Olivia's Trek (1) (10 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Olivia Carter

We’re supposed to be doing our eleven a.m. activity—letter writing.

“Excuse me,” I ask timidly, not knowing if I’m supposed to raise my hand like at school.

Shirley doesn’t even look at me as she says, “Yes, Olivia?”

“Well, I haven’t got anyone to write a letter to.”

“What about your parents?”

“My mom died and I don’t know where my dad is.”

“Sorry to hear that, hon, but you must have someone to write a letter to.” She still doesn’t even look at me, not even flinch. Didn’t she even hear what I said? I feel a tightness in my chest. I feel heat like I’m burning up on the inside, and I can hear my breathing. I need to scream.

“I don’t and you can’t make me do it.”

Chuckles and claps from the group, then someone else stands up and says, “Yeah, here’s my letter, I wish I could take a shower by myself for more than two minutes, have my cell phone, sleep in, have my car back, eat McDonald’s. Oh, and by the way, I hate you for sending me to this craphole. Your adoring son.”

“Sit down, Miguel.” Shirley stands up now, facing him as he edges forward.

“Look guys, just get on with your letters, okay?” says athletic boy who is clearly avoiding any trouble.

“Oh yeah, frat boy? Why don’t I just make you eat your stupid letter? Huh?” Aaron and Miguel are now standing square to each other. All of a sudden one shoves the other and, in a dust cloud, they’re spitting, kicking, punching.

Rocker girl is chewing her hair and rocking back and forth while girl-boy-girl and fat kid are sitting laughing their heads off.

What the hell is this place? I shouldn’t even be here.

“Time out, guys.”
Yeah Shirley, don’t rush to get up or anything, they’re killing each other.

All of a sudden Aaron and Miguel are pulled apart by the two thugs who came to bring me here. Oh well, at least they have a use for something, I suppose.

“Time out, guys. Now. Separate corners.” I look up; it’s Gabriel.

The boys momentarily glance at Gabriel and the thugs. Suddenly, Miguel spins around, charging forward like a bull straight into Aaron, taking him down again. Aaron grunts, punching wildly with both fists only making contact once before they are both dragged off in separate directions spitting into the distance.

“Okay guys, show over.”

Gabriel widens his eyes and looks right over at me, not even blinking. I hold his gaze for as long as I can handle the intensity of the blue before dropping mine to the floor.

I hope he doesn’t blame me for this. I just didn’t want to write a letter. I think he’s still looking, but instead of looking up, I get my pen and paper ready.

I look up and he’s still staring, so I point to my ear before he works out what I’m trying to say. He’s still got his earplugs in. I wonder what song he was listening to.

*

Dr. Nate Carmichael is walking towards us all, still sitting on the ground, followed by Miguel and Aaron walking side by side.

“So everyone, if you go into your knapsacks, there should be an envelope that says trek guide on it. Each of you have your own field guide mentor, who you’ll get to know well and will spend time with.”

My heart is thumping before I even stick my hand into the knapsack and I take a quick glance around to check that no one else can hear it. My mouth feels all dry and the shaky feeling at the base of my stomach has jumped into my hands.

“Guys, the envelopes won’t open themselves. Go ahead and find your trek guide for one-on-one time for an hour before we have lunch.”

I know who my trek guide is before I even open it.

“Olivia, do you want a hand?”

I nod and Dr. C takes my envelope, “I thought that it would be good for you to work with Gabriel for a lot of reasons, but especially because he’ll being going to work in Manhattan after this. That way, if you need someone to talk to, or are struggling once you get home, hopefully he’ll be able to help.”

“Like an AA sponsor?”

“Yes, somehing like that, kiddo. Off you all go now guys and track them down.”

I walk around the basecamp, slowly, dragging my feet through the red sand, looking for Gabriel. Aaron is with Shirley, Miguel with Dr. C.

Then I see him, carrying some poles, joking around with another inmate. I go and stand beside Gabriel, expecting him to start asking me about my life, to try and set goals for our therapy session, but instead he offers me a bottle of water.

I shake my head, refusing it.

“Drink it, Olivia. It’s hot out here today.”

The water tastes so good that I’ve almost finished the bottle in one long gulp when I catch him smiling at me.

“I bet you’ve never built a tent before have you?”

We both move in unison, with me following his instructions, “First you get the material. Next you skin the material. Next you take down the old tent. Then you take the material to the pile. Next you plant post. Then you nail material to the post. Then you nail them inside the band board. Good, that’s it.”

