I'll Be You(98)

Dr. Medina waved an encouraging hand at me. “Go ahead, then,” she said. “You’re here now, let’s get you inside the circle.”

I stepped into the center of the room, just under a dusty brass light fixture that emitted a dim glow over the room. Relieved, Ruth hustled to a folding chair on the edge of the circle and collapsed in it. She offered me a vulpine smile that appeared to be part commiseration, part vindictive glee.

I turned a slow circle, taking in the group. Two dozen women stared back at me. So many shaved heads, so many white dresses: The women’s faces seemed to float above their bodies, their features in high relief, a strangely compelling effect.

Dr. Medina clapped her hands once, and the sound split the room. “OK, who’s going to start. Suzy?”

Suzy jumped to attention, studied me. “You’re so passive. You do whatever anyone tells you to do. Get a spine.” Her eyes flicked to Dr. Medina for approval.

“That’s a good start.” Dr. Medina looked around. “Georgina?”

A striking Mediterranean woman with hawkish features and heavy makeup regarded me from the couch where she lounged. “You’re a loser. A failure,” she said flatly.

“Louder!” Dr. Medina commanded.

Georgina sat up straighter in her seat. “Loser!” she called out, in a voice already hoarse from the last confrontation. “Failure!”

Other voices began to chime in. “You’re pathetic!” “You’re too nice!” “Sucker!” “No one loves you!” “So naive!” The litany of insults grew in volume, the women shouting to be heard over one another. A dark electricity crackled through the room as the women gathered their energy together—collected all the pain and injury and petty grievances of their own lives—and hurled it at me. Or rather, not at me but at Elli.

Was this what the world thought of my sister? The cruelty in their observations was a kick in the gut. Even though it wasn’t me they were describing—boring, passive, pushover, forgettable—I felt it as though it were. I became Elli, I let her pain be mine. I let all of the wounds she’d suffered pulse through me until it felt like every nerve was on fire. So this was what it was like to be my sister these days, I realized; it had been so long since I’d tried to climb inside her. And really, had I ever, truly, stopped to be her? Now that I was, it made me want to cry.

“Stop it,” I said softly. But no one could hear me over the din. So I screamed: “You all need to shut the fuck up!”

The room went quiet. The women gazed uneasily at one another, unsure why I’d deviated from the script. From her folding chair, Ruth frowned at Dr. Medina. “That’s not how it works,” she complained. “She’s supposed to defend herself. And we just barely got started. Mine was at least fifteen minutes.”

I looked over at Dr. Medina. “I don’t see the benefit of this exercise. I’m bowing out.”

Dr. Medina was the one frowning now. “These exercises aren’t optional, Eleanor.” Her voice was low and even, unperturbable. “They’re a critical part of the Method. They teach us how to stand up for ourselves in the face of a world that does its best to break down women’s self-esteem. This is for your own empowerment.”

“It doesn’t feel like empowerment,” I replied. “It feels like you’re trying to break us down, so you can control us. You make us feel bad about ourselves and then you tell us that you’re the only person who can help us feel better. And then we’ll do anything you tell us to. Classic mind-control technique, right? You studied psychology; or at least, that’s what you tell everyone. So, you would know. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I learned the whole process with a simple search on Wikipedia.”

I realized, belatedly, that this diatribe sounded nothing like Elli. Unfortunately, there were no second takes on this particular performance. I took a few steps back, trying to disappear into the perimeter of the circle, but it was too late. A leaden silence had fallen over the room.

Most of the women were gazing fixedly at their hands or the walls across from them, blank expressions on their faces, as if trying to purge their minds of what I had just suggested. But I noticed two twentysomething women catching each other’s eyes across the circle, and exchanging a significant look that seemed to say, See? Georgina had arced one eyebrow in surprise, and was now casting her gaze around the room, as if waiting to gauge everyone else’s reaction to this.

Ruth was staring at me in confusion. She tilted her head slightly and then gestured violently with her chin, as if to say, Get back in the circle, stupid. I shook my head, and she shrugged, as if there was no point in trying to argue with an insane person.

Dr. Medina was calmly reading her notes, but I could see that a vein at her temple had turned an angry shade of purple. She scribbled something on the notepad. “I’m not sure where this aggression is coming from, Eleanor. But perhaps you and I should go to one of the meeting rooms for a Reenactment. It sounds like you’re stuck on something.”

From her seat, one of the twentysomething women piped up. “I watched a documentary about that group Synanon last year? They had a similar ritual, they called it the Game?” Her sentences kept tailing off, as she tried to read the studiously empty faces around her. “I don’t think things ended well for them?”

Dr. Medina whirled to look at her. “Aren’t you forgetting your Sufferance, Alexis? You had two days of silence. And now you have three.” Alexis closed her mouth and shrank back in her seat, but not before casting one more significant look at her friend.