Stolen

by Elizabeth Gilpin

  I felt my oatmeal rising once again.

  “And you have to do it a certain way.” Polly seemed totally undaunted. “Six inches wide, five inches long, twelve deep. Are you paying attention? You need to know this, for when it’s your turn.”

  I wanted to laugh, it was so absurd. Here was this girl, this troubled teen, trying so hard to be a model student. Going on about the dimensions of a hole filled with feces like it was calculus? I didn’t get it. But Polly misinterpreted my confusion.

  “You’ll have a ten-inch shovel,” she said. “That’s how you measure.”

  “Yeah, I’m not doing this. Not digging it, not using it.”

  “Not an option. If you lay a surface turd and the staff finds out? You’re screwed.”

  “A surface turd?” She made it sound so technical.

  “Whatever. You’ve got to shit in the hole, okay?”

  I shook my head.

  “You can pee wherever you want, though, like you’ve been doing.”

  Polly led us back to camp, running through more rules and regulations. Water should be boiled, on account of the bacteria. Stay close, but yell out your number if you have to walk away. No showers, just sad billy baths using cans of creek water and a bandanna.

  “A bandanna?” I said. “Is that my washcloth or my towel?”

  “Both.”

  Of course that was the answer. I exhaled my frustration.

  “How long do people stay here?” I said.

  “Depends. On what your ed consultant thinks, what the staff tells your parents. Your behavior definitely plays a part.”

  “My behavior? Great.”

  She nodded sagely. Like I was still in denial but I would learn. And then I’d be just like her.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Five weeks. And I’m almost done.”

  She said it like it was an achievement she was proud of. Which worried me, to say the least.

  “And that’s…normal?”

  “It’s super fast, actually. Carolina? You’ll meet her. She’s been here for three months.”

  “Three months?”

  “Yeah. But they like to keep the druggies longer.”

  There were no words for what I was feeling. Nothing was making any sense. So I tuned her out, pretended we were speaking different languages. I didn’t trust this girl one bit, someone so completely fine with a situation that was clearly insane.

  She’s an ass-kisser. A fake. She’s a surface turd of a human being.

  We got back to camp just in time for group therapy. The girls formed a circle and sat cross-legged in the dirt. They looked like kindergartners at story time. Kindergartners who did hard drugs and had sex with three boys.

  Polly joined the circle, but I was told to watch from outside. After a moment of strange silence, a freckled staffer held up a stick. With each ceremony, she broke it in half signifying the start of group, and the floodgates opened. One by one, the girls were asked to “check in” with themselves and assess their current feelings.

  “I feel sad. I feel this way because I miss my parents.”

  “I miss my parents too. Also, I missed prom.”

  “I feel lonely. I feel this way because my best friend overdosed.”

  “I feel angry.”

  “Why do you feel angry?”

  “Because I don’t want to fucking be here. But I’ve fucking been here…for three fucking months.”

  I looked up and examined the speaker. Dyed black hair half grown out, face filthy and narrowed. Carolina, I thought.

  “Anger is a secondary emotion,” the freckled staffer said. It was a phrase I’d come to hear a lot.

  I saw Polly nod in agreement.

  “It’s what’s underneath the anger that matters. What’s underneath your anger, Carolina?”

  “More anger.”

  I wanted to laugh, but I held it in. The girls were asked to list alternative feelings. Primary feelings, whatever that meant. Hurt. Scared. Helpless.

  The ever-present sad.

  I quit listening and instead tuned in to the frequency of the birds. The trees became palm trees, sheltering me from the sun. The dirt became sand. I’m on a beach in South Carolina—wait, Hawaii!—and I don’t have a care in the world, because I’m young and I’m small. No one has ever hurt me and maybe they never will. I can spend all day in the sand. I can still feel happy. Happy is a primary emotion.

  The sound of sobbing snapped me back to attention. It was Twelve who was crying, the second-newest girl and, not surprisingly, the second-cleanest.

