Olivia's Trek (1) (8 page)
I hop off the stool and run towards the lobby so I can find out who paged me.
Knew it. It’s the Carter kid. I can’t believe that Dad’s dumped me in it and put me on call so he can get back to the city to see some old friend who’s had a heart attack. I worry about the old man, rushing here, there and everywhere. Told him to take it easy and go see his friend in the hospital tomorrow, maybe after resting a while, but when does he ever listen?
I turn down into the corridor and hear someone screaming. She sounds terrified. I nearly run smack into Ryan and Neil, two of the transporters. Jesus, no wonder she’s terrified. Does no one think in this place? It’s got to be bad enough being sent to some strange place in the middle of the mountains, never mind these huge guys hanging around.
“It’s okay guys, I’ll take it from here.”
“You sure, Dr. Carmichael?”
“I’m sure. Thanks, gentlemen.” I wait until they have passed me before I go any further.
The sound of crashing furniture interrupts me as I head into the room and catch Cythia’s wide eyes. Cynthia’s cool. There’s nothing she’s not seen in the last fifteen years here. Well, apart from my ‘unorthodox methods’ that she’s complained to my dad about, but I’ll chat with her later about that.
A girl with bright orange hair turns around. Who the hell? This isn’t the Carter girl I saw in the hospital. Is it? Jesus, what has she done? I’m in shock at the way her hair is all pulled in tight cornrows off her face. I can’t even make her face out covered in all that black gunk, and she stinks of weed.
“Get away from me. I’m leaving.”
Okay, I’ve got to calm her down. I haven’t seen anyone as scared as this for a long time. They’re normally full of bravado and attitude.
I clear my throat and perfect my dad’s ‘kind’ look. “Olivia, you’re here to stay, whether you like it or not, so you might as well cooperate. You’ve been sent here by a judge. There are lots of people who can really help you if you give it a chance.”
“I don’t want anyone’s fucking help. Now get away from me.”
Oh shit, that worked well. Now she’s hyperventilating. I’ve got to do something to distract her. I move fast and lock her in a grip from behind. My ears hurt from her screaming. The shower. Yes, the water will make her feel better. God, she’s strong. I knew she was a fighter when I saw her in the hospital. I drag her into the bathroom and turn on the shower on both of us. She’s trembling, but it’s fear and not withdrawal. I hold onto her tighter trying to make her feel safe or to distract her from whatever is scaring her. What’s the story here? After some time, she starts sobbing. Yes, that’s good. Most of these kids keep stuff locked up inside of them and that’s bad news. Her fight’s going so I loosen my grip, still holding her with one hand and using the other to push the shampoo dispenser, and massage the liquid into her head. My fiancée always said having her hair washed made her feel better.
“Just let it all out, Olivia. That’s it. Don’t hold it in.”
I hold her, supporting her slumped body with mine, rocking and reassuring her gently as her sobs rack my body.
Cynthia steps into the wet room with some towels, making eyes at me that say ‘unorthodox method’ as I switch off the shower.
“Kid, Cynthia is going to help you get out of these wet clothes and get into something more comfortable.” And with that I run out of there, my heart pounding in my chest.
Olivia Carter
I’m shivering so badly, the whole bed is shaking. My t-shirt is drenched in sweat and I’ve never been so frozen. I don’t think I’ve ever felt icicles every time my teeth hit each other making that horrible shattering sound. My jaw is aching. I’m so scared that I start crying and shouting for help.
Two minutes later the door bursts open and it’s the angel and another lady with a clipboard and a walkie talkie.
In no time, the angel is beside my bed. He pulls the covers off, holding his hand to my head and feeling the pulse on the side of my neck.
“She’s drenched. We need more t-shirts and we’d better get a stack of sick bowls.”
The other lady pulls out five t-shirts from a drawer and helps me out of the one that’s stuck to me. It’s so wet it could be the one I was wearing in the shower.
The angel returns with a pile of gray cardboard trilby hat-shaped bowls and a jug of water with ice.
I stand at the side of the room hanging my head and swaying as if I can hear music. Sudden gut-wrenching waves of nausea sweep over me as they change the bedsheets, which were also drenched. How could a single person sweat so much?
A dry heave splices right through me and someone shoves a bowl in my hand.
“Okay Olivia, let’s get you back into bed now,” says the angel. He knows my name. Maybe Momma sent him.
As I get back into bed they place an ice pack at the base of my neck and a wet washcloth on my forehead. It feels so good and I feel the pulsating throbbing at my temples subside at the comforting iciness. But it doesn’t last long before another heave and I’m vomiting bile into another gray bowl. I struggle to hold the bowl as the shivering returns again.
“Please help me. Get a doctor. I need something to take away all of this.” I whimper at them both pleadingly.
“Olivia, you can’t get any medication to help you through this. They don’t do that here.”
What? What is this sadistic place that my dear Uncle Preston has sent me to?
My body is cold, my body is on fire, my head feels like it is going to burst, my heart is pounding out of my chest, my legs seems to have a life of their own, dancing a jig while I desperately try to keep them still to dull the aching within. The stomach cramping, churning sensation I’m experiencing is worse than any period or gastritis bug I’ve ever had. My throat feels as if I’ve swallowed a ball of my panty-hose and I can’t even swallow my own saliva. I’m dry-wretching now as there isn’t even any bile left and I’m terrified that I’m going to die like this without any of my family around me. I must have said this aloud because the angel says:
“No. Olivia, I’m not going to let anyone die. You have to trust us. You need to stay calm and try and take some deep breaths. The physical symptoms you are feeling will pass.” He wipes my tears away with his thumbs.
I can hear screaming again and realize that it’s me. The angel sits behind me, his arms and legs wrapped around me from behind, holding me in a strong grip on the floor in the corner of the room, rocking and singing to me as my body burns and rots in hell for the whole night.
The sun seeps in through the window forcing me to slowly open my eyes.
“Miss Parker, good morning to you.”
I recognize the smooth gravelly voice as Cynthia’s, and feel her hand stroking the back of my head as I turn to face her. I’m lying back in the bed surrounded by pillows and empty sick bowls. A shudder passes through me at the thought of what passed the night before. I don’t know whether it was all a nightmare or this is all real.
“Morning, Cynthia,” I manage to say.
My greeting causes Cynthia to grin an even bigger grin than the day before causing her eyes to crinkle up so they look closed.
“Would you like to shower this morning, my dear? Then maybe we can venture out for a tour of the place and the grounds? I can also go through some of the rules for staying here. We missed doing that yesterday.”
“I’ll try. I still don’t feel very well.”
“Good girl. I’ll leave out a towel and some clothes for you and come back to check on you when you’re done.” Once again, out of my room, Cynthia swishes again.
It takes everything out of me to pull the covers back, but I manage and somehow my legs get me to the bathroom. As soon as I sit down on the toilet I get the worst cramps in my stomach again followed by an explosion of diarrhea. The longer I sit on the toilet, the worse the cramps in my stomach become so I finish up and head straight over to the shower. As I stand beneath the heavy rainfall from the ceiling my mind drifts back to the angel who held me and helped me during the night. I wonder who he could be and why he’s helping me?
I stagger back to the bedroom, drying myself, my body tormented with the exhaustion of the assault of not getting the drugs it had been craving. I put on a set of gray jogging bottoms and a gray t-shirt and some flip flops and just about fall back onto the bed when Cynthia comes back into the room and we slowly venture out.
I pass a group of other teenagers all gathered around a map, talking over each other, wearing identical whistles around their necks.
I couldn’t be more out of place if I tried, but I should be used to that by now.
“Let’s go and do a meet-and-greet with the rest of your group.”
“My group?”
“Yes, there will be six of you that will all go on your adventure challenges together.”
Bubbles of bile fizz at the base of my stomach.
“Adventure challenges?” This could not get any worse.
“Hiking, climbing, canoeing, ropes courses and group games. And when you feel better, we’ll move you to one of these rooms,” she says, pointing to a giant safari-style tent.
It dawns on me that I am going to be living in a room made of cotton canvas and wood, in the Red Rock Canyons of Utah for the next eight weeks.
Cynthia watches me as we step inside.
“Some of this wood is the original repurposed wood from the 1830s, you know. Wonderful isn’t it?”
Cynthia passes me a small polystyrene cup, “Olivia, if you would be so kind as to pee in this cup please and then put the lid back on it. Thank you.”
“What?”
“Compulsory drug testing,” she says, as she stops outside a door with a toilet sign on it.
As I sit on the toilet, trying to make sure that my stream of urine actually goes into the cup and not all over my hand, I can hear Clair de Lune being played on a piano, the notes disappearing into the wilderness.
*
Cynthia pushes open a door, the rabble of noise and laughter inside the room making me jump. No one even looks at me when I enter the room. They’ve obviously been here for a while and seem to have all met each other. As per usual, I’m the outsider. I see Dr. Nate Carmichael, who winks at me, his kind smile touching the outer corner of his eyes. The angel is there, too, showing two boys how to tie a knot in a piece of rope. His eyes are like a harder version of Dr. Carmichael’s and they have the same cheekbones and jaw line.
“Okay everyone, can you all grab a chair and lets put it in a circle in the center of the room. This will be our circle of friendship,” says Dr. Carmichael as he starts the process off.
I’ll be damned if I’m sitting near them. I don’t even belong here with these other freaks. I have nothing in common with anyone here. Fuck it, I’m not getting a chair. I’d rather just stand here at the door. Somehow a sliver of anger overwhelms me.
I watch as one by one, the ‘group members’ grab a chair and do what Nate has just told them.
I continue to stand,but no one says anything.
“Welcome to the Cedars Recovery Center. As you know, I’m Dr. Nathaniel Carmichael and I’ll introduce you to the other members of my team, who you will shortly come to know quite well. But first, a bit about what we do here and why you are all here.” He glances at me standing by the door.
“Young, bright adults like yourselves often struggle with a variety of life challenges and have often developed issues with substance abuse. We have clinically integrated a twelve-step addiction and substance abuse treatment program.”
“Boot camp is what it is. This is abuse,” says an underweight, jittery boy, fiddling with the bandana that keeps slipping over his eyes. He looks like he’s about fourteen.
“No, Miguel, we are most certainly not a boot camp. Boot camps have their origin in the juvenile justice system and utilize military style approaches to discipline to change the student. The philosophy of wilderness therapy, which we use at Cedars is one in which the staff develop relationships based on compassion and respect and utilize nature as a teacher.”
“Man, whatever. It’s all the same. Just different words,” says Miguel, jiggling his legs up and down in agitation.
“No, that’s not correct. Boot camps use coercion and obtain control through the use of intimidation and manipulation and take advantage of a person’s fears. We do not do that here.”
“Well, what are you doing now then, holding us here?”
The group starts laughing, clapping, wolf whistling. One girl sits staring into the center of the circle rocking back and forth, chewing on her finger as if we all did not even exist.
“Settle down, everyone.”
I quickly consider making a quiet exit out of the door, the very idea of making a bolt for it seeming more and more appealing as each second ticks by.
The angel appears to be able to read my mind and beckons me to the pile of stacked chairs in the corner, signaling for me to join in the group. I stand glued to the floor. The angel lifts a chair and holds it out infront of him. Great, like I have a choice.
“Welcome, Olivia,” says Dr. Nate, acknowledging me. “Now let’s all pick up an animal that represents us.”
“She’s a pig,” says Miguel, pointing to the rocker.
“I don’t think that’s quite what Dr. C had in mind.”
It’s the angel. “My name is Gabriel, that is Adam.” He points to hippyish-looking man. “We will be your trek leaders, shadows if you like. There’s one more leader, Shirley, who should be joining us in about ten minutes.”
Nate Carmichael is laying out pieces of white printer paper with pictures of animals on them, “Okay, who’s going to go first?”
Everyone just stares at him.
Gabriel looks at an overweight, disinterested-looking boy who is absorbed in picking out his ear wax and rolling it in balls between his fingers.
“Aaron?”
“Oh, I’ll be the Eagle,” says ear wax Aaron.
“Great choice, an eagle is the strongest bird, able to lift something four times its own body weight during flight,” says Dr. C.
Aaron looks pleased with his choice.
Miguel mutters something about body weight under his breath.
“Miguel, you next.”
“Anaconda, yep, that’s me all right.”
“Another great choice, Miguel. An anaconda snake can squeeze something the same as its own 300 pound body weight to death.”
Miguel smiles,nodding, pleased at his choice.
The girl who was rocking had actually stopped rocking when Gabriel had first spoken, just staring at him. Gabriel looks at her kindly and signals with his head for her to pick a picture.
She picks a leafcutter ant.
“Good, Gillian. Tiny leafcutter ants can lift and carry in their jaws something 50 times their own body weight of about two ounces. That’s the same as a human lifting a truck with its teeth. Nice choice.”
Amy continues to stare but isn’t rocking anymore.
There are three pictures left.
The remaining two in the group launch at the pictures on the ground.
Golden tanned boy in the tracksuit, who looks way too healthy and alive to be here, picks a tiger.
“Jason, way to go. A tiger can carry something 1,200 pounds, twice its own body weight, ten feet up a tree.”
Jason smiles flashing his dazzling white teeth at the group. Miguel pats him on the back.
The girl who looks like a boy, maybe she thinks she’s a boy, maybe that’s why she’s here, has picked a picture of a grizzly bear.
We all look at Dr. C, waiting to hear what he’s got to say about the bear.
On cue, he says, “Nice, Shauna. When it comes to pure strength the grizzly bear can lift over 1,100 pounds, point-eight times its body weight.”
There’s only one picture left on the floor. It’s a dung beetle. I can feel tears starting to form at the back of my eyes.
“Great, guess that one’s mine.”
Gabriel picks it up, handing it to me and says, “The dung beetle is not only the world’s strongest insect but also the strongest animal on the planet when comparing body weights. They can pull 1,141 times their own body weight. This is the equivalent of an average person pulling six double-decker buses full of people.” He holds my gaze.
“Now that’s strong!” says Miguel and everyone starts clapping.
Somehow, my mouth starts to turn up at the sides and I smile along with the others.
A peroxide blonde with buck teeth bursts into the room with a giant pad of paper and markers.
“Hey Everyone, I’m Shirley.”
I start to drift as she starts talking, aware that I’m shivering. My arms feel like someone is rolling over them with a thousand needles. I can hear the piano again. It’s not Clair De Lune anymore.
“Olivia, let’s get you to your room,” says hippy Adam as he reaches for me.
“Hahaha, check out that reaction, girlfriend here has obviously got man issues,” says Girl-boy-girl.
“I’ll take you back,” says Shirley, helpfully guiding me up out of my seat by my elbow.
We just make it to the door before the entire contents of my stomach lurch up out of my mouth, spattering all over the floor, leaving marks on the wall beside it.
“I reckon her poison’s coke,” says Miguel.
“Nah, it’ll be prescription meds.” I can hear them all laughing in the background and Dr. C telling them all to settle down.
We get back to my room. I squeeze my hands between my legs and flop over onto the bed. I need to close my eyes, but I’m vaguely aware that my head is starting to thump, my throat is feeling painfully scratchy and dry, a cramping sensation has begun in my stomach and waves of nausea are running through me. I try and think of what I’ve taken in the last two days: an eightball of coke, a few joints, vodka, tequilla, Red Bull, champagne, oh, and Oxycontin.
