Not Bible Camp Ch. 04

When I felt like I was relaxed enough, I opened my eyes and said, "Ready."

Then she pulled out something from one of the cabins that made my eyes bug out. It looked like something out of a science fiction movie, not that I've seen lots of those.

Counselor Jameson said it was a Virtual Reality Simulator (I wrote it down right then just so I wouldn't forget) and we were going to use it to act out a roleplay.

I probably shouldn't have but I asked her if it was something I ought to have heard about. She said the technology had been out for years, but they'd had a hard time developing uses for it. It's also real bad for people with epilepsy or migraines. I just hope I didn't come off like some hillbilly.

She said that we needed to start exercising the dominant side of my personality, and that this would not only help with that, but specifically in terms of how I related to Jill. Virtual reality was a safe place where I could explore what it meant to be dominant without real world complications. I didn't understand what she meant, exactly, but it sounded like a good idea.

So basically I strapped on these weird black gloves, then Counselor Jameson helped me get the weird helmet on my head. It was black for a few seconds, and then all of a sudden another room came to life around me.

I think the thing that freaked me out the most was the sound. You can hear lots of bugs and birds when you're in those cabins, and occasionally an owl, but other than that it's dead quiet. But once that helmet kicked in what I heard was a creaky old AC unit and a bunch of pencils scribbling on paper.

I looked around to see a whole bunch of desks with what I guess were students sitting behind them. Some of them were writing, and others were flipping through textbooks.

And then there was my desk. It was as wide as three of the student's desks, and had way too much stuff on it. And standing on the other side of it, opposite from me, was Jill.

She was wearing the classic schoolgirl outfit, with a blue blazer, a white button up shirt, and a loose skirt that came up to just above her knee. And that's when it hit me: I was a teacher, and Jill was my pupil.

Then there was a buzzing sound, and it seemed for all the world to be coming from some papers from the top of the desk. I was amazed to see that I could move my hands just like in real life, and picked up the papers to see a black intercom with a red light blinking next to a button labeled, "TALK."

I pushed the button, and I don't know how they got the sound to work like that but it was like Counselor Jameson's voice was coming right out of the intercom speaker.

"Hi, Chris," the voice said. "We've discovered this is the best way to keep from disrupting the virtual reality experience. As long as you experience my voice as coming from the intercom, your brain won't try to second-guess your virtual surroundings."

I was a little too freaked out to muster much more of a reply that, "OK." Then I waited to see if I was going to get any more direction.

"You've probably figured out already that this is a school, you're a teacher, and Jill is your student. Jill is, in this scenario, a bad student. This is the tenth time in three weeks that she didn't complete her grammar assignment, and just before class, you heard her bragging to her friends that she didn't intend to turn in a single assignment for the rest of the semester.

"Your job is to discipline her in a way that will send a message to the rest of the class that insubordination will not be tolerated. You'll be speaking to her directly, and it will sound like Jill's voice talking back to you. If you have any questions, press the 'SEND' button on the intercom. I'll use it to contact you if you really need it, but otherwise you'll be on your own.

"Try not to lose your temper, and try not to get too nervous. Good luck!"

And then the little light went out.

I pulled my gaze back to where I was looking in Jill's eyes, and decided I should probably begin.

"Well, Miss Prescott," I began, "what do you think we should do about these missing assignments?"

"What do you usually do when someone doesn't turn in an assignment?" It sure sounded like Jill, but I'd never heard that tone in her voice before: angry, willful, defiant. I couldn't imagine the real Jill taking that attitude with a teacher. But I reminded myself it was all part of the exercise.

"Well, every time someone doesn't complete an assignment, I have to mark a zero on that portion of their grade..." As far as I know, that's how every school handles it.

"Well, then just keep doing that. It's your job isn't it?" She said, "job" like a teacher was just some cashier at a grocery store, or worse. Like she didn't even have to answer to me if she didn't want to.

But I still thought reasoning with her was worth the buckshot, so I kept trying.

"It's part of my job," I said, trying not to sound too disagreeable, "but it's also my job to teach you, and encourage good habits, and so I can't just mark a zero and let it go."

She gave me a look that near made me forget we'd both been sorting garbage just a few hour4s ago. Like whatever I did she was ten times too good for; it was all beneath her.

I felt like just telling her to wipe that goddang look off her face and stop thinking she was better than anybody, but that would have been an angry thing to do, so I sat on that one. If I do this again, though, I might just make her clean out a few toilets, but that didn't come into my mind just then.

I said, "It's not just part of your grade. If you don't do the work you're supposed to, you'll fail this whole class. I'll just give you a zero for the whole semester."

