Missed Connections (27 page)

It feels kind of nice, but I don’t want to get swept into BS. By contrasting these happy-go-lucky versions of Fern and Zig with the ones I know better, I’m able to keep my feet on the floor and the stars from my eyes.

* * *

Breakfast is the most disappointing thing I’ve encountered in recent history. It’s grayish, lumpy, and flavorless. Calling it oatmeal would be an insult to oatmeal. This is something poor fairy-tale children are forced to eat in abusive orphanages. Despite the hunger gnawing at my stomach, I’m only able to choke three slimy bites down. We were given weak herbal tea, but it’s more scented than flavored. I finish mine anyway, enjoying the heat. The others are talking among themselves, but I can barely focus because I miss coffee so badly.

“If you’ve all finished enjoying your meals, we’re ready to begin.” Fern beckons to us from the adjoining room and we all follow her inside, once again settling on the floor in a circle like we’re about to have a rousing game of duck, duck, goose.

“Now, I’d like everyone to take a pen and one of the pieces of paper Ziggy is handing out, and write down the challenges you are facing in your life right now. Be specific.”

“Do you have any more paper?” a man quips, and we all laugh, though the sound is tinged with nerves. No one likes spending time looking their fears in the eyes.

“That’s excellent! I love how ready you are to lay it all out there. Good for you!” Fern’s eyes twinkle at him. “Remember, these issues are things you want to sort out this weekend. These can be fears you want to discard forever. Don’t hesitate; we’re in a safe place. Nothing leaves the circle. No one will know whose problems are whose. It’s completely anonymous. We’re going to write out our fears and burn them in a bright flame, releasing them from our lives forever! Doesn’t that sound great? It’s amazingly cathartic. Trust.”

Okay. Well, if we’re just burning them, I guess this one is an activity to participate in. If Fern and Ziggy try to get me to do trust falls or anything like that, I can always fake stomach problems and hide in the bathroom. I’m picking my battles here.

After a moment, I begin to write, accompanied by the sounds of scribbling from the other participants.

I’m scared of being stuck in this sort of limbo forever. I’m sort of seeing two guys right now. It’s really complicated. But I know I need to make a choice. My heart can’t take this situation anymore, so I guess I’d like to leave indecision behind and make the right choice.
I pause to think of my life and keep writing.
I hadn’t really noticed, but because of this situation, I’ve kind of abandoned friends. I don’t want to be one of those girls who ditches her friends, so I want to be able to make new friendships and better maintain the old ones I’ve neglected.
Ugh, what the hell.
I’d also like for Phyllis and me to get along better, because I’m tired of it being tense at work, even though it’s pretty much her fault why we don’t get along.

Surprisingly, I do feel somewhat better for having written it all out. Everyone finishes writing at about the same time, so we sit and wait for Fern’s next instructions. “Fabulous. Now pass them up to the front, and I’ll prepare them while you all participate in this guided meditation by Ziggy.”

Papers passed, we all turn to face Ziggy. Perfect. I can gap out, and it will look like I’m participating. I focus on Ziggy’s monotonous chanting.

I rotate my shoulders, working the tension out.

I wonder what Blake’s doing right now. It’s Sunday, so he could be giving a massage at Inner Space. Now
he’s
someone I wouldn’t mind getting a massage from, that’s for sure.

No matter what choice I make, someone will be hurt. Including me.

Saying good-bye to either of these men will hurt for a long time, even with the other by my side loving me, being loved by me. Is this how my mom feels? She meets someone and falls in love. It knocks her out of line, but then she always stays with Dad because he’s her One? Or does she stay with him because she’s afraid of the unknown, and it just hurts Dad more when she should do them all a favor and go be with the other guy?

Am I hesitating to make a decision to move forward with Blake because I’m afraid of leaving my safe little niche? Is Jack my rock—he’s been in my life for years now, comfortable and safe—but not really the one I need at the end of the day?

But Jack isn’t safe, is he? Blake is the safe choice. Blake’s the steady raft drifting slowly down a lazy river on a hot summer day. Jack’s the pulse-pounding white-water rafting trip. That type of excitement isn’t meant to last forever. It’s meant to be had in doses because there’s the very real danger of being thrown overboard and drowning.