  “What feelings are behind those tears?”

  “Confused,” the girl said. “I feel confused.”

  “Why do you feel confused?”

  “Because I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. I’m pretty sure my parents made a mistake.”

  Dammit. That was my line.

  “You keep saying that.” The staffer shook her head. “But there weren’t any mistakes. Your parents want you right where you are.”

  Twelve started crying even harder.

  “Girls,” the staffer said, “can anyone enlighten our new recruit on what might be behind her confusion?”

  “Maybe she feels betrayed? Abandoned by her parents?”

  “The same thing happened to me.” A filthy redhead leaned toward the crying girl. “I don’t know why my family sent me away either.”

  “Danielle, you failed a drug test the day you got here.”

  “Yeah,” Danielle said. “Because someone spiked the church wine.”

  “Spiked it with what?” Polly weighed in. “It’s alcohol.”

  “With drugs.”

  “What kind of drugs?”

  “I don’t know, asshole. The kind that shows up in a piss test.”

  After the session ended, Kendra sat down with me. The time had come for me to finally learn all about the mysterious Earth Phase. Which really wasn’t all that mystifying, after all. There were four “phases” in total: Earth, Fire, Water, and Air. Each came with a new set of privileges, like a flashlight or a knife. Or the ability to have a conversation with another human being.

  “You get off Earth Phase when your life story is accepted,” Kendra said.

  “My life story?”

  “Yep. It’s exactly as it sounds. You’ll write about your life, what went wrong. Everything that led to your parents giving up on you…and sending you to us.”

  Can’t wait.

  “How long does it have to be?” I said.

  “Long. As long as it needs to be. No skimping on details. I want you to list every bad thing you’ve ever done. Every lie, every drug. Every blow job.”

  “It’s gonna be pretty short then,” I said under my breath.

  I pulled out my notebook and a pen and was sent on my way. I sat down under a tree and got to work immediately, not recounting the sordid details of my life but writing a letter to my parents. It was a desperate appeal begging them to please, please let me come home.

  From my tree I could see the other girls preparing dinner—a glorious feast of dry beans and boxed rice. A few of them struggled with a crude wooden device that seemed related to the process. Meanwhile, the staff clustered around a fancy camping stove that sizzled with bacon and grilled cheese sandwiches.

  “How’s it going?” Kendra said.

  “Okay.”

  She peered over my shoulder. When I tried to hide my notebook she grabbed it.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  I know you’d never want to hurt me. Which is why I’m sure there’s been a mistake. This place is so horrible. It’s not like summer camp at all. Will you please come get me? I promise I’ll be better from now on.

  Kendra started laughing. She gave me back the notebook.

  “Don’t waste your time,” she said. “You hungry?”

  I shrugged and looked at the girls. “What’s that wooden thing?”

  “Bow drill. They’re trying to bust a fire. If they can’t, they eat cold
tonight.”

  Dry beans from a bag. And uncooked Minute Rice. Even better.

  Meanwhile, my mouth watered from the smell of bacon. I was relieved when one of the girls finally got a flame to spark, even though that girl was Polly. Naturally, I assumed it meant I’d be eating my beans hot. I should have known better than to expect such a luxury. Kendra informed me that as long as I was still on Earth Phase all of my meals would be uncooked.

  I could barely force myself to swallow my dehydrated beans and rice. At the same time, I was starving. I plugged my nose and ate as quickly as I could, the first and last time I’d use that technique. Within minutes I was in excruciating pain. My stomach tightened up like a clenched fist and I felt like I was going to throw up. It was my first experience with something I’d later learn was called gut bomb. Some version of it hit me every time I had to eat uncooked rice and beans in the woods. The clenching feeling was from the rice hydrating itself by sucking up moisture from my stomach.

