow thickly and prick at the backs of my eyes as I recall the day my phone blew up with the link over and over.

“The thing is, everyone wants to have former-slut and current Doctor Masturbate help them processtheiremotions. They forget that I chose to call my podcastFlicking the Bean with Rabinto take back another shitty joke from that era.” The words come faster now, and I just let it all fly.

Despite the tears, my chest fills with pride at all I’ve built.I continue to stare at the ground, but I can feel Mateo’s eyes on me. I let it all spill out. Every story I’ve been holding in. Story after story people have brought to me. The weight I’ve been carrying laid before his strong arms; I give every friend, acquaintance, and patient my full undivided attention. Every. Time.

He lets me monologue through this.

“Back to where you and I are concerned,” I eventually say. “I was miserable by the time I came home. My time at camp had always been the best part of the year. That year, though, it was not fun like it was supposed to be. And Shae heard whispers of it all. That fucking destroyed me. I was supposed to be looking outfor her and Tal. Instead, I was setting them up to be considered trouble because their sister was.”

He laughs. He fuckinglaughs. “You are trouble, but it’s not like I’m one to talk. And so what? Don’t you have fun when you let that side out?”

I ignore the comment. I need to get the rest of this out. “So here I am, fourteen years old, excited to be out of this pressure cooker summer. I’m so happy to be home. I’m in your yard, where your folks are hosting a cookout like they always did. We’d been singing karaoke.”

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