The Journey Back (7 page)

A
ll night I lay there with my ankle throbbing like crazy, bug bites itching, and gnats trying to crawl in my eyes. But at least, I thought, I didn't have that blue light shining in my eyes. I had a lot of time that night and all the next day to think about giving myself up and letting my mind drift off to dumb things like that blue light at Cliffside.

It got so I really hated nights at that stinkin' prison. And yeah, it was a prison even if they did call it Cliffside Youth Center on our sweatshirts. In August, when the juvenile court judge sent me and J.T. out to the mountains, she called it a forestry camp, but I don't know where she's been at because it hasn't been a real forestry camp for like seventy years. I saw a picture so I know that a long time ago, during the Great Depression, it was one of those CCC camps President Roosevelt created for guys with no money. They lived at the camp and worked like dogs all day clearing land, building hiking paths, stone walls, stuff like that.

On the wall in the office where we first come in, there's a framed-up yellowed newspaper picture from back in the 1930s with all those CCC guys piled into the back of a truck with their axes and shovels, heading off to work. Civilian Conservation Corps is what CCC stood for. I'll tell you, I would have much rather worked my butt off like those guys than peel potatoes, analyze my life, and go to school all day, which is mostly what we did.

Anyway, like I said, the nights were bad at Cliffside. There were two dorms, twenty boys in each, and all of us in one big room with tiny windows so high up you couldn't see out. Our beds were jammed together and separated by only a skinny, gray, metal locker, which barely had space for a change of clothes and a toothbrush. We couldn't have anything from home except a couple family pictures, but I didn't have any. Wished I did though. It would have been nice every once in a while to look into little LeeAnn's pretty blue eyes or get a glimpse of my baby brother, Hank, who was growing up so fast. At night sometimes, I'd close my eyes and try to remember what the kids looked like while I settled into that hard, lumpy bed and pulled those scratchy blankets up to my chin. No talking allowed, which was fine with me, so we'd listen to the music they kept on low for a while. WQZK, 94.1 out of Keyser, West Virginia. It was Top 40 stuff, most of it pretty good actually. Supposed to calm us down. I know for a fact some of those guys had tears in their eyes when they finally rolled over and went to sleep.

To my left in that dorm was Abdul, and to my right was Dontaye. I got along okay with both them guys. Abdul was pretty private, but he always said “good night.” So did Dontaye, only he talked to me some, too. He was sixteen, which is two years older than me, and hadn't been to school in over a year. We were both at the same math level so sometimes we worked together on homework. I never talked about my family, or my crime, or nothing, but Dontaye spilled out stuff about his life back in Baltimore that made me seriously wonder who had it worse—him or me. He said prison saved him, although I'm sure that didn't mean he liked being there at Cliffside. It seemed like he was way too young to be a dad, but I know he missed his little boy back home. He kept a bent-up picture of his baby son taped inside his locker door and kissed it with his finger every night.

At least Abdul and Dontaye could sleep. In no time, I'd hear 'em both snoring away. Not me. I'd lay there for hours, my hands behind my head, still thinking and worrying about stuff long after the radio got turned off. Even after lights-out the place was never dark 'cause they kept that one blue lightbulb on overhead all the time. Drove me nuts that blue light 'cause it was like somebody staring at me all the time, so I could never really sleep. Boy, do you know what that does to a person?

It was never totally quiet in there either and not just because there was a mouse scratching away in the wall near Abdul's bed. We had this guard, a guy named Joey, in the room with us the entire night, sitting behind his big desk. He wore his leather jacket all the time and he had a vicious case of Dunlap's disease—you know, his stomach
done lapped
over his belt. An old stupid joke, I know, but that was him. He was like an old, stupid joke. A big, fat kid who never grew up. I could hear him fold and unfold the newspaper, but my guess is he only read the comics, if he could read at all. I could hear him clipping his fingernails. I could hear him shuffle and snap cards in place during a game of solitaire. I could hear him rip open his junk food and crunch away on all that stuff he got from the vending machine. Heck, I could even
smell
the guy—like I knew when he got Fritos and when he started in on a pack of them cheese crackers, all of which he washed down with cans of Red Bull. He always left the cans on his desk for us to see in the morning. Like I wondered if he wanted to rub it in our faces that he could use the vending machine and we couldn't.