She answered back real quick, and she was about twice as loud as she had been. "And then I'll get my daddy to speak to the dean, and he'll let me test out of the class, and any grade you give me will just get wiped off the record."

Then she smiled real big, and I swear it was one of the meanest smiles I ever saw. And she said, "And any time you want to tell me I can't pass, just do it, and I won't worry about coming to class any more, unless I really feel like it."

I hadn't noticed she was chewing gum before, but she must've been, cause she blew a big, pink, saucy bubble right at me, and popped it real loud.

There was already whispering going on in the rest of the class, which was maddening, cause any time I looked at any one of the students straight on, it wasn't them, and no matter how fast I darted my eyes, it didn't seem like I could ever catch the culprits. Also the room suddenly seemed a lot bigger than it had been. I don't know if that was me panickiing, or some computer trickery, but either way, it was making me worried.

At that point, I heard the buzzing again. That little light suddenly seemed like it might light up the whole room. I pushed the 'TALK' button so quick, if it'd been real it would've sunk in the desk. "Yes, Counselor," I said, a graceful as I could be.

"You should look at the left bottom drawer of your desk," she said.

At that she cut off. I looked down and saw a paddle, of all things. Not the ping-pong kind, neither. I had trouble believing my eyes or ears on that one. I pushed 'SEND,' figuring I needed to check double on this one.

"Was I not clear enough, Chris?" asked Counselor Jameson. It made me feel a bit foolish. But nowhere near as foolish as I'd feel if I did something foolish.

"Are teachers even allowed to paddle nowadays?" I asked. It sure went on at my high school, but I always thought that was one of the reasons it got its certification pulled.

"This exercise is about asserting your dominant side, not about observing legal niceties," she said. "I promise not to let the school board know."

That was all the encouragement I needed. I scooped up that paddle, and the next thing I knew, I was standing over her, paddle in hand, telling her to lay across that desk right quick.

She looked dead at me and said, "No," but for the first time she didn't seem so cocky. Like she wasn't sure she could refuse me.

Well, I was half-tempted to pick her up and throw her over that desk (for some reason, I was way taller than her, but I didn't notice until just then), but I needed her to stay there, so I got another idea.

There were two really tall girls seated in the center of the room. They were definitely young women, but they still looked pretty tough. One look at the seating chart got me their names.

"Diedre! Jasmine! Would you come up to the front, please?"

They did so with alacrity, almost as if they had some inkling of my plan, and were eager to participate.

"Now, girls, secure Miss Prescott's hands and feet, if you would?"

They did so with a swiftness that was almost frightening in its efficiency. There was some brief flailing of the head by their red-headed captive, but Diedre matched this with such a vicious snarl that Jill immediately ceased struggling. I then directed them to position her so that her posterior was laying over one of the edges of the desk, so it could provide an adequate target.

I had no idea how to effectively wield such an implement, so I decided the hell with it, took a few practice swings, and then laid her a good one.

I was amazed how much noise it made, and I was fully expecting Jill to make some noise in response. But she didn't make a peep. I could tell she felt it, though, cause I saw a big old tear rolling out of one eye.

I wish I could've stopped right there. I know it wasn't real, and I wasn't doing anybody any real harm, but women's tears always leave me not knowing which way is up. At least that's how it usually works. But not this time.

All of a sudden it was real clear that every single girl in that class had her attention riveted to what I was doing to Jill. They were practically under a spell. And I felt like Mickey Mouse with the broom, except more in control, maybe. So I gave her another whack.

Now that time, I swear I heard a whimper. It was hard to tell for sure, though; that paddle was whacking pretty loud.

Just to make sure, I asked Diedre, "Did I hear a whimper come from Miss Presscott, after that last whack?"

She responded with a smile that rivalled Bad Jill's for meanness, and said, "I didn't hear a thing. I think you should paddle her till she sobs."

Jill's eyes got real wild when she heard that, and it seemed like she was gonna say something at that point, but maybe she was kind of stunned, cause she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

So I really couldn't do anything except give her another whack after that, even if part of me felt a little bad about it.

But it seemed like there was another part that didn't feel the least bit bad. It felt kind of amazing, having girls obey me, and having one helpless in front of me, and even knowing I wasn't gonna do anything that bad to her, just the feeling that I could probably do anything I wanted, kind of blew me up a bit.

And of course, that feeling was 99% corn. Computers aren't magic, and if I'd tried anything too weird, well, the whole thing probably would have crashed. But it worked well enough.

Anyway, after that last whack, she found her voice quick enough. She said she'd do whatever I wanted, and she was sorry, and she'd even stay after school to make up the work, just please stop it.

