She's Gone: A Novel (7 page)

“You did?”

“Well, actually, I don’t think they would have let me go without an assignment.”

“What’s an encounter session?” Jolie asked.

“It’s an intense analysis of your flaws. They break you down to build you up.”

She clutched the moonstone pouch around her neck. “I don’t like the sound of it.”

“It’ll be fine. There’ll just be a lot of crying.”

“Crying?”

He nodded.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What if she cracked under pressure and the truth about them came out?

8

The Gestalt of Self

That week Jolie and Will settled into the routine at the Big Yellow House. All of the action was either in the dining room, the parlor, or the front porch. The Beatles
The White Album
, the favorite of the month, played constantly on an old phonograph.

“Will you teach me to make soap?” Jolie asked Deidre.

“Sure, but not until next month when all of the fruit and nut harvests are done,” Deidre said. “That’s a good rainy day project and trust me, we get a lot of rain.”

Most of the members volunteered at the Food Cooperative four hours a week, which gave them a discount. They also bartered skills for food and services. Some picked apples and fruit throughout the season.

They talked endlessly about Carl Rogers, a respected psychologist, and his theory of individuals based on nineteen propositions, the gestalt of self. One evening after dinner they moved the discussion to the parlor.

“We need to change our perceptual field of reality to live in a communal society,” Bill said.

Jolie frowned; what was he saying? Michael saw her expression and explained. “The perceptual field is the self that has been formed through our interaction with our traditional environments from birth.”

“So the concept of self must change in a communal family,” Anthony said.

“Why do we have to change?” Dawn said. “I like myself.”

Jolie liked herself too, except for what she had done to her parents.

“With the old self, there are barriers to the new society, and tension is created,” Michael said.

“When we share more organic experiences, we replace the traditional value system and accept the new one. If any experience is inconsistent with the structure of the self, it’s perceived as a threat, and we can’t live in harmony,” Bill said.

Share organic experiences? Replace the traditional value system? Were they talking about sex? She would only have sex on her terms, not because she was living in the commune. She believed in true love and commitment. Will was all she wanted. She looked around the room at the other women. They were smart and more experienced than she was. Would Will be tempted in this free society? A jealous pang shot through her. Why did they have to live there? She would not surrender to a different sense of order and meaning. She would stay true to herself.

The dreaded Saturday morning arrived. They gathered for the encounter session in the parlor, sitting in a circle of chairs. Bill introduced the group to Tom, the psychologist who was to lead the two-day session. He had short brown hair and neatly trimmed sideburns. He stood in the middle of the circle, exuding confidence.

“Don’t be nervous,” Tom said, turning around to everyone in the circle. “Don’t be shy.” He looked straight at Jolie.

How did he know she was scared stiff? She gulped. He was on to her.

“We will engage in intense interaction with each other to improve our own self-awareness and interpersonal relations,” Tom said. “You must be completely open and honest and react immediately with your true feelings. Get in touch with your range of emotions and share them with the others.”

He paused and looked around the room into the eyes of every person. “You will help others work through their issues in a supportive way. This will strengthen your ties and future communications. We’ll go around the room and each of you will have the chance to talk about your concerns, issues, or problems affecting you. Who wants to start?”

Everyone looked around the room expectantly. They were in for a long two days. Jolie sat back, willing herself invisible, terrified of being called upon. She didn’t have any problems, at least not yet. She sat, petrified, on the stiff wooden chair.

Bill spoke up. Jolie exhaled. “It’s been a year since we formed the Big Yellow House, and we still have so many inhibitions with each other. Some of us are so uptight about things.”

No one spoke.

“What kind of things?” Tom said.

Bill’s wife, Maddy, closed her eyes.

“Love. We’re not sharing the love,” Bill said.

The group looked around the room at each other.

“I feel the love,” Kerrie said.

“You haven’t shared my bed and my love,” Bill said. Maddy started to quietly cry.

“I am married to your brother,” Kerrie said. “I love you as a brother.”

“We can share love without sex,” Peter said, coming to her rescue. “I love Maddy, but I don’t need to sleep with her to let her know.”

Oh boy, the session was in full gear. She glanced at Will, and their eyes met. Why did he look so amused? She was intimidated around this group. He reached for her hand. What if they asked her about her views on sex? Deidre got up and put her arms around Maddy.

Tom seemed to enjoy this exchange. He sat back in his chair and did not intervene.

“Your idea of love doesn’t work for everyone,” Maddy said, empowered by Deidre’s support.

“Sleeping with others has always been a private decision, and optional,” Michael said. “It is not a rule of the commune.”

Silence ensued. Jolie realized her foot was jiggling madly. She uncrossed her legs and planted her feet firmly on the floor.