  After dinner, the girls cleaned up while I watched from my spot on the ground, holding my belly. They stomped on the fire and rinsed the pots. They gathered the remaining food and tied it together with rope. Then they took turns tossing the bundle up into a tree until it finally caught a branch and stuck. I realized with horror that this must be what Polly had been trying to tell me when she rambled on about bears.

  “You’re sleeping with us again, Thirteen.”

  The staff was still gathered around their fire, munching grilled cheese.

  “Amazing,” I said, mumbling below my breath.

  I handed over my boots and went into the staff tent. I could tell which sleeping bag was mine because it was a good two inches lower than the others. The staff all had thick foam pads beneath their bags while I was given the equivalent of a yoga mat to buffer myself from the hard ground. As I lay there trying to get comfortable, I could hear them talking and laughing just outside.

  They were talking about us. Talking shit, to be precise.

  “Did you hear Rebecca in group today? Trying to deny that she’s ever done coke?”

  “She’s a party girl if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Am I wrong or are these kids way worse than when we were here?”

  Everything suddenly clicked into place. A lot of the staff were former campers themselves. Yesterday’s troubled teens, returned to repeat the cycle of abuse.

  Hey, maybe I’ll be back one day. Or maybe I’ll never even leave.

  “What do you think about the new girl?”

  I recognized Kendra’s voice. Ice ran through my veins.

  “The angry blonde? She’s not leaving anytime soon.”

  “I’ll bet she’s a two-monther.”

  “Easily.” Kendra laughed. “I bet you she’s here for three.”

  Bitches. Who does that? Making bets about the worst thing that’s ever happened in my life?

  I was in a rage. My fists were balled and I could barely contain myself from walking right out and using them on Kendra’s smug face. I forced myself to relax. I took deep breaths and imagined a white light. The white light of my childhood, a heavenly glow I learned about in Sunday school. But while I had my doubts about heaven, I was pretty certain that hell was real. It sure felt like I was in it.

  Chapter 7

  My Life Story:

  My memories start when I was about four years old. That’s when my family was living in California. After my dad came back from Desert Storm. I was so young I didn’t know who he was at first. He was just some man who was hugging me and seemed happy to see me. We were living on the Navy base. One day my dad took me to watch the planes fly in and out and it became my favorite thing. I wanted to do it every day. And I was obsessed with movies like Top Gun and Con Air. Looking back, it seems I had been trying to impress my father before I could even read.

  For the second time, I was woken by the slap of hiking boots hitting my sleeping bag. I emerged from the staff tent and saw the other girls packing up. They folded tarps and stuffed sleeping bags into backpacks like they’d done it a million times before. It was mindless and automatic, and that was terrifying.

  “Fifteen minutes,” a staffer yelled. “Then we’re moving out.”

  The girls divided up the communal gear and added it to their load. They took turns helping one another with their packs. One girl had to sit on the ground to secure the snap around her waist, while two others lifted her to her feet.

  I bet I don’t need help.

  I didn’t. I felt a tiny amount of pride as I hoisted my pack onto my shoulders. It weighed almost as much as I did, and I wasn’t exactly putting on extra oatmeal and ramen weight. I was glad I didn’t need to ask for help, and I figured a lifetime of athleticism had given me an advantage. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe that girl had started out just like me, capable and strong-willed. Before true exhaustion set in. Before the woods wore her down. I knew I’d get there eventually, and the thought of that alone made me tired.

  “Girls!” the staffer was yelling. “Let’s get a move on.”

  We filed out of the campsite. Watching it recede, I found myself shocked at how pristine the area looked. It appeared totally untouched, with absolutely no sign of human habitation. Thirteen teenage girls and their guards disappeared into the wilderness without a trace.

  Am I even here at all? Do I still exist? What if I’m just a phantom, some half-alive version of myself?

  My pack was definitely real. Already it was burning blisters into my shoulders. I had a whole day of hiking ahead of me and many more days after that. It was an activity I’d know very well by the end of my time in the woods. Hiking just to hike, going nowhere in particular. Sometimes it felt like we were just walking in circles, and honestly, we probably were.

