|
“Judging by your history of reckless
behavior, I’d say this act of thievery means absolutely nothing to you.”
The judge was middle-aged, had graying hair, and was sitting on a tall
podium at the head of the courtroom. He was peering down at the room as
if we were all dead animal carcasses and he was a hungry vulture.
I had spent a week doing the same thing as always: waking up, going to
school, coming home to an empty manor and eventually going to sleep in
my lonesome, cold room. Many times I thought about Kayan and his
cronies, but they never showed. Many times I thought about going to see
John, but I couldn’t bring myself to face him after what I’d said to
him. What if he saw me differently now? Who am I kidding, of course he
saw me differently. I had basically told him to screw off. There was no
way he wanted anything to do with me anymore.
Weakness was something I rarely showed, especially in situations where
I’m supposed to. So instead of pleading my innocence with the judge, I
merely sat next to William Sutherford silently, awaiting anything that
was about to be thrown at me.
“Since you are under twenty-one years of age your sentence will not be
similar to that of an adult. The court has agreed you will be put into a
rehabilitation center where you will learn discipline, conduct,
conformity and propriety along with spiritual awareness. The camp is
located in the Wrangell-Saint Elias forest land, in East Alaska.”
Alaska? As in… three thousand five hundred miles away from here Alaska?
“The judicial system of Chicago sees this wilderness therapy, also known
as therapeutic outdoor education, as a lot more beneficial for
situations like yours rather than constraining you in a sterile building
with the noises of the city all around you and with nothing to do but
twiddle your thumbs and look out of windows. You will be performing
manual labor and will learn to cooperate with others and will have lots
of time to yourself to think about your mistakes and how you can change
them and change yourself. The only noises you will be hearing,
guaranteed, is the noise of the wilderness.”
Did he say Alaska?
“The duration of your program is entirely up to the process you make
while you are there. Your guidance instructors will release you when
they feel your overall behavior and attitude has greatly improved.”
Sutherford appeared to be strangely amused from what I could tell out of
the corner of my eye. He had on this unmistakable smirk that I couldn’t
help but notice.
“Everything you need to know about the camp is in the pamphlets. They
were given to your attorney.”
Sutherford sifted through a pile on the desk in front of us and finally
fabricated two thin colorful pamphlets with the words “Walk of Serenity
– therapeutic outdoor education camp” written on them. I didn’t even
have to look inside them to know that I would most likely find photos of
kids pretending they’re learning and being “corrected” when in reality
they’re probably all just thinking get me the hell out of here.
“Does the accused have any last comments?” The judge gazed over his
podium.
I could think of over a dozen “last comments”, but instead I kept my
mouth firmly shut. I decided to suffer the consequences of my mistakes
when I turned myself in and spoke the truth about the robbery. I wasn’t
about to object to the judge’s decision now.
Sutherford and I stood after the judge was finished and I was escorted
down the aisle by two men — I didn’t even bother to ask who they were.
As I passed a couple people seated in the rows (I also was unaware of
who these individuals were — who would bother coming to see a trial as
trivial as mine?) I looked up for an instant and could have sworn I saw
a pair of familiar icy blue eyes. Despite their shade, they were filled
with warmth and concern. I didn’t have time to stay and find out who
they belonged to (the men behind me kept shoving me along), but I had a
strong feeling.
They didn’t even let me pack. The next instant I was in a car heading to
the airport. Sutherford was driving. The two men were still there too,
on either side of me. They informed me that they were representatives of
the Walk of Serenity program and would be accompanying me all the way to
the camp. At the word “camp,” I shuddered.
When we arrived at the airport Sutherford gave me my passport and a
couple other documents and told me what to do.
“Raymond and Greg will tell you what to do from here. Listen to them;
they know what they’re talking about.” He stuck out a hand for me to
shake. “Good luck.”
I shook it. “Where I’m going, I don’t think luck even exists. But thanks
for the gesture.”
While waiting at the gate, anxiety began to take its toll on my body.