And I figured that was it, but it wasn't. Diedre yanked her arms up so they were face to face, and she hissed at Jill, and said, "If you ever backtalk Mr. Jones again, I'll whip your skinny little ass before he even gets a chance to."

I should've said something then, but I think maybe I was a little hyptonized myself. Then, both Jasmine and Dierdre just sort of laid her on the desk and let her go, and then one of the prettiest little dark-haired girls I ever saw walked up to her and spat on her. And then grabbed ahold of her shirt and started tearing at it, I mean really ripping it.

And that's when it all went black.

Suddenly it was real obvious to me that I was wearing a helmet and that my hands were covered.

I'm not a news hound, but right away I thought about those prisoners in Abu Ghraib and how they had their heads covered and their hands tied, and just for a second, the words I'm being held prisoner! saw fit to make themselves heard in my head, and even though it couldn't have been more than about five seconds before the helmet was off my head and I could see everything and I knew I wasn't being held captive by anybody, it took a bit longer for my brain to get the message my eyes were giving it, and I have to admit, I feel wary still, I just can't help it.

Anyhow, other than taking the helmet off and telling me it was OK, everything was fine, Counselor Jameson pretty much left me alone until I was able to breathe in and out without trying to do both at once, and then put a hand on my shoulder and got me to lie down on the couch, and then started talking.

"I'm sorry the simulation got a little crazy," she said. "I'm going to have to talk to the programmer. That was getting pretty extreme there."

"If you hadn't stopped it, they would have ripped her clothes off," I said. I was shocked but a little embarassed about being shocked.

"I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have gone past her underwear," said Counselor Jameson. "Still, it was inappropriate."

"This isn't like that picture I have," I said, still coming to grips with it. "There was something...forbidden going on."

"Forbidden in real life or forbidden to think about?" asked Counselor Jameson.

"Maybe...both?" I said, unsure. "Some thoughts seem like if you think 'em enough times you won't be able to stop thinking 'em no matter how hard you try."

"Just like the Tree of Good and Evil," said Counselor Jameson. "Wasn't that a thought that grew into an action?"

"A thought planted by the Devil," I said, hoping she could hear how disgusting I thought that was.

"But the thought was planted even before the serpent spoke to Eve," said Counselor Jameson. "God told them about the tree, and Eve told the serpent about it before he tempted her to eat it."

I was shocked. "Are you saying...the idea was God's?"

Counselor Jameson sounded apologetic. "If God created everything and everyone, surely he created the thoughts in our heads just as much as he created the birds in the field."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Our minds shape our thoughts. God doesn't just...put them into our heads." I wish I knew for sure this is true.

She shook her head. "Chris, before God started his work of creation, the earth was void, and without form. Imparting form is what God does, Chris."

"But then we wouldn't have any responsibility," I moaned.

"Either that," Counselor Jameson said, as serious as I'd ever seen her, "or all who form and shape things are doing the work of God."

This was getting close to blasphemy. "Are you trying to say we're gods?" I asked.

"A man named Pelagius said we were partially responsible for completing God's work of salvation, and the Roman Church called him a heretic," she said. "Do you think it diminishes God's glory if he imparts his creative energy to his creatures?"

This was way beyond my depth. "How could anything diminish God's glory?" It was a question I didn't think had an answer.

Counselor Jameson smiled at that, an approving smile, it seemed like. "So maybe that's the true blasphemy," she said. "Thinking God can't share himself."

But there was still one puzzle. "But how do we hold people accountable?" I figured it had something to do with Law and the Old Testament, but I was never as clear on that as I should have been.

"Well, maybe people are accountable for what they do with the things God gives them. And maybe God is the most accountable of all." What she said sounded dangerous, but I didn't know anything to challenge it.

"But that's beside the point," she said. "All we were trying to do was get you to exercise your dominant, assertive side, and I think it went well, even though it took a little prodding on my part."

"But did it have to be so...disturbing?"

"I'll try to make sure whatever scenario we use doesn't take things to that much of an extreme," she said, in a comforting voice. "But there's a reason for the aggression."

I couldn't imagine. "What?" I asked.

"The urge to dominate, to control, has its uses," she said. "Obviously children need discipline and there's a certain...bravado, a forceful kind of confidence, that seems to depend on it. But it's not healthy to want to control everything, and it can actually lead to a loss of control. And trying to dominate everyone you know will just make people hate you, or fear you.

"So you have to learn how to tap into it to take appropriate control, to be a leader when it's called for, and to stand up when others won't. That's what a girl like Jill really wants, and what she needs."

My head's still spinning a bit over this. But I do feel different. Maybe stronger, maybe just different.