Spring 2015
Julia and I again walked with our arms around each other’s waist. When we came to the turnoff
for the boy’s dorm, Dennis made sure Malcolm and Joey went with him, leaving us with the other
couples and young women headed back to the girl’s dorm.
When we arrived, Julia smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “I can take it from here.”
“Good night,” I said.
“Good night.” As soon as she removed her arm from my waist, I felt a devastating loneliness,
worse than any I’d ever felt. I watched with longing as Julia approached the brightly lit dorm and went
inside.
Later that evening, I passed near Julia’s dorm and heard her voice coming from the porch. Curious,
I stopped and watched, undetected in the dark. Julia lit and smoked a large cigar while the girls around
her laughed and cheered her on. “If my father could only see me now!” she said.
I walked on, wondering what was wrong with Julia’s father. Did he verbally, physically, or sexually
abuse her? Was his mistreatment of her the reason she frequently got into trouble at school and
rebelliously smoked cigars? Had she come on this retreat to get away from him? Given my experience
with my own violent father, I assumed her old man was a real son of a bitch.
At breakfast the next morning, I sat down at the communal dining table and noticed Julia was
crying while the girls next to her provided comfort and Kleenex. Pierced by guilt, I wondered if I’d
messed her up by touching her. After all, her touching me had felt like a jolt of lightning. But that
didn’t make sense—I’d shown her only kindness. Perhaps she couldn’t bear the thought of going home
to her bastard father later that day? I realized the only way to find out what troubled her was to ask her.
However, I never found the opportunity. Besides, the girls sitting with her appeared to be doing
their best to console her and I sensed women prefer to be with other women when they’re really hurting.
Julia rode home on the bus, still crying, wi th a pale blonde girl named Ellen sitting next to her,
whispering soothing words and handing her tissue.
I hoped Julia would attend our next youth group meeting, but she didn’t show. I asked Robby if
he still saw her at school.
He winced and shook his head. “She’s not there anymore. Haven’t you heard? When we got back
from our trip, she was admitted to a mental hospital.”
It’s just possible Robby lied for shock value, but at some intuitive level of my subconscious, I knew
what he was going to say before he said it.
Why do I think Julia affected me so deeply? Dr. Jung might say she represented the good mother
archetype in her physical comfort, but what does it mean that the good mother goes mad?
Looking back, the unwelcome news about Julia provided inexplicable foreshadowing to the shock
and guilt I’d later feel when I learned of Anna’s death. And what is it about these young women who
resonate in my memory and still disturb me decades later? The common denominator? I’d yearned
deeply for them, but they hadn’t yearned for me.
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The Linnet's Wings