And at this point in my life, I’m supposed to find something long-term and safe. Something nice. Something lasting. Right?

Either one of them could be the man of my dreams. It just depends on the dream I’m looking for.

My shoulder is touched, startling my eyes open. “Yes?”

Ziggy laughs. “We’re done. Everyone’s back in circle. You went really deep into that meditation, Sarah. We’ve been calling you for a bit. Great job!”

I blush, but instead of making fun of me, the rest of the participants smile and look envious.

“I wish I had your concentration and focus,” the girl next to me says.

I smile and duck my head.

One participant raises her hand. “Is there going to be a break soon? I need to check my messages.” I think the lady’s name is Valerie, and she’s a CEO for some big company I can’t remember the name of.

Fern shakes her head. “Actually, there won’t be a chance for that. While you had breakfast, and then when you were in circle, we had people go through your bags. They’ve confiscated all watches, phones, and electronics. All the trappings of the outside world. If any of you have anything that hasn’t been confiscated, please hand it to Ziggy now, and he’ll give it to the people holding your things.”

I left my phone safely stowed in my purse in the room. Does this mean someone went through it? No, they wouldn’t do that.

Fern holds her hands up at the murmuring of the group. “This is about being serious and focusing on yourself. The Internet will be there when you get back. Your families will be there when you get back. We do this at every retreat. Someone’s collected your phone from your bag, but it’s completely safe. We want you to go back to the world a better version of yourself, and that can’t happen if you’re clinging to the old you. The old you is white-knuckling technology at the cost of your soul. I’ll give you a moment to reflect on that.”

A man steps forward with his watch, and a lady hands her phone over, but I’m stuck on the idea of someone I don’t know—and didn’t give permission to—pawing through my things. If this situation were a horror movie, I’d be rolling my eyes and not letting myself get too attached to the character playing me. Because who lures people to a retreat, starves them, makes them sleep in a cold room on a floor with blankets thinner than one-ply toilet paper, and then goes through their bags and confiscates anything they can use to communicate with the outside world?

Serial killers and cultists.

Naomi told me this retreat was a cult.

And there’s no way in hell I’m drinking anything brightly colored around here at lunchtime. This is how you break people down, break down their resistance to your agenda. I read a book about just this sort of thing. The first thing is to isolate you. Then take away your comforts, and by getting you hungry and tired, the leaders wear down your resistance.

They make sure you’re never alone—that way you don’t have time to think about the stupid crap they’re trying to feed you. I can’t believe I was falling for this. I’d actually begun talking myself into believing the experiences weren’t totally stupid! It’s asinine and surprisingly effective. You get so tired and hungry that you just go with it, not even thinking about arguing.

If I stay and participate in the rest of the course, how broken down will I be by the end of it? What will it do to who I am, what I believe? It’s like police getting a false confession with the suspect under duress. I’ve found myself wanting to please Fern and Ziggy, wanting to fit in with the group even though I don’t share their values. And that shouldn’t be a bad thing. We should be able to believe what we want—the only reason I’m here is because I got railroaded into coming.

In group, I’d searched for things to say, ways that my experience might be more than just me struggling to relate. Another day of this and who knows what they’d have me doing? The course is called “Sex, Evolution, and You.” When does the sex come in? I like to think I’m a strong-minded person, but I’m so tired and hungry, I can barely focus. Hell, I’m not even as mad as I should be at this violation of my rights. I always thought that underneath it all, Fern and Ziggy were good, moral people. But they aren’t.

Normally, if someone had told me they’d gone pawing through my things and taken my personal belongings, I’d be flipping tables demanding my shit back. Instead, I’m sitting here meekly wondering with the others when I’ll get my phone back. My keys. Holy shit, they’ve taken my life.

I don’t know who has my stuff or where it is, or what exactly they’re doing with it. There’s nothing to say they are trustworthy or good people. Are they copying my information down, scrolling through my texts and emails?

