This is the first part of the first chapter of the book i am writing, same as the one from the previous posting. i have more written, but it still needs to be gone over and edited. so, there is more to come. By the way, the book is going to be called Desert.
Are they stupid or something? I thought to myself. I had lived at the Center for Change for three straight months, (plus another five the year before) and still they continued to give me fruit. Everyone knew I hated fruit. My siblings didn’t think much of it, not being fruit people themselves. My parents rolled their eyes; they were used to my picky eating. Viktor, my ex boyfriend, had called me crazy. “It’s like healthy candy!!” he’d say, trying to get me to try a bite of his strawberry yogurt. My own dietician had watched me cry when she tried to force me to eat a bowl of peaches and cottage cheese. In light of this fact, when they had handed me a bag of food to eat on the drive down to Monticello I had expected some sort of consideration to be put into it. But no, there it all sat: an apple, a cup of raspberry yogurt, a bagel with strawberry cream cheese, a bottle of orange juice, a bag of chips, and a tuna salad sandwich which, after taking a bite and almost choking, I discovered had sliced grapes in it. Grapes? In a sandwich? Who DOES that? I mean, SERIOUSLY?
It wasn’t that I was allergic to fruit, or had had some sort of traumatic experience with it as a child. I just didn’t like it; I never had, and it was as simple as that. I opened the bag of chips and turned to look over at my dad. He was sitting behind the wheel, looking out across the road at the mountains in the distance. When he noticed me watching him he turned to me and smiled.
“You’re going to love it out there, Sarah,” he said. I picked at my nails.
“I mean, I’ve done campouts before when your brother was in Scouts, but nothing like this.”
I stuck my pinky finger in my mouth and nibbled at the corner. I had removed my acrylics last night, biting each one off savagely until I had a small pile of plastic chips in my lap and blood seeping out of pink, inflamed cuticles. If I was going to be roughing it, I was determined to at least look the part. I wouldn’t be caught dead as “The Ditzy New Girl With Fake Nails” in a group of well-worn-in campers.
“I can imagine being out there for a few days, but six weeks? That’s a long time. I don’t think I could do it. But you’ll love it, Sarah.”
I shrugged and inserted a chip into my mouth, letting it dissolve slightly before starting to chew. I hadn’t showered the past three days either, but that wasn’t so much about fitting in as plain old apathy. I didn’t have anyone to impress.
“Your mother and I are so proud of you,” he continued. I looked over, confused.
“