So, I didn't miss sleeping in that dorm. No way. But here's the weird thing. I was out in the woods, alone. No blue light in my face. No fat guard named Joey keeping an eye out. Still, I had this eerie feeling that someone was watching me.

The next day, I found out who it was.

I hobbled down to the river to get a drink and was throwing sticks for Buddy when I spotted some little fish darting around in the water. Man, I was so hungry I was tempted to reach in and grab a few of them fish to chow down on, but I knew I couldn't catch 'em just like that. So I rigged up a spearlike thing by wrapping the jackknife onto a stick with some vine. I didn't know if it would work—or if I could actually eat raw fish, but I had to try. When this big catfish come along, I stood up and sent that spear flying into the water. Trouble is that I threw it so hard that the knife came off the stick
and
I lost my balance and fell in.

Big splash. Naturally, the fish got away. I was left soaking wet and feeling like a fool. I pulled the knife out of the sand and was wiping it off with my shirt when I heard someone laugh.

I opened up the big blade on my knife and positioned it tight in my hand. I also picked up a stick from the rock beside me. Slowly, I stood up in the water.

The laughing stopped.

“Who's there?” I demanded.

Buddy barked at the bushes.

“I know you're in there!” I called out.

Unbelievable. But out steps this skinny little kid who was about the same size as my little brother, Hank, who's eight. No kidding. I bet they were the same age only this kid looked like a wimpy little nerd—one of those pale, freckle-faced bookwormy types who couldn't throw a ball or shoot a basket.

The boy seemed scared.

I shushed Buddy and brought down my hand holding the knife.

“I'm not gonna hurt you,” the kid said. “Honest.”

“Yeah, well, why were you spying on me?”

“I wasn't spying,” he said, pushing the glasses up on his nose. His voice got quiet. “I was just watching you. You and your dog . . . What's his name?”

I glanced down at the dog, who stared at my hand, ready to leap the instant I threw the stick. “Buddy,” I told him. “His name's Buddy.”

“I wish I had a dog like that,” the kid said.

I tossed the stick and, while Buddy jumped in the water to fetch it, I sat down on the rock to take the weight off my ankle. While I folded in the blade and slipped the knife back in my pocket, I kept my eyes on the kid. “Who are you?” I asked. “And what are you doing out here?”

“My name's Luke,” he said. “Me and my dad, we're staying at the campground.”

“Yeah? Is it a big campground? A lot of people?”

“Pretty big. A lot of people.”

“Did you tell anyone about me?”

The kid shook his head. “Nobody.”

“Well
don't
, okay? I don't want anybody to know I'm here.”

“Okay. I promise I won't tell.”

I limped out of the water and up onto the riverbank.

“What happened to your foot?” he asked.

“I fell and twisted it. So it's laid me up some. I was hiking the canal path. Me and Buddy. We were doing pretty good until someone stole my backpack.”

I swung my head up to look at the kid. “Say, you don't have any food, do you? Like back in your tent?”

His face lit up. “Sure! I can make you a peanut butter sandwich.”

“Oh man. I would love it if you could make me a sandwich. I'd take two, in fact—if you can spare the bread. Boy, I would really appreciate it.”

Just then, Buddy returned and dropped the stick at my feet.

“And maybe one for Buddy, too?”

“Sure!” He turned to go.

After this kid, Luke, took off, I wondered what I should do. Whether I should get going before he came back with someone, or just hide to see if he came back alone with those peanut butter sandwiches. I was pretty hungry.

I stood and threw the stick again for Buddy, then touched my puffy black and blue ankle and sat down. I wasn't ready to give up after all, and I was thinking if I could get some food we'd travel at night again. Even if I did have to limp along, we'd take it slow and work our way down the towpath.

Sitting there waiting, however, I felt something sticky and made a discovery that was going to change my plans. Those bug bites on my face? They weren't bug bites. They were poison ivy blisters oozing all around my eyes, down my cheeks, and across my nose. I had it on my arms and hands, too. Damn, I thought. I must've picked it up when I was lying in the woods that second night out.

Soon, the kid was back—
alone—
and with a plastic bag full of food! Four peanut butter sandwiches, plus a couple bananas and two cans of Coke.