I move silently, with him thrusting out a bottle of water for me to drink out of, sweat running down my forehead and upper lip.

“Next you get plywood, you nail it to the floor joists, then you have a platform. Then you get the beams that you skinned, then you notch them so they fit the post. Then you drill into the beam and post. Then you clean out the hole and you get the dowel rod and put glue on it and nail it into the post. Then all the beams are like that. You get the rails and do the same now, Olivia. Great job.”

I stand back. I can’t believe it: we’ve built a perfect-looking tent. Gabriel looks pleased with himself but I still don’t say anything as he pats the ground and signals for me to sit down beside him before he says, “You know, I tried drugs because some kids I knew were experimenting. I thought I needed to try drugs to fit in. It took me a while to discover that’s never a very good reason to do anything.”

I wasn’t expecting that and feel as if I’ve run smack into a wall that I hadn’t seen, so I just continue to stare at the ground.

“If you understand why you started using drugs then you’re on the first step to empowering yourself.”

He’s obviously just going to keep talking. He knows he’s a good looking guy and clearly likes the sound of his own voice.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that everyone makes mistakes.”

“Are you for real?” Patronizing jackass.

This time he doesn’t say anything and the silence between us feels like forever, so I venture up, “Because my doctor prescribed them for me and you know what? He was the first person who actually ever did anything right for me in my stupid life. It’s the first time I ever felt good about anything. There, that’s the truth.”

He looks pained before looking at me. “You’re clearly upset and angry. Do you think you’re able to talk about where these feelings come from?”

“I just want to go back home. I hate it here. Why the hell should you or anyone else care about anything I do? You don’t even know me.” My voice is starting to break. Tears spill down my cheeks.

Gabriel reaches into his knapsack, pulling out a packet of tissues, delicately pulling a single one out. “Here, take this.”

We sit opposite each other, our legs both crossed at the knees, like mirror images, in silence, for the longest time. The only thing I become aware of is the sound of my breathing slowing down as a calming feeling descends on me, but I stop myself from looking up in case I make eye contact with his kind blue eyes and it sets me off crying again.

“Just take your time and when you’re ready we can talk some more.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone about anything. No one ever listens or understands, anyway. So what’s the point?” This time I do look straight at him.

“Well, I’ve learned a lot today from what you’ve said so far.”

“But I haven’t even said anything.”

“On the contrary, I understand that you feel let down, that you feel that your life is worthless, that no one cares about you, that no one listens to you. How am I doing so far, Olivia?”

The tears fill my eyes again.

“You’re very angry, and so you should be, because I’d wager that you have tried to talk to people in the past and perhaps you haven’t been listened to. I think you’re also very sad about being abandoned.”

It all becomes too much and the sky feels like it’s going to fall on top of me. I stand up to try and swallow some air.

“Listen Olivia, I …”

“I don’t need this psychobabble bullshit. Just leave me alone.” And my body is on autopilot, my legs running in the opposite direction, as far away from where I was sitting as I can get before I can’t catch a breath.

Gabriel Carmichael can see into my soul.

Chapter Nineteen

Olivia Carter

My first night under the stars. If I could write to Preston and Victoria, the one word I would use to describe it would be terrifying.

In the early hours of the morning, I awake to rustling, and see shadowy, shapeless forms darting through the camp. I’m alone and helpless, not sure if I should play dead, yell, or cry. I remain quiet, listening for sounds of aggression, or some indicator of what sort of beast is stalking me. The sound multiplied, and a pack—whatever had found me—was clearly arranging a strategic ambush. Still wrapped up in my sleeping bag, I managed to wiggle over to my backpack, and find my headlamp. Its light illuminated beady eyes watching me intently from the undergrowth. I hold my breath waiting for it to move, and then something bolted in front of me, something I never could have imagined …

The terror of my first night under the stars was a soft, cuddly family of rabbits searching for a pre-dawn meal. My screaming had Shirley and Gabriel over beside me faster than the speed of light.

“Breathe, Olivia.”

“Can’t.”

“Put your head down, close your eyes and breathe slowly.”

“I can’t sleep here. Please don’t make me.”

“Shirley, why don’t you go and check on the others?”

I get back inside my sleeping bag, while he kneels beside me pulling my beanie cap further down my forehead.

“Move over.”

“Huh?”

He sits beside me, handing me one of his earplugs and tells me to close my eyes.

“It’s Bizet.”