“First time flying?” The one I think named Raymond asked.
“No, I’ve been with my father a couple of times on business trips.”
“Exciting, isn’t it?”
I wanted to scream out “are you kidding me?!” but instead I just said:
“not quite.”
“Greg and I looked into your personal file.” I was right about the
names. “We’ve read that you constantly tell lies, you are disrespectful
to your elders, violent towards peers, and hardly show up to school.”
Raymond’s hair was grey like the sky outside, even though he looked too
young for it. He had a slight cleft in his chin that I couldn’t stop
staring at. Even though what he was saying was kind of true, he made it
sound worse than it was somehow. I didn’t bother objecting though.
“Walk of Serenity is meant to help kids like you make a smooth
transition into adulthood. You’ll soon find that you do not need to
behave this way, and you will even change your way of thinking.”
“You don’t need to preach to me, I’m already sitting here about to board
the plane.”
“And that mouth,” he paused as he gazed out the window, “will definitely
be corrected.”
I had to close my eyes for the takeoff, and was practically holding my
breath for the remainder of the time. It felt like it would never end.
Raymond was asleep in the seat next to me and Greg didn’t seem like much
of a conversationalist. Isn’t it strange how trivial things seem when
you’re up in the air? You’re so high up and everything is below you. I
felt like where I was going didn’t even matter. Nothing mattered. All I
was thinking about was the heaviness of my eyelids; they felt like they
were being tugged down by invisible fingers. So I drifted into a
restless sleep, my limbs and mind relaxing in the process.
• • •
They were mocking me. I don’t know who they were exactly, maybe
innkeepers with ulterior motives. They were blaming me for my mother’s
death. I was screaming at them, but they only reacted as if I was
telling a joke at some Comedy Club. They had me constrained, bindings
around my wrists. I always wondered why they put crazy people in things
that make you even crazier.
I wanted nothing more than to crack all of their necks at once, maybe
with my mind, and watch them all perish in front of me. The thing is,
even though they had me tied up and were excessively ridiculing me, I
felt more powerful than ever. A shiver of anxiety tickled my spine at
the thought.
I was sweating as they yanked me up from the chair in the middle of the
room and brought me to my chamber, where I had been for the last couple
of months. The hard plastic that still bound my wrists scraped against
my flesh as they threw me in the isolated room with the white walls.
Everything was so familiar to me.
My head hung low and my jet black hair was like a dark veil that
impaired my vision. I remained crouched on the ground staring at a spec
on the flooring until a sharp screech of rusted metal on metal told me
the tiny slot in the door to my room was now open.
“Morrison, you have a visitor,” the guard at the door said. It seemed
all he was ever doing was guarding me, as if there were no other
lunatics in this place, or if there were, they weren’t worth guarding.
My head remained idle, in its drooped position. Footsteps entered my
chamber slowly. Who could be coming to visit me? No one ever visited me,
and if they did it was to poke and prod at my temper by bringing up my
past. I only looked up once the door closed and the guard returned to
his upright, hand-clasped, stern-faced position. When I did, I saw the
brightest shade of blue eyes. I could tell who these eyes belonged to
even in the most crowded place, or hidden behind the most awful
disguise, like the one that was being worn by the man right now. John
Gillis. I hadn’t seen him throughout the duration of my insanity
confinement, and boy had I missed the contours of his face, how his
voice soothed me even in the darkest of hours, and how his smile
penetrated the emptiness that was my soul.
The look on his face now told me to stay calm. He didn’t want anyone
knowing of our connection to each other, for there were cameras all
around my chamber. In an instant he was instructing me what to do when
his counting reached three.
The rest is a blur… On three he opened the door, pretended to confront
the guard, then took a blow straight to his face. We were both
abnormally good at fighting. He told me to exit through the door at the
end of the hall so, dodging more guards, I did. There was a car waiting
outside so I hopped in. I waited for what seemed like an eternity for
John. At last, through an immense burst of flames and rubble, John
emerged, running in almost slow motion. He sped to the car and from
there we both drove away, out of that godforsaken asylum, heading
nowhere in particular.