I scarfed down two of them sandwiches right away while the kid fed pieces of another one to Buddy. Then I popped the top on a can of soda and drained it without stopping. I split the fourth sandwich between me and Buddy and then sat there peeling a banana.

“Boy, I really appreciate this,” I said around a mouthful. “If I had a bunch of money I'd pay you for it, but like I said I got ripped off.”

Luke shrugged. “It's okay. My dad won't mind.”

I stopped eating. “Your dad? Did you tell him it was for me?”

The boy shook his head. “My dad's not even here. He doesn't get home from work until almost dinnertime.”

“He's working while you're on vacation?”

“We're not on vacation,” Luke said. “We
live
here.”

“I thought you said this was a campground.”

“It
is!
But a lot of people, they live here. Some people got giant RVs and stuff. My dad and me sleep in a big tent. It's nice though. We got cots and a rug on the floor. We even have a little TV that runs on batteries. Some people, they sleep on the ground. And these two guys we know, Jeff and Kyle, they sleep in their car. They smoke pot, too. We can smell it.”

“Wow,” I said, and kind of rolled my eyes.

I finished off both bananas while Luke babbled away about himself. I found out he was in the third grade, just like Hank, that he liked math, but was no bookworm 'cause he hated to read. He said he wanted a dog like mine someday, and he bragged about his rock collection, which sounded pretty lame to me. After a while Luke said he needed to get back to do his homework. I figured I wouldn't see the kid again so I thanked him a second time for the food and wished him good luck.

After he left, I took a couple napkins he'd brought, dipped them in the cold river water, and pressed them against the poison ivy on my face. Even though I'd eaten, I didn't feel so great. I went back to where I'd been lying down and stretched out with the damp napkins stuck to my face and my foot up on the rock. My face itched so bad I felt like I wanted to scratch if off, but I fell asleep anyway and slept clear through the night.

Next thing I knew birds were singing. I smelled a wood fire, probably from the campground, and I heard a couple vehicles start up and leave. Sunlight coming through the trees started to warm my face and made it more itchy. Then I had that weird blue light feeling again, like someone was watching me. Only this time I couldn't do a thing about it, or even know for sure 'cause—this was
really
scary—I couldn't
see
anything. The poison ivy had made my eyes swell up and close.

“D
o you think he's dead?”

“No. Watch his stomach. It moves when he breathes. See? He's not dead. Why would he be dead?”

“I don't know. I mean he was starving to death yesterday.”

“Well, he's alive all right.”

“What do you think we should do?”

Lying there, pretending to be asleep underneath those napkins on my face, I felt Buddy beside me lift his head. I recognized Luke's voice right off. The other voice belonged to a girl.

“I think he's in trouble because he didn't want me to say anything to my dad about finding him, or making him those sandwiches,” Luke said. “What do you think he did?”

“Who knows?” The girl sounded older than Luke.

“Do you think he robbed a store? Or maybe he killed somebody!”

“Nah.” The girl was doubtful. “He doesn't look like a killer.”

A sudden heaviness sank into my chest. If she only knew.

“But it's none of our business, right?” The girl's voice.

“Right,” Luke agreed.

“So we ought to help him.”

“Yeah. He seemed kind of nice—I mean he was good to his dog.”

“You can tell a lot about a person from the way they treat their animals. Go ahead, Luke, wake him up.”

Their slow, careful footsteps crunched through the leaves.

Buddy's tail started going back and forth, whacking me on one leg.

“This dog is named Buddy,” Luke whispered to the girl.

“How original,” she said.

“Hey, Buddy, it's okay. It's me, Luke. Remember? I fed you a sandwich yesterday.” Buddy stood up. “Good boy. How are ya?”

Suddenly, Luke's voice was close to my ear: “Hey, mister, are you okay? We worried you died or something.”

I snorted, and I couldn't help but grin.

“See, I told you he was alive!” the girl exclaimed.

I pushed myself up, peeled the napkins off my face, and leaned back on my elbows. “Yeah, I'm alive, but I can't see. The poison ivy made my eyes swell shut.” As I said this, however, I discovered that I could actually get a glimpse of the world through two tiny slits.

The girl stood behind Luke. She looked like a teenager, someone my age. She smelled nice, too. I got a big whiff of her perfume, or whatever it was.

“Ewww!” she said as she came closer.