“We all agreed to govern without a leader Bill, but you seem to be always in charge and passing judgment,” Anthony said.

“I was expressing my disappointment, that’s all,” Bill said. He smoothed his mustache.

Jolie vowed to steer clear of Bill. She studied the grain of the hardwood floor. Was it cedar?

“Let’s explore the leadership comment further,” Tom said. “Do you feel you are governed by a democracy or an autocracy?”

There were no takers to the question.

“Michael, since you voiced this concern, can you give us specific examples?” Tom said.

The morning and afternoon wore on, straining the group’s emotions.

Will spoke up numerous times regarding the governance. “Why not elect leaders annually? Even a socialist society has someone in charge.”

“Decisions have to be made by a consensus or the men will rule,” Deidre said. “Men will never elect a woman leader.”

Jolie turned to her. That was brave, and it was true. Was there any society where women were equal to men?

When it was time to break for the day, Tom gave them one instruction. “There is to be no lovemaking tonight. This is an emotional experience, and I want you to feel it fully.”

The group groaned.

Tom joined them for dinner. It was quiet but not uncomfortable. “This is an interesting social experiment,” Tom said. “I’d like to follow your progress.”

“Are you going to write a research paper on us?” Bill said.

Tom tilted his head and smiled. “I’ll have to come up with a premise.”

Jolie’s mind danced over a number of sarcastic ideas but her mother’s voice filled her head.
“If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

Exhausted from the day’s events, most everyone turned in early. Jolie and Will went up to their room, leaving Maddy and Bill sitting glumly in the parlor.

“I’m not sharing you with anyone,” Will said. “If anyone so much as touches you, they’ll be sorry.”

“I don’t want anyone else. Can we even hug tonight?”

“We can do whatever we want.” He pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her, drawing her into his arms. Their clothes fell away, and they made love quietly.

The next morning, the group reconvened. There was not a lot of eye contact. Did everyone break the no-lovemaking rule?

Tom explained they would start with a trust exercise. He split them into pairs, but not with their partners, and gave them blindfolds.

“Take turns blindfolding each other and walk around the neighborhood or house and touch and taste things. It’s a way to gain trust,” Tom said.

Jolie was paired up with Anthony. Will was with Deidre. Anthony didn’t make her uncomfortable like Bill did. She and Will shared the third floor with Anthony and his girlfriend, Dawn.

Anthony put the blindfold around Jolie’s eyes and tied it tight. “No peeking.”

They walked up the driveway. Jolie held on to his arm lightly. Gravel crunched with each step. He paused by the street. Cars passed on the road, and truck engines hummed.

“Do you trust me?” Anthony said.

“I have to,” she said.

They walked across the street into the park.

“This is hard,” Jolie said. “I feel helpless.”

“Here, give me your hand, I have something for you,” he said.

She heard someone scream nearby and then laugh. “Is it slimy?”

“You tell me.” He placed something in her open palm.

“A flower?”

“What color?” he asked.

“Pink.”

“No. It’s white and innocent just like you. Don’t let the world change you. Here, let me put it in your hair.”

His hands were warm as he brushed her face, tucking the flower behind her ear under the blindfold. After a while they switched, and Anthony wore the blindfold.

“Where are you taking me?” he said. He was grinning and looked sweet with his longish black curls flattened by the blindfold.

Arms linked, she led him up the front steps of the house and into the kitchen. She fed him bites of food. He guessed wrong half the time. She dipped a salty peanut in honey and dropped it on his tongue. It was sensual, feeding him blindfolded. A flush of guilt washed over her.

She untied the blindfold. Walking back to the parlor, they passed the window to the backyard. Deidre sat behind Will massaging his shoulders. Instantly, a jealous pang shot through her.

“She gives the best massages,” Anthony said. “That’s her specialty.”

The encounter session reconvened in a more relaxed mood. The group discussion resumed, and Tom pulled out more issues from individuals. The discussion was dominated by a few. Jolie relaxed a bit when it was clear they would never get around to everybody. Finally, the two-day session was ending. Tom wanted to check in with them in six months. Bill seemed reserved but was smiling at Maddy.

At the end of the day, in a circle holding hands, they ceremoniously reconfirmed their commitment to live as a family without power trips.

How long would that last, a week, two weeks? Someone always had to dominate, and Bill did own the house. She had to find a way to move out and get their own place.

9

Down on Peacock Farm

The next week, Will announced to Jolie he was taking her to visit Ken Kesey, the famous author who lived nearby. This was their first outing alone and her first chance away from the commune to talk to Will about their plans, their future. She wanted to move out of the Big Yellow House.

