down by the river.
I found a spot with a bed of leaves and a rock to prop up my foot. My ankle was so bad then that after I took the boot off, I knew I wouldnât be able to get it back on. So I spent the night there, scratching at bug bites on my face and hugging myself to keep warm. What else could I do? Made me think of this poster in Miss Laurieâs office:
Do what you can with what you have where you are.
But I also started thinking of throwing in the towel and giving myself up. Would I get sent back to Cliffside? How much more time would they give me?
In some ways, I thought, it wouldnât be so bad going back. At least Iâd have dry clothes, a bed to sleep in, and three meals a dayâplus snacks. Like a granola bar with raisins and nuts, a bowl of buttery popcorn, a shiny apple, a hard-boiled egg with a little salt and pepper sprinkled on it . . .
But then what about Hank and LeeAnn? What about my mom?
I shook my head sadly, torn about what to do and disappointed in myself. I felt dumb I hadnât done this better. At least one thing came out of that mess: I vowed to myself that I would never ever trust anyone again. Not ever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
----
BLUE LIGHT
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 didnât 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 stinkinâ 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 donât know where sheâs been at because it hasnât 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, thereâs 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. Iâll 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 couldnât 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 couldnât have anything from home except a couple family pictures, but I didnât have any. Wished I did though. It would have been nice every once in a while to look into little LeeAnnâs pretty blue eyes or get a glimpse of my baby brother, Hank, who was growing up so fast. At night sometimes, Iâd 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 weâd 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 âgood
I found a spot with a bed of leaves and a rock to prop up my foot. My ankle was so bad then that after I took the boot off, I knew I wouldnât be able to get it back on. So I spent the night there, scratching at bug bites on my face and hugging myself to keep warm. What else could I do? Made me think of this poster in Miss Laurieâs office:
Do what you can with what you have where you are.
But I also started thinking of throwing in the towel and giving myself up. Would I get sent back to Cliffside? How much more time would they give me?
In some ways, I thought, it wouldnât be so bad going back. At least Iâd have dry clothes, a bed to sleep in, and three meals a dayâplus snacks. Like a granola bar with raisins and nuts, a bowl of buttery popcorn, a shiny apple, a hard-boiled egg with a little salt and pepper sprinkled on it . . .
But then what about Hank and LeeAnn? What about my mom?
I shook my head sadly, torn about what to do and disappointed in myself. I felt dumb I hadnât done this better. At least one thing came out of that mess: I vowed to myself that I would never ever trust anyone again. Not ever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
----
BLUE LIGHT
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 didnât 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 stinkinâ 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 donât know where sheâs been at because it hasnât 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, thereâs 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. Iâll 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 couldnât 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 couldnât have anything from home except a couple family pictures, but I didnât have any. Wished I did though. It would have been nice every once in a while to look into little LeeAnnâs pretty blue eyes or get a glimpse of my baby brother, Hank, who was growing up so fast. At night sometimes, Iâd 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 weâd 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 âgood
Similar Books