“Nora! Don't touch him 'cause then you'll get it, too!” Luke warned.

“No, I won't,” the girl declared. “You can't
catch
poison ivy from someone else. It's not contagious like that.”

“I got it from my dad once,” Luke claimed.

“Was it the first time you ever had poison ivy?” she asked. “If it was, that's why. It takes longer for your body to react the very first time you get it. You and your dad probably picked it up at the same time.”

“All I know is that it's all over these woods,” Luke said.

“It's so much worse now, too, because of global warming. There's more carbon dioxide in the air and poison ivy thrives on it—”

“Hey, I hate to interrupt the lecture on poison ivy,” I said, “but can you guys help me?”

“We can try,” the girl said. “What you need is a shower. Then give me your clothes and I'll throw them away.”

I sat all the way up. “What are you talking about? I can't throw away my clothes! They're all I got!”

“But the oil from the poison ivy is all over them by now. It'll keep reinfecting you. That oil can last up to a year.”

“Can't I just wash it out?”

“Probably not,” the girl said.

I moaned. Throwing away my clothes seemed extreme. Plus I didn't have anything else to wear.

“I'm telling you, that's what you need to do,” she said. She was starting to sound like a Miss Know-It-All. “You should've been careful:
Leaves of three, leave me be.”

“Hey, I
know
what poison ivy looks like!” I snapped back.

“So as soon as you touched it you should have found some jewelweed and rubbed it all over. It's the natural antidote to poison ivy, you know.”

Jewelweed? I didn't know what she was talking about.

“I slept in the woods one night,” I declared. “It was dark. I couldn't see. That's probably when I got it!”

She chuckled. “Looks like you've spent more than one night in the woods!”

Guess that meant I looked pretty bad. And maybe smelled ripe, too. This girl was beginning to irritate me. “Yeah, well, someone stole all my stuff.”

She grunted. “I don't know if you're stupid, or just plain pathetic.”

I didn't answer 'cause I guess I didn't know either. I lay back down.

Next thing, the girl's voice softened up. “All right,
okay
. If you want our help, we can guide you up to the showers.” She must've turned to Luke. “Run back to your tent and get him some clothes. Like a pair of your dad's sweatpants or some shorts, and a T-shirt, something like that.”

“His
dad's
clothes?” I didn't think that was such a great idea.

“Yeah, I think his stuff would fit you,” she said.

I didn't want to argue with her. I was miserable and let's face it, I needed the help.

Nora and Luke guided me to the campground bathhouse. There was some leftover soap in one of the shower stalls so Luke led me into that one. I pulled the plastic curtain shut, undressed, and dropped my clothes outside the shower stall. I soaped up good and took a long hot and cold shower (hot and cold because the water kept changing). It was the first shower I'd had in several days and I have to say, it felt good.

Meanwhile, Luke got me some clothes: a pair of what Nora described as “ugly plaid shorts,” some boxers, and a white T-shirt. Everything was a little big, but I wasn't complaining. Luke also brought me a towel and a pair of his dad's flip-flops 'cause Nora had put my boots in a plastic bag and said she was going to wipe them down with alcohol, which, according to her, was about the only way to get rid of the poison ivy oil.

This was weird: after I dried off, Luke gave me a paper cup full of a paste Nora made with baking soda and water and told me to spread it all over the poison ivy. It was goopy, but you know what? It stopped me from itching so bad.

I could hear Buddy barking outside the bathhouse while I finished up. Then I heard a man's voice. I should've known the kids would go get an adult. I hesitated in the doorway, struggling to see, and wondered if I'd done myself in.

“Name's Sherwood Hawkins, but everybody calls me Woody,” this guy said. He touched me on the shoulder and kind of squeezed it. “My son, Luke, here, says you could use some help.”

I couldn't see the guy so there was no way to size him up other than his voice, which sounded normal. I dropped my head. “Yeah. I could use some help.”

“What's your name, son?”

“Gerald,” I told him, using the same fake name I'd used earlier.

“Do they call you Gerry?” Woody asked.

“Yeah. Gerry. They call me Gerry,” I lied.

“Is there someone you need to call?” he asked. “Like your—”

“No!” I cut him off. “Nobody. I'm on my own now.”

He didn't press the issue.

Woody had me sit down on a stump and felt around my ankle like he knew what he was doing, then he wrapped it up in an Ace bandage. “I wouldn't put any weight on that foot for a while,” he advised.

I nodded. The tight wrap felt good. “Thanks.”

“Luke said you had your backpack stolen, so why don't you come over to our site? I've got a pup tent. Luke and I can pitch it for you and you can stay there for a couple days. I've got an air mattress and I'm sure we can find an extra blanket. You're welcome to join us for dinner, too. Nothing fancy, mind you. Hot dogs and beans tonight.”

A warm meal sounded great. So did an air mattress and a blanket.

“I'd be grateful,” I said. “Maybe just until I get my eyesight back.”

“
And
until that ankle heals up,” Woody suggested.

—

At their campsite, Woody and Luke pitched the tent, pumped up that air mattress, and gave me a set of sheets, a couple blankets, and a pillow. There was room for only one person in the tent, but enough space for Buddy to curl up beside me. Woody gave me a couple Advil with a glass of water, then I stretched out before I even made up my bed and fell dead asleep until they called me for dinner. Hot dogs and beans, a piece of bread, iced tea, and a big chunk of watermelon for dessert. A feast, if you ask me. It tasted great, all of it. Even Buddy had hot dogs for dinner.

The next couple days, I stayed in the old, orange pup tent beside Luke and his dad in the bigger green tent. I was on edge about it, 'cause I didn't know those people from Adam. But I guess I was more tired than I was worried 'cause I slept most of the time. Other times though, I just lay there with my eyes closed, listening to the campground sounds. They had a rhythm. Like in the morning, I'd hear voices and coughs, twigs snapping and wood-chopping noises as people got their fires going. I'd hear the slap of that screen door down to the bathhouse and the sound of cars and trucks starting up and driving off. Then it would grow quiet for a while. Several times a day a train rumbled by not far away and once, a garbage truck came through. Guess I knew
that
sound pretty well. Late in the afternoon, I'd hear people coming back, more voices—more kids' voices, and the creak of a metal chain, like on a swing.

After Luke and his dad got home, I'd listen in on their conversations. Like I heard Luke call his dad once to get a spider and another time to say he had the checkerboard ready. I heard Woody ask if Luke got his homework done and then a while later Luke singsong “King me! King me!” I heard Woody say “Don't forget your toothbrush” when they headed off to the bathhouse. And both nights, I listened as Woody read Luke parts of a story called
Burt Dow, Deep-Water Man.
Seems ole Burt had a leaky boat called the
Tidely-Idley
and every time Woody come to that name he must've tickled Luke 'cause the giggling started all over again.

Buddy came and went, although he never went far. Every once in a while I took off the Ace bandage. Luke filled little bags of ice for my ankle and Woody gave me a bottle of pink calamine lotion to put on the poison ivy with cotton balls. In the mornings, they brought me breakfast—usually a bowl of cereal and a cup of bitter, black coffee. Then Luke left me with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before he went to catch the bus for school. Woody said I was welcome to Coke and water from their cooler. Evenings, I had whatever dinner they had.

By the third day, my eyes were much better, but my ankle was still tender so I hopped over and sat at the picnic table to have a look around. I could see it was a big campground with all kinds of RVs and tents. Each campsite had a picnic table and a stone fireplace with a built-in grill. A spigot for water was just down the road, but no electric hookups. I saw a playground down the road and noticed it had a basketball court, but Luke didn't have a ball.

With my eyesight back, I also saw Woody had blond hair like Luke, a beard, and small, kind of slanted brown eyes that reminded me of a fox. His neck, face, and hands were red from the sun on account of the construction work he did. When he got home he was always sweaty and really beat so as soon as I was up and moving around I pitched in making dinner. Luke and me, we started cooking as soon as Woody eased his pickup into the campsite and popped open his first can of beer.

Our dinners were pretty simple: hot dogs and macaroni from the box, bologna sandwiches, hamburgers. One time, Woody brought home some tomatoes and we made BLTs. Another time, we didn't find much of anything in the two plastic food bins so we made up some pancakes and eggs.

Just when I thought we plumb run out of food, Woody showed up with six bags of groceries—and a brand-new basketball.

I don't know. I was grateful and I was rolling with it, but I kept remembering that saying
: If something is too good to be true, then it probably is.