Will borrowed Michael’s car, an older, powder blue station wagon of questionable reliability. They drove the eleven miles toward Pleasant Hill. The countryside was dotted with orchards and Christmas tree farms, each field a different shade of green. The sky was baby blue with high, wispy clouds, and the smell of autumn filled the air. Will talked to her about how Kesey had led a group, called the Merry Pranksters, across the country in his psychedelic bus named Further.

“They caused havoc all over the country,” Will explained.

When he paused, Jolie jumped in. “I want to move out of the Big Yellow House. I don’t want to live in a commune.”

Will glanced at her and then back to the road. “And how do you plan to do that?”

She looked at him. This wasn’t a game. “Don’t you have a bank account?”

He shook his head.

“But you told me we’d always have everything we needed.”

“We do. We have a house, food and look, we even have a car to use.”

She stared at him, incredulous and then closed her eyes and sat back with the crushing weight of reality. She had assumed he had access to funds once they left the isolated ranch. But he had nothing? This was not the life she’d imagined. This wasn’t freedom. She felt trapped.

She opened her eyes as Will turned onto the driveway to Kesey’s farm. He parked near a fire-engine-red barn that had been converted into a house. An old school bus, painted in an explosion of psychedelic colors, was parked in the cow pasture. Peacocks roamed everywhere, their neon iridescence blended into the colorful scene.

“Come on. Don’t be so glum. You’re about to meet a great man.”

Their situation didn’t seem to faze him. Maybe she should lighten up and look for the positive.

The front door opened, and a woman stood in the doorway.

“We’re here to see Ken. I met him a few years ago.”

“I’m Faye, Ken’s wife,” she said. “Ken’s out in the greenhouse.”

She escorted them to the glass structure next to another barn. Ken was standing on a scaffold halfway to the roof, tinkering with a repair. He had a stocky frame and wore a tie-dyed T-shirt and denim overalls. There was a long table in the middle of the room with chairs scattered around. Ken climbed down.

“I’m Will. I met you a few years ago in Berkeley.” Will said.

“Berkeley.” Ken’s eyes squinted as he tried to remember. “I don’t recall much about that time.”

Will laughed. “Well, the world remembers you.”

Ken reached to shake Will’s hand and two coins fell out into his palm.

“How did you do that?” Jolie laughed.

“Magic. It extends beyond the visible.”

Ken proceeded to tell them about the cross-country trip to never-never land in the 1939 bus named Further with Neil Cassady at the wheel. Faye had heard the story too many times and went back to the house. Will lit a joint and passed it to Ken. When it came around to Jolie, she shook her head. She wanted to have a clear head and absorb everything Ken was saying over the din of the squawking peacocks.

Will held up his leather notebook. “I’ve written something I want to share with you.”

“Oh?” Ken’s eyes sparkled.

“It’s a socialist manifesto.”

Ken held up his hand. “Sorry, I don’t do politics. I stick with the arts.”

“Fair enough,” Will said.

In the fading light, Will and Jolie got up and said their good-byes.

“Keep love in your hearts,” Ken said.

Will drove down the driveway and onto the road back to Eugene.

“That bus trip sounded amazing. What do you think of his idea of life as performance art?” Jolie asked.

“Shit.”

“What?” She shot a glance at him. In that instant, she caught the flashing lights of the cop car behind them. Her heart pounded. She sat paralyzed. Would this be it?

Will pulled over onto the gravel shoulder. The cop got out and walked to the driver’s side of the station wagon. Will rolled down the window and the cop barked. “Cut the engine.”

Jolie, startled by his harsh command, pressed her body against the seat.

“Driver’s license and car registration,” the cop said.

Will handed him his license and rummaged through the contents of the glove compartment. He found the registration after what seemed like an eternity and handed it to the cop. Jolie, motionless, looked straight ahead, not wanting to attract the cop’s attention.

“This isn’t your car?”

“No, it’s a friend’s,” Will said.

The cop bent down and peered in at Jolie. “What’s your name?”

Panicked, she willed herself to think, think, think. What would her name be? Why hadn’t she come up with a name before this?

“Jolie Cassady,” she said. They had been talking about Neal Cassady with Kesey.

“How old are you?” The cop’s eyes pierced hers.

“Eighteen.”

“What’s your birth date?”

She had this part down. She told him the date she had memorized. The cop squinted at Will, back to Jolie, and returned his stare to Will.

“Your right taillight is out. I’ll give you a warning this time but get it fixed.” The cop handed Will his license and the car registration. He walked back to his car, turned off the blue and red flashing lights, and drove off in a screeching U-turn.

“Close one, Jolie Cassady.”

She held her face in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks.