Penn's employer took every jab, every attempt at an accusation, and every curious question in stride. I watched him with awe and wished I could learn his easy, unruffled responses to people. He loved the attention, even when the comments turned personal.
"You're trying to heal your shattered past," a dreamy woman in a blue dress told Xavier.
He nodded, not at all put off or defensive. "And I'm not so foolish to try to do it on my own. Anymore. I've joined Alcoholics Anonymous."
The group was stunned by his openness, and then pleased. They showed it by nodding and moving on to other topics of conversation. Even as Xavier Templeton complained about the texture of the stew, pointed out the inefficiencies of the camp, and gently mocked their lifestyle, he was accepted.
I, on the other hand, was ignored. Too much of an outsider to even be acknowledged. A few campers caught me choking down my stew. I felt their whispers more than their eyes assessing my outfit. The green sundress had seemed like a good idea this morning, but now it felt too prim and tailored.
The biggest problem was I liked the dinner. The food might have been too rustic for me, but the atmosphere was magical. All those faces glowing in the light of the campfire. I loved how the eclectic group debated and teased as they all sat together. As the conversations flowed around me, I daydreamed about what it would be like to live there. I could just give up everything and keep this peaceful feeling all the time.
Then, I remembered the last time I had walked away from an entire life. Even the warm glow of the campfire was not enough to ward off the chill I felt.
"Uncomfortable?" Alice asked me from across the circle.
All eyes were on me. "Dinner was delicious. Thank you," I said.
Alice shook her head. "Those perfect manners, they really are a detestable shield."
I forced myself to try again. "I'm enjoying myself. Your camp is very, ah, magical."
Penn stepped in before his mother could pounce. "It takes some getting used to, and everyone here knows it."
Alice would not be put off. "What word did you really mean, Corsica?"
"Magical," I repeated. "The fire glow on the leaves, the hints of stars. It's very peaceful, and I like it."
"What aren't you saying?" Alice asked. "It's dirty? It's strange? You don't know why anyone in their right mind would trade the luxury of a hotel for the hard ground and the woods?"
I stood up, my eyes riveted on Alice. "Stop judging me by the way I look and dress. I've camped before, and I love camping. I spent my childhood camping and hunting and fishing. I could live out here for a week and be nothing but happy if you weren't harassing me."
"There you are," Alice said with a smile. "Hello, Corsica."
Irritation gripped me. "You were testing me?" I snapped.
Penn gently pulled me back into my seat. "Not a test. Alice just demands a high level of honesty."
The irritation turned to fear, so I was relieved when the camper on my other side spoke up. "Sometimes the clothes you wear are lies. They can cover up who you really are."
Another man across the fire agreed. "Clothes are status symbols, and because of that, people often choose ones in order to project an image that is not really theirs."
"Like me?" Xavier asked. He gave me a sympathetic wink.
Alice laughed. "Oh, no. You don't get off that easy. Your clothes have always been one of the most revealing things about you."
"Good. I was beginning to think my tailor was slipping," Xavier said.
The campers laughed, and I hoped the conversation was over. Then, Alice glanced at me again. "Sometimes clothes and images are like armor. They keep us safe from letting people see too much."
"And here I thought you were making fun of me for wearing a little sundress in the woods," I snapped.
Alice appreciated my retort and picked up a light quilt. The campers passed it around the circle until Penn helped settle it around my shoulders. I was angry and defensive, but I had to admit the quilt was as comforting as a hug. I wrapped it around me and kept my eyes on the ground.
It was impossible not to hear the truth in Alice Brightwater's words, even though it hurt. I did choose my clothes specifically to project an image of affluence and privilege. Most people in college had not thought twice about whether or not I belonged there. My style had gotten me jobs and promotions, things that my past might have jeopardized. I had very good reasons for the image I projected, and Alice was right; it was like armor. Even if they weren’t designer labeled.
"There, now she looks just like every other one of you dirty hippies," Xavier said.
Again, the campers chuckled at his light tone, but Alice shook her head. "How can you not want to see more, know more about her?"