I also can’t shake the anger.
So, I put up my walls. Smiles and hugs are easy, but real intimacy seems impossible. I make it hard for men to get close to me physically. Even out here, with a few guys I went on dates with, I got pressured into sex I didn’t want because, in the moment, I didn’t think I could refuse. I reverted to my Family training. I was so angry with myself afterward, and with the man for pressuring me, that I almost wanted to avoid them altogether.
But despite my inner turmoil, I’m loving the freedoms that I have now. I know I can never return to the restrictive Family life. I’m going to make it out here.
I spend hours in the library reading and researching four-year colleges, trying to understand what they look for in applicants: straight-A students with leadership skills and extracurricular activities. So, I become the vice-president of the student body and focus on getting all A’s.
After yet another Friday evening of campfires and four-wheeling, I realize that the friends I’ve made don’t have the same dreams or ambitions as I do. Through the haze of smoke, they talk about leaving small-town Monterey behind, opening their own businesses, traveling. But instead of working toward those goals, they are barely dragging through their classes, waiting tables, smoking pot, and hanging out.
That won’t happen to me, I think. I will attend a prestigious university, to prove to myself and everyone that I’m worth something.
I pass on the pot going around the circle. As far as I can see, marijuana makes my friends want to lay around on the couch eating chips; it clouds their senses. I want my senses crystal clear, so I won’t miss out on any part of the new experiences I’m having every day. I want to feel each fully, to make up for all I have missed. I didn’t leave the Family to settle. I may not be a genius or have money, but I’m going to see just how far I can go. I have ambition, even if I’m not sure why.
At the end of my first semester at community college, I’ve moved up from pouring beers a couple of nights a week at the Running Iron to bar manager of the popular new Italian bistro Taste Café in Pacific Grove. Soon, I can afford to move out of Aunt Madeline’s home into a two-bedroom apartment I share with a friend.
I make all A’s my first semester at community college and apply to five top universities, including Harvard and Stanford, and a few smaller liberal arts colleges, like Claremont. They all respond, asking me to apply again once I have my grades for a full year of school. But when the school year ends and I receive my grades—still all A’s—I decide to forgo the previous five and apply to only one school, Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. I’d never heard of Georgetown while living overseas, only Harvard and Yale from movies I’d seen. But when I speak with people about college, over and over I hear “with your international background, you should go to Georgetown.” I learn it is a top private Jesuit college and that its School of Foreign Service is among the most competitive in the world.
I’m invited to interview with a Georgetown alumnus who lives in Monterey.
I maintain my commitment to keep my new life separate. I didn’t talk about growing up in the Family in my application, even though I thought it could help my chances. Instead, I wrote about transformative travel and my realization in Kazakhstan that bringing humanitarian aid wasn’t enough; the people needed a new economic and legal system to be able to help themselves.
My interviewer is very impressed with my résumé. He can’t believe that I taught myself high school with a correspondence course, and he’s impressed by the years I spent doing volunteer work in Kazakhstan and Taiwan, and studying Mandarin in mainland China. He tells me that my life experiences make me a more interesting and driven candidate than many of their applicants.
Then I wait.
I tell myself not to get my hopes up as I wait for a response. My advisor tells me it’s almost unheard of to get into Georgetown as a transfer student from a community college. If I don’t get accepted there, I’m confident I can transfer after my sophomore year to a University of California four-year college, since they have agreements with the state community colleges. But inside I am crossing my fingers with all my might. Another semester in this sleepy little town and I’ll die of boredom. My friends and I joke that Monterey is for the newly wed or the nearly dead.
When the heavy manila envelope arrives with Georgetown’s crest, a thrill goes up my arms. I tear it open and almost scream, “I got in! I got in!”
Not only am I accepted to the toughest Georgetown college, the School of Foreign Service, but I’ve been given a tuition merit scholarship! I can’t wait to tell my family!
Grandad Gene, Grandma, and Aunt Madeline are all thrilled.
I still don’t have a cell phone, so I have been speaking to my parents only every few months, even though they are both in the States. Mom finally made it back from Russia. She got married to Ivan, and they’re living in Connecticut with Jondy. After eight years, she’s finally gotten her online bachelor’s degree from Thomas Edison State University and is working on her master’s degree at Wesleyan University, where she can take classes at a discount since Ivan is a visiting professor there.
Mom is just as thrilled as her parents and pretty much shrieks in my ear when I tell her. She tells me how proud she is, reminding me that all my hard work and determination paid off. Though I certainly hadn’t forgotten, it makes me feel warm inside to hear her say it.
Dad is still living in Texas with Maria, now his wife, and they have a baby. When I tell him, he says, “Well, I’m just concerned about you wasting so much time when our most important job is saving souls. Don’t you still want to serve God as a missionary?” I quickly hang up realizing there’s no point in trying to convince him.
It’s August 2002 when I say my goodbyes to everyone in Monterey and pack all my possessions into my secondhand maroon Honda, which I bought with my bartending money, a huge improvement over my first rickety car. As the morning birds sing, I sit gripping the black steering wheel, preparing myself to drive across the country, only three thousand miles between me and the next step in reaching my goal. When I left the Family two years before, I had no idea where I’d end up. Now, I know exactly where I’m supposed to be.
28
Knowledge and Truth