  “Thirteen, stay in back.”

  We marched out single file. Three girls in a row, then a counselor, then another three girls. Since I was on Earth Phase, I brought up the rear with a staffer right behind me. I hated the feeling of being watched, especially in the ever-increasing brightness.

  The heat bore down without reprieve. By early afternoon I’d found myself in a predicament, a wardrobe-related dilemma. I had unzipped my cargo pants off at the knees and my legs felt so much cooler in shorts. But the trade-off meant walking through brush and thickets with my legs bared to the world. By the time we were done for the day I was covered in scratches and bug bites. It was like I was a kid again.

  If only that kid could see herself now.

  For a moment I felt impossibly sad.

  Eh, I bet she’d be too busy climbing trees to care.

  We arrived at our next campsite, which seemed just as random as the first one. In fact, besides a few small differences in terrain, it could have been the same place. One perk of being a lowly Earth Phaser was that I didn’t have to set up. No latrine digging for me. I was sent off to “reflect” and to get back to work on my life story.

  I was five the first time I tried to run away. It seemed like a fun thing to do, even though I had nowhere to go. We were living on another base in Oakland where I had a best friend named Chloe. One day, the two of us plotted our escape. But we only made it as far as the guard gate. Once we moved to South Carolina I got a lot better at it. I would sneak out in the middle of the night and meet my friends at the tennis court. Or I’d try to spend the night at Melanie’s because her dad never cared what we did.

  “Hey, Thirteen, guess what?”

  Kendra was standing over me.

  “I’m going home?” Maybe if I said it out loud, it would be true.

  “Nope,” she said. “But you’re out of the staff tent. And off run watch.”

  “Great,” I said. “What does that mean?”

  Kendra’s eyes glinted. “It means you get to sleep all by yourself tonight.”

  As relieved as I was to be out of the staff tent, I might have been even more terrified by the thought of spending the night alone.

  “Go set up your shelter,” Kendra said.

>   “How do I do that?”

  “Ask your mentor.”

  I wandered the campsite until I found Polly. The sun had slipped past the horizon and twilight was coming. I shivered, more from the thought of darkness than the cold. My mentor was tying up her remaining food when I found her. She slipped right back into docent mode.

  “First, we have to find you a good site,” she said, leading me to the outskirts of the camp.

  “What makes a site good?”

  “Trees. Spaced about eight feet apart. But you obviously don’t want their roots sticking out.”

  We walked the area. It seemed like all the good spots were already taken. I pointed to a cluster of trees that seemed like they might work.

  “Too close to Carolina.” Polly shook her head. “We need to be fifteen feet apart from each other, at least.”

  That’s a lot of space. What if a bear comes? Or an ax murderer?

  I was beginning to realize just how alone I was going to be and how dark it would get. It almost made me wish I was back in the staff tent.

  “Here!”

  Polly had found me a suitable site, fifteen yards away from every other tent. I dropped my backpack and listened to her instructions.

  “It’s pretty simple,” she said. “Basically, you have a ground tarp and a roof tarp. Ground tarp goes under your sleeping bag. Roof tarp, you tie from one tree to the other.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  “Want me to wait with you? I mean, it’s pretty self-explanatory, but I totally will if you need help.”

  “I think I can manage.”

  I started unpacking. My tarps had that new plastic smell, so out of place in the wilderness. Polly waved and walked away, smiling.

  She’s always fucking smiling. It’s like she’s posing for the brochure. She’s the “after” and I’m the “before.”

  I smoothed the ground and put down one of my tarps. I tried to get my roof set up, but the knots I was tying wouldn’t hold. As soon as I got one side up the other would come loose. The rope was too slippery, the trees wouldn’t cooperate. Stubbornly, I kept trying. No way was I about to admit defeat. Not if it meant running to Polly for help.