I need to get my phone back. And I need to get the hell out of here. It’s all too much, too invasive, too crazy. And if whoever’s going through my texts and emails shows them to Ziggy and Fern, I’m pretty much fired. I unlocked my phone to lend it to my dad six months ago and never bothered putting the password back on.

No, it’s vital I get my phone back. My employment, and sanity, rely on it.

“I need my phone.”

“People lived for thousands of years without mobile devices. We’ll give them back in a couple of days at the end ceremony.” Fern leans in as though imparting a big secret. “You know, some people don’t even want their phones back at the end. They’ll have grown that far in just those few days.”

“But I’m waiting on an important email.” I plead with my eyes, but Fern’s not buying it.

“Nothing is more important than your enlightenment, Sarah.”

“Pretty sure someone dying would count. Emergencies happen all the time.”

“No one’s going to die.” Fern turns to the rest of the group. “Do you see how tightly she’s clinging to technology? She’s going to crazy lengths, stressing herself out over something that doesn’t love her back. Something that is actually hurting her. And why? It’s an inanimate object. What does she get out of this abusive relationship?”

An older guy raises his hand. “It lets her stay connected to the martyr mentality so she doesn’t have to grow.”

“Exactly right. As long as someone on the phone needs her, she doesn’t have to fully plug in here with us. Our brains are fabulous at making excuses for the things that hurt us.”

Like her and Ziggy and Inner Space?

She smiles. “Sarah here is naturally a very defensive person and puts barriers around herself so she can shut everyone out and not challenge herself, not grow. We’ve had issues with her doing this at work.”

What the hell is she doing talking about my life outside the course? “That is none of anyone else’s business.” A few of the other participants mutter and look at me like I’ve disappointed them.

“She has no real friends to speak of, and her interactions with her coworkers are strained at best.”

How does she know that? I never shared that information…but I did write it in the form. Tears of outrage sting my eyes. “What gives you the right to talk about my private life, things that I haven’t shared?”

“We’re here to help you, Sarah. Your issues with Phyllis are just the tip of the iceberg.”

Oh my God. She read what I wrote. That’s how she got those “insights” into my life. She’s no better than a fake psychic doing cold readings, but in this case, she’s gotten a huge tip-off straight from the sources. It’s disgusting and just another way to fool people into thinking she’s insightful and wise. She and Ziggy are going to use whatever advantage they can to make the weekend seem insightful and spiritually fulfilling.

Fern takes a big, cleansing breath. “She’s not in a committed relationship. In fact, she’s seeing two men right now and unable to choose between them. She’s a cheater.”

If I get indignant, then I’m likely to get confrontational and shout and talk myself right out of my job—in front of all these people who would back up anything Fern and Ziggy say.

Even though I’m mad that Fern and Ziggy are taking advantage of all these people, would the participants be happier knowing they paid a lot of money for a scam?

No. Shouting about Fern and Ziggy being liars and cheats wouldn’t do a damned thing to help anyone. These people want to believe, so nothing I tell them will help change their minds or make them see the truth. They’ll find a way to justify Fern’s actions. Just like Ziggy and Fern’s
perception is reality
crap.

And yet, I’m unable to stop the words. “You read my response! You’re using what I wrote down against me. I thought this was a safe place—that nothing would be thrown back at us. Did you read all of our forms? Is that how you seem like a wise woman? By cheating?”

“Oh, Sarah.
You’re
the cheater.” She turns back to the group. “Do you see? I give her this amazing opportunity for personal feedback, free of charge, unlike in a group session, and she gets emotional and lashes out. Plays the victim when she should be embracing the experience.”

“The intake forms were supposed to be anonymous!”

“Yes, but I recognized your handwriting. You should be thanking me. We’re finally going to get to the root of your issues and rip them out of your soul! Tear down those boundaries, Sarah. Tear them down. This is a safe place.”

Safe place, my ass.
I’m done. Shaking my head, I stand and speed walk from the room.

“Yes, I think while Sarah takes a moment alone to calm down, we should also take a quick break, stretch a little, get some water into us.
Everyone
be back in ten—” Her voice fades as the door swings shut behind me. Fern’s delusional if she thinks I’ll be back. I am grabbing my phone and getting the hell out of here.