• • •
I awoke with a start to the plane hitting gravel, and suddenly we were
speeding at over a hundred miles an hour down the runway. Bright light
shone through the oval window, hitting my eyelashes as I blocked it out
with a squint. Raymond and Greg said nothing as the seatbelt light came
off and passengers began filing out one by one. There might have been a
grunt coming from Raymond’s general direction, but I’m not too sure.
Since I didn’t have a carry-on item, I shuffled out of the plane behind
Raymond and Greg, noticing the pilot and flight attendants at the head.
Raymond and Greg thanked the pilot, but I couldn’t help but stare into
the cockpit as I passed. I wondered what it would be like to fly a plane
for a living, and then shuddered.
I collected my suitcase from the conveyer belt (Raymond and Greg didn’t
have one — they probably were just in Alaska last night and only came to
Chicago to get me), yanking it up as it came. Then, rolling it towards
where Raymond and Greg were already heading; an exit I suppose, I
noticed a sign that said “Welcome to Anchorage!” Thanks, I felt like
saying under my breath. The airport was just like the one in Chicago,
clean and modernized. For some reason I was expecting otherwise. And
snow. I was definitely expecting snow on the ground outside. It was late
autumn back in Chicago, and usually the snow came around December. I was
beginning to wonder if Alaska was the same, and if I had just been
stereotyping when I pictured snow everywhere year-round.
There was a car waiting for us outside the main doors to the airport,
and a man standing in front of it. As we approached, I noticed he had a
strong jaw and was wearing a white t-shirt exposing flawlessly sculpted
muscles, like someone who should be in the military. I wondered how he
could be dressed that way in autumn. If I didn’t know he was the man who
would be whisking me away to my ultimate doom and keeping me in
confinement for the next couple of months with no contact with the
outside world, I would say he was quite good looking.
“Welcome to Alaska, kid.” He extended a strong hand and I shook it,
noting that his palms were unusually warm.
“I’m fifteen,” I corrected. Why did everyone insist on treating me like
I was five years old?
“I know,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Until you prove to me you’re
worth being identified as a young adult, a kid’s what I’ll treat you
like, for a kid is how you’ve been acting. Am I right?”
When I didn’t answer, he spoke up again, his near-black hair gleaming in
the setting sun that peaked through the clouds. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t
be here.” He gave a wink that made my insides twinge with anxiety. But I
knew, even if I hated hearing it, that he was right.
I got in the car with Raymond and Greg on either side of me like some
prison escapee. The army dude drove. He introduced himself as Connor
Anderson, one of the executives of Walk of Serenity. He also stated,
with a rugged smirk, “It’s going to be a long drive.”
It was only when the sky completely turned black and dotted with little
white stars that I realized just how right he had been. It seemed as
though ages had passed and we were still driving to nowhere. When we
left the airport, it had been around 5:30pm. Now it was past eight and I
was beginning to feel cramped and tired. Not to mention hungry. And I
had to pee.
“Do you think we can make a pit stop sometime soon? I gotta piss,” I
asked, looking straight ahead in the rearview mirror at Connor.
“I’m not making any stops. You’re just going to have to hold it. Plus,
there isn’t anywhere to stop anyway, in case you haven’t noticed. Take a
look around, you’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”
I could already tell that this man and I were not going to become the
best of friends. I scoffed, though he was right. For the past couple
hundred miles or so there was nothing but wooded area around. Trees of
every sort shaded the narrow road we drove on, and sometimes even rock
walls on either side of us let me know we were driving through
mountains. But I didn’t need an actual toilet; I knew that was asking
too much.
“You’re telling me none of you have to piss?” I looked on either side of
me at Raymond and Greg, who showed no sign of discomfort. “We’ve been
driving for nearly three hours. And I know you two had drinks on the
plane.”
No response.
“Just pullover on the side here, I’ll be quick.”
They must have thought I was already trying to escape or something, for
they didn’t give me any reply other than faint smirks.
“Come on, I really really have to go.” And it was the truth. My bladder
had never been so close to bursting. It was actually hurting me. I began
to regret having two cans of soda on the plane that weren’t even that
satisfying anyway. I secretly knew that at least one of them had to go
and would crack soon, so I began making irritating “sss” noises with my
mouth, to sound like running water. I was wrong. They didn’t flinch.
Man, these guys were good.
After about another hour Connor noticed my fidgeting. “Relax, we’re
almost there.”
I shut my eyes tight, multiplying numbers in my head.
“Call it your first lesson at WOS,” he laughed.
So, “almost there” ended up being another twenty minutes, but finally I
saw something that resembled a campground far off in the distance.
Lights of fire speckled the darkness and I leaned forward to get a
better look.
There wasn’t a parking lot. We practically came off the road and cut
right through the woods to even get to this place. It reminded me of
some secret government agency that no one was allowed to enter unless
they had direct permission from the president. Every bump in the terrain
made me shudder and clench my fists. And it wasn’t letting up. It was
pitch black out now, and if it weren’t for the fire I probably wouldn’t
have been able to see my own hand in front of my face. I stumbled out of
the four by four to find the place absolutely deserted. There were
fires, sure, and about a dozen cabins arranged in a large circle, but
absolutely no people.
I coughed, and its sound disappeared quickly in the coolness of the
night air. “So where is everyone?”
Connor eyed his watched. “Every Thursday around this time they gather
wood for the campfire.” We walked toward the center of the place, mud
and prickly grass squishing and snapping beneath our feet. “If you
follow me, I’ll show you where your cabin is.”
Raymond and Greg walked ahead, disappearing once we reached the flat
ground of the campsite. There was a cabin double the size of the others
at the head, and we were walking straight towards it. Connor told me to
wait where I was as he went inside. I looked around; the campground was
rectangular-shaped, surrounded entirely by the shadowy woods, and each
cabin seemed to fit two to four people. The only light was coming from
the fire in the middle, though it was dimming slowly. There was a second
clearing not too far away. In it I spotted a large hut, probably some
place where everyone gathered.
Connor emerged from the cabin with a pile of orange fabric in one hand
and a clipboard in the other. He tossed the orange bundle at me.
“Your new wardrobe,” he smiled, almost mockingly. Then he jerked his
head and began walking in the direction of the hut I spotted before.
“Follow me.”
I realized soon that outside of the cabins, the only light source here
was fire. Two torches stood at the entrance of the hut, illuminating the
area with a dim orange light.
“This is the shower area.” We stepped up three steps and I spotted
several wooden doors in a line. Across from them were the showers,
arranged in a cubicle-like layout. A couple faucets dripped in tune with
each other. I could tell this place wasn’t big on privacy.
“Feel free to use the toilet now.” He told me, as he gestured toward the
lineup of doors that I guessed were the bathrooms.
I stepped inside the first one. It smelt like sweat and crap and molding
water. It was tiny; I barely had room to shift my limbs. Nonetheless, I
did my business and when I came out Connor nodded toward the showers.
“Now shower and get changed. You’ll collect your share of firewood after
you finish up. You can’t expect your peers to do all of the work for
you. You aren’t special, and you won’t be treated like you are. You’re
the same as all the other boys here, and that is exactly how you’ll act.
Now hurry up, you only have five minutes.” His voice was deep, though he
seemed almost too young for it. He was around John’s age, maybe a year
or two younger, and didn’t look as mean as he sounded.
When he didn’t budge, I stripped in one of the shower nooks and started
up the water. There was no use in being self-conscious here; it was
obvious that no one gave a shit. And neither did I. I was torn from my
home state, shipped across the country, and was now asked to live in the
complete wilderness with absolutely no one I knew. My life had made a
sharp turn in less than a day, and I wasn’t sure I was quite ready for
what the future had in store. What I was sure of was just one thing:
there was no turning back. |