“I know, Carmen Suite No.1,” I say, as I feel myself drifting off with the music.

*

I awaken with a jolt as something hits me.

“Hey Princess, it’s breakfast time. Get your lazy ass up.” I narrow my eyes as I pick up the shoe that Miguel has sent flying in my direction. He’s such a dick.

I rub my eyes, trying to recall the last time that I slept so deeply, without being interrupted by my thoughts or faces or memories before being disturbed by my bladder.

Aaron’s dust-streaked face smiles at me as he walks past.

Rocker girl’s name is Gillian and she pushes past me to get into the bathroom. I notice new crepe bandaging around one of her wrists and she catches me staring. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Er, no, I was just going.” I nearly stumble over myself trying to get away. Awkward.

I walk towards Gabriel’s back as he stirs something. I can’t quite make out the contents of the pot on his makeshift stove until I see the piece of tree bark that he is using to stir the sticky porridge-like substance and it makes me feel queasy again. What I would do just for some warm toast and butter, some Lucky Charms, even.

“I’m not eating that. I can’t.” I walk off, away from the campsite, finding a rock to sit on where I can just look all around me.

I try and change the subject asking, “What colors the sandstone here so red?”

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

He’s so right. I don’t think that I have seen anything as beautiful as this in my life before. The early morning light makes the cliffs radiate a rich red glow, revealing a sculptured panorama of sandstone in a rich palette of crimson, vermilion, orange, salmon, peach, pink,gold, yellow, and white. I almost lose track of the beautiful colors. Nearby are black, spherical rocks collecting in small depressions, like puddles of ball bearings.

“To answer your question, Olivia, the red color is caused by a union of iron and oxygen known as hematite, a mineral named from the Greek word for blood. Iron is a powerful pigment present in many sediments and rocks, thus it commonly imparts color to the rocks.”

“Is there anything that you don’t know?” That makes him smile.

“You really should come and eat. I’ve got enough breakfast left over.”

“I don’t want to move from here. I haven’t felt peaceful like this for as long as I can remember.”

“Well, it’s just as well that I brought the pan over here for you then, isn’t it?” His eyes smirk at me as I gratefully take the metal pan from his hand.

“There’s no spoon.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Who’s on drugs now? I can’t see any spoon.”

“What do you think that is?” he says, as he points to the bit of tree bark.

My stomach is rumbling and I am too hungry to argue so I start spooning the glue-like mixture of oats, milk, and honey into my mouth. I refuse to admit it, but it tastes really good.

“How about you try and make some tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

*

The whole day has passed without being too much of a circus, but I didn’t know how long that would last. Everyone is tired and starting to grumble about having to sit in front of the fire for group therapy. I’m more concerned about the bugs, which seem to be attracted by the embers and occasional flames, and how I can avoid being bitten.

At night, in group therapy, the group’s physical tiredness seems to have broken down defenses so that everyone, except me, starts to share what brought them to the brink.

“So much shit has happened in my family,” says Aaron, a 17-year-old boy from an affluent San Diego suburb. “My mom wasn’t there. My family isn’t touchy-feely. You have to be strong … and just bear through what needs to be done.”

Gillian says she had considered suicide: “I’m going to die anyways, so why drag this hell out? There’s nothing good about life.”

“Is that why you’re a cutter?” asks Miguel.

“What would you know?” Gillian stares into the fire, the flames flickering in her irises.

Miguel’s anger, however, remains on full display throughout the session. Rather than letting his guard down and confronting his feelings, he tells us all tales of his drug dealing.

“We’re not impressed, Miguel.”

“I don’t like being thrown into a path and being told, ‘This is what you have to do!’” he says. “I should be able to see what I want to be able to see out of life. If that means that I’m a heroin addict and I die, that’s what I see.”

“What about Princess over there? You’re pretty quiet.”

I can feel everyone’s eyes boring into me.

“Yeah, answer this,” says Gillian chewing on her hair as she speaks. “Why do you steal?”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My heart starts thumping and I can feel everythng closing in on me.

“The food, Olivia, why do you steal it?” Now everyone including Shirley, Gabriel and Dr C are all looking at me.

I get up, wiping my hands on my trousers, my cheeks burning and head straight over to my sleeping bag. I pull on my beanie so that it almost covers my eyes and pull the entire bag right up over my body and over my head.

I hear footsteps in the sand before Gabriel clears his throat asking, “Hey, are you okay?”

I don’t answer as the tears run down my face.