Wilderness, p.7
Wilderness, page 7
“He said we all feed on the energies we surround ourselves with. That inside each of us are two hungry wolves, insatiable, locked in a constant battle. One is good and kind; the other is angry and fearful. The one that wins is the one you feed. So he decided he was going to feed the good wolf and surround himself with positivity.”
“And is that what you did to, uh, get clean?”
Marcus smiles and shakes his head. “Not even close. It took me a few more years and an overdose to get me out of my hole. But once I started to climb out, I realized Hash was onto something. We become the energy we put out, good or bad. Some people call it an aura, others call it gut or instinct, but we all have that sixth sense that picks up on others’ energies. So now I try to feed my good wolf. How about you, Cody? Which wolf do you feed?”
Before I answer, another breeze rushes through camp. The fire struggles against the chilling blast and the trees dance in the flickering light. Only one shadow holds steady.
Mr. Shadow stands outside the clearing, his black static figure looming tall in the distance. The shimmer of his hat nearly touches the bottom of the branches.
Marcus? Oh, God, Marcus! Mom, he’s not breathing! Call 911!
I’m standing next to a young girl with thick, black-framed glasses shaking a younger unconscious Marcus with a needle stuck in his arm. I can smell the bile, feel the burn of the needle, the cold creeping through my body...
“Hey, Cody. You good, buddy?”
I fight the urge to throw up. “Your sister was the one who found you?” I ask, still caught with the split-second image of a young girl and dying brother.
“How…how did you know?” Marcus asks, sitting up a little.
Realizing my slip-up, I try to blow it off. “Lucky guess. Just reading the energies or something, right?” I get up from my seat and head back toward my tent. “Thanks for the talk. I feel better now. I think I’m gonna try and get some sleep.”
Before Marcus can respond, I shuffle into my tent and zip it closed behind me.
This is a whole new level for Mr. Shadow. I felt the needle in my arm, felt myself dying. What’s happening? How is Mr. Shadow doing this? And more disconcerting…why?
I slide into my sleeping bag and pull it tight to fight away the growing chill. Not from the cold, but from the thoughts racing through my mind.
One scares me the most: Mr. Shadow is getting stronger. And if that’s true, we’re in trouble. Mr. Shadow is my bad wolf, and if he’s feeding on negative energy, I’ve just taken him to an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Chapter 9
It feels like the moment I fall asleep, an airy whine wakes me up. I poke my head out to see what’s dying and have to shield my eyes from the morning sun.
Marcus pulls the harmonica from his lips. “A wonderful first good morning to you, my friend. You like your alarm clock?”
Deacon’s voice comes from behind the tents. “Please, for the love of everything holy, shove that thing where the sun don’t shine!”
“Everyone’s a critic.” Marcus shrugs before bringing the harmonica back to his mouth.
In the morning light, the woods have transformed from dark and ominous to warm and welcoming. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves, and the air has an earthy pine smell to it.
The others are busy with their morning routines. Deacon and Tyler are outside the circle of tents, in the middle of a serious workout. Deacon, shirtless with a sheen of sweat, powers through a set of push-ups. Tyler struggles to keep pace.
“Five more, princess. Let’s go!” Deacon barks as he leans on Tyler’s back.
“You’re not helping,” Tyler pants.
“You want to get big, you need to push it. Fight through the resistance!”
Tyler collapses on the fourth. “You’re p-p-pushing too hard.”
“You quit too soon. I told you this wouldn’t be easy. So sack up if you got one and finish strong, you pansy!”
Deacon lifts Tyler by the shirt and forces him into a pushup position. With quaking arms, Tyler powers through the last two and collapses.
“Get your ass up!” Deacon grabs a low-hanging branch as Tyler struggles to stand up. “We got pull-ups next.”
Don’t these guys get enough of a workout with all the hiking? Happy with not joining them, I see Meadow sitting in a small dirt circle talking to herself. A beam of light breaks through the trees and shines on her like a spotlight. As I listen, I realize she’s praying.
“ Of gracious Goddess, I ask thee to bless this day. To bring joy and light along my way. Guide my heart, my hands, my voice, to honor Thee with every choice. Blessed Be.”
She kisses the crystal within her woven pendant necklace and rises to her feet. “I’ll see what I can gather for breakfast,” she announces before heading off into the woods.
“A!” Tyler yells between pull-ups. “Always partner up.”
“Wait until Shawn gets back and I’ll go with you,” Marcus calls back.
“Hey, Marcus,” I say. “Where’s Shawn?”
“Morning session with Kekoa. They headed to the stream to catch us some breakfast. Should be back soon. Did Shawn go over the morning routine on the walk in?”
Great, more rules and regulations, and here I thought I’d gotten out of going to prison.
“There’s a few things that need to get done every morning before we can head out, so we divide out the responsibilities. There’s gathering food for breakfast, packing up the tents and gear, and cleaning the site. Today Tyler and Kekoa are on food duty; you and Deacon are breaking down the tents; and Meadow’s got clean-up. Once that’s all done, we get going.”
Deacon gives me a wet slap on the back. “Let’s get this over with, newbie. I wanna hit that stream and wash off before we head out.”
Breaking down a tent is a lot easier than getting it up. They just fall over when I touch them. The hard part is packing them tightly enough to fit in the bottom loops of the backpacks. Deacon isn’t the best instructor—his way of teaching is more yelling than showing.
By the time we finish, Kekoa and Shawn have returned with three decent-size trout; Marcus and Meadow have collected a bag full of edible vegetation; and Tyler’s traps have snared a squirrel.
“A feast fit for kings and queens,” Marcus says as he preps the food.
Shawn fishes out a box from her backpack and uses the orange key around her neck to unlock it. “Time for meds.”
I forgot about my medication. It’s not like I’ve been taking it, but I didn’t think about the others. It makes sense that the counselors would also be in charge of giving us our daily doses.
One by one, everyone lines up and takes their pills. I’m last, right behind Kekoa, who’s dressed in her typical sweatpants and long sleeves with her hoodie up and earbuds in. She gives me a quick glance over her shoulder but doesn’t say anything.
I try to say hello, but she turns back, leaving me with my mouth half open.
Shawn holds out a clear cup overflowing with pills. “Are you taking them today?” The hoodie shakes side to side. “You have to verify verbally.”
“No.”
“I’m going to have to notify your dad. You know that, right?”
Kekoa shrugs and walks away.
My turn. Shawn holds out my daily dose of Seroquel. “So you can refuse your meds?”
She nods. “This isn’t the psych ward. We’re not going to force them down your throat, but if you refuse three times in a row, we have to notify your legal guardian.”
“What happens then?”
“Well, it’s up to the guardian at that point. We’ve had clients get removed from the program and checked into the hospital. Other times a psychiatrist is consulted and they prescribe something different. Most of the time, after a day or two, the clients start feeling like crap and realize they need the meds, so they start taking them again. So what’s it going to be?”
Shawn offers the medication. Even without turning around, I feel the others watching. Seeing how new intakes handle meds was always an entertaining show in the ward. You could tell how screwed up a kid was by how they acted. Did they swallow or cheek, cause a scene or be docile, accept their situation or deny it all?
“No, thanks.”
Shawn puts the meds back in her backpack. “Okay. That’s day one. Two more and we have to make that call. Got it?”
“Got it.” I have zero intention of ever taking them, so that gives me two more days to figure out what I’m going to do. If they call my mom, she’ll have me arrested or committed. I could sell them again, but if anyone here mixed meds it could be bad. My best bet is to cheek them, but what do I do with them after? Can’t really toss bright-yellow pills in a forest of green. Maybe I could bury them if I get enough alone time… I’m going to have to get creative with this.
Shawn and I rejoin the others in the broken-down camp. Marcus puts the final pieces of fish on each plate and hands them out. “Breakfast is served.”
Maybe because I’m not starving like I was last night or maybe it’s because I can actually see the food in the morning light, but getting a serving of roots, fish, and the thin bones of a squirrel on a tin plate makes my stomach curl. Haylee and Kaylee have prepared more appetizing breakfasts, and they use rainbow sprinkles on everything.
The others don’t hesitate. Meadow chows down on her veggies and laughs with Tyler; Deacon inhales the meats while avoiding the greens; even Kekoa has started on the second half of her plate.
When in Rome…
I take a safe bite of the trout and am surprised yet again. Whatever Marcus does with the limited supplies he has is close to magic. It tastes like it came from Tomasso’s, a restaurant we only go to on birthdays. I try the plants and even brave the squirrel. Although the meat is a little tough, it still goes down easily.
Before long, all our plates are cleaned and we’re ready for morning group.
I dread this part the most: a bunch of kids with chips on their shoulders sitting in a circle being asked to reveal their secrets. The last time I did this, the orderlies had to be called in to break up a fight.
But at the same time, if I want to get out of here, I have to play the game. I can’t sit back and go silent; that just aggravates the therapists and wastes everyone’s time. So, to get back home, the best course of action is the one I want to take the least: tell the truth...mostly.
Marcus rubs his hands together. “Today’s focus topic is one of our favorites; family.”
This word is met with a chorus of groans. Even under the hoodie, I see Kekoa roll her eyes and retreat farther into the shadows.
“They’re part of your lives, whether you like it or not,” Marcus smirks. “They’ve also had a massive impact on all the things that have led you to this moment, both good and bad. I know it’s tough, but we could really help each other with this.”
“I want to focus on how to have a voice back home,” Shawn continues. “Sometimes we scream at our family or completely shut down. How many times have you been arguing about grades, the friends you hang out with, the responsibilities around the house—”
“The handle you stole from your dad’s sock drawer,” Deacon jokes.
“Or that, but you don’t know how to say your piece without making things worse? It’s because there’s a breakdown in communication. One or both sides don’t feel like they’re being heard. That adds fuel to the fire. So what do we do when we don’t feel like we’re being heard?”
“I shut down,” Tyler starts. “My parents are very particular about my grades, my clothes, my presentation, even how I talk to them. For Koreans, one must respect their elders. I can’t talk back or even voice my opinion. My mom’s rule is law and I must obey, no matter how I feel.”
Marcus rests his chin in his hands. “So you sit there and take it. You internalize your voice and let your mom say whatever she wants. What happens when you try to speak up?”
“It gets worse. But I feel I’ve gotten better with this and I know my voice matters.”
Now there’s a treatment line if I’ve ever heard one. Guess I’m not the only one playing the game to get out of here as fast as possible.
“Maybe either the words you use or the way you say them triggers something in your mom,” chimes in Meadow. “I know when my parents start yelling at me, if I just agree with them, they stop a lot sooner and leave me alone.”
“Yeah, that’s healthy,” Deacon scoffs. “You do realize your parents are human, right? They can be wrong. A lot.”
Shawn nods. “That’s a good point. Parents might not always be right, but they might also be working with limited information. Deacon, when your dad yells at you, do you ever think if he just knew what you were thinking, he’d understand and you wouldn’t have to get into a fight?”
Deacon shakes his head. “I think he needs to stop being a drunk dumbass. He doesn’t give a damn—he just needs a punching bag and I’d rather it be me than Jason.”
“Who’s Jason?” I ask.
“Just the cutest little brother ever.” Meadow beams. “Oh! Show him your picture!”
Deacon’s jaw clenches and he cracks his neck. I’ve seen that before: universal bully warnings. They’re pissed and someone’s about to feel it.
But Shawn is quick to change the focus. “Another time. How about you, Cody? You and your mom get along?”
I shrug, uncomfortable now that the attention is on me. “Sure. We’re fine most of the time.”
Shawn doesn’t let me off the hook. “What happens the rest of the time?”
“There’s more yelling than anything else, but she’s stressed and she’s not about to yell at my little twin sisters, so I’m her anger displacement.” I realize my slip-up too late.
“Sounds like someone’s been to treatment before,” Deacon says with a smile.
“We’ve had a couple of bad ones,” I confess. “She called a 5150 on me.”
“That’s a seventy-two-hour hold,” Tyler chimes in. “A danger to yourself or others.”
“Let me guess—you were hopped up on that Susie-Q and started seeing crazy shit,” Deacon adds.
If he considers a demonic shadow haunting me for more than a decade “crazy shit,” then yeah. “Something like that.”
Marcus leans in. “Cody, I’m going to push you a little here, okay? When you see things, do you tell your mom?”
I was right: he did read my file. Great, it’s going to be impossible to keep my secret now. I’m not exactly mentally ready to discuss this out loud. I just shake my head.
Marcus continues. “She may be a supermom, but she can’t read your mind. How is she supposed to help you if you won’t let her in?”
“Maybe she can’t handle the truth,” Kekoa answers.
I turn to her, sitting on the ground just outside the circle. We make eye contact. Her face would make a professional poker player second-guess himself, but her emerald eyes stare back at me with intensity.
“What do you mean?” Shawn asks.
Kekoa stares at me a second longer. Then, with a shrug, she turns to Shawn. “We don’t just decide one day not to trust our parents. It’s something we’re taught. We reach out but get left behind. Maybe Cody told the truth and his mom didn’t want to hear it or didn’t believe it too many times, so he stopped telling her. Maybe he stopped letting her in to protect himself.”
The other clients’ jaws are on the ground. It seems Kekoa’s insight has caught everyone off guard. For me, it’s her accuracy that’s so shocking. She’s spot-on. No one has ever come close to putting into words why I don’t trust my mom.
“I guess being out here forever and a day really paid off,” Deacon jabs, breaking the awkward silence. “Just get a license, and you could be one of the therapists instead.”
Marcus nods in agreement. “We’d be honored to have you.” He gets up and grabs his gear. “That’ll do it for this morning, ladies and gentlemen. Time to head off on another great adventure. During the hike, your assignment is to grab a partner and continue our awesome discussion. Find out about each other’s families, where they come from, what it’s like at home. And really listen.” He turns to Meadow and Tyler. “And before you ask, no, you two cannot be partners.”
As we pack up, Tyler rushes over to me. “How’d you get Kekoa to talk?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Since I’ve been here, I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve actually exchanged words. Then you show up, and this is the first morning that she's spoken in complete sentences. You’re the only variable.”
All I can do is shrug my shoulders. I honestly have no idea what I did.
Tyler relents. “Should be interesting. Anyway, you mind if we partner up? Deacon’s a jerk and Kekoa kinda scares me.”
“I was actually thinking of…” I scan for Kekoa. I want to ask her a few questions, but she’s walking with Shawn. “You know what? Sure.”
A few minutes later and we’re off, following Marcus deeper into the woods. All evidence of our presence in the small clearing is gone except for a few footprints.
Tyler and I talk the entire walk. He’s actually a nice kid. We discuss our moms and their inabilities to step outside their comfort zones and listen to us, but it eventually evolves into friends, school, and life in general. I have a hard time finding anything wrong with him. Maybe the only reason he’s here is because his mom doesn’t accept the fact that he’s gay.
I’m also having a hard time finding anything wrong with New Beginnings. It’s different from the psych wards. Out here, the group seems looser, freer, and willing to be themselves and accepting of others. The air is fresh; the woods are lush; and I feel the weight on my shoulders chip away with every step. If only the backpack would lighten too.
Watching vibrant spectrals scurry up trees and dart through the underbrush doesn’t hurt either. They go about their day, ignoring us, save one. When we cross a small creek, there’s a dark mountain lion with six legs and thorny bramble antlers watching us with a passive curiosity. Blissfully ignorant of the spectral, the others go on their merry way.
