Free The Summer I Wasn't Me by Jessica Verdi Page A

asks Gabe.
    “For as long as I can remember.”
    “Is that what this is from?” He touches a dark mark on Gabe’s jawline. I’d dismissed it as a shadow, but I can see now it’s a bruise.
    Gabe nods.
    “Does he hit your mother too? Or your brothers?”
    Gabe shakes his head and squeezes his eyes tighter so that deep creases spread out from them like reaching fingers. “ No . Only me. I won’t let him hurt them.”
    “Are you saying that you let him hurt you so he won’t hurt them?” Mr. Martin asks.
    “It’s the only way.” There’s a pause. “I’m worried about what he’ll do while I’m gone.”
    “Don’t think like that, Gabe,” Mr. Martin says. “Your church is sponsoring your summer at New Horizons, as I recall?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, then the best thing you can do for them right now is to let those worries go and instead focus on your work here and making your family and your congregation proud.”
    Gabe nods. “Okay.”
    Mr. Martin asks Gabe to open his eyes. He blinks several times, like he’s having trouble adjusting to the room, and then looks down at his lap. I can’t imagine what he must be feeling right now.
    “Everyone, please give Gabe a round of applause for so bravely sharing his story,” Mr. Martin says. We clap for him, but there’s a solemn timbre to it. Mr. Martin stands behind Gabe and rests his hands on his shoulders. “Gabe’s Father Wound is the most straightforward kind,” he says to us, “because it has been inflicted by his actual father. Gabe’s father is the one person who was supposed to show him what it means to be a man, but instead, he has made sure his son remains a wounded boy with a confused sense of right and wrong.”
    Tears are spilling down Gabe’s cheeks and landing in his lap, and his body is heaving with silent sobs. But I can’t shake the icky feeling that Mr. Martin did this to him just to make a point.
    “This lifetime of abuse is Gabe’s Father Wound,” he continues. But suddenly his face brightens. “And now that we’ve identified it, we can move on to the second half of the exercise—Healing the Father Wound!”
    It’s like he’s just said, Guess what everyone! There’s free cake in the dining cabin! But there’s a broken, abused boy sitting right in front of him—doesn’t he feel bad? Shouldn’t we take a break or something, so Gabe can have a moment to himself?
    Mr. Martin gestures to Arthur, and Arthur drags out some props: a standup punching bag and a Nerf baseball bat. Mr. Martin calls on a tall boy named Ian to come join him and Gabe at the front of the room.
    “One of the best ways to work through our Father Wounds is to use role-play,” he says. “Ian, you are going to play the role of Gabe’s father in this scenario.”
    Ian’s face pales.
    “Gabe, please stand up and face Ian.”
    Gabe does as he says, and Arthur removes Gabe’s chair from the stage.
    “You may begin the scene, Ian,” Mr. Martin says.
    Ian looks at him, panicked. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
    “Remember Gabe’s story. You’re his father, and you’re coming home drunk.”
    Poor Ian. He looks like he wishes he could vanish into thin air or do anything or become anything to get out of this. Gabe doesn’t look much different.
    “Please, begin,” Mr. Martin says again, firmer this time.
    Ian starts walking around in a jerky line and mimes a swig from an imaginary bottle. “Hello, son,” he says, in a deep voice.
    Gabe looks to Mr. Martin, and Mr. Martin nods encouragingly. “Hello, Dad,” he says, unsure. “How…uh, how was work?”
    “Same as it always is,” Ian says. Mr. Martin makes a keep-going gesture, and Ian adds, “Don’t be stupid.” Mr. Martin points to the rest of the stage area, coaching Ian. Ian looks confused for a moment, but then his face clicks. “Look at this place! I work hard every night and have to come home to this dump? You need to start pulling your weight around here, boy!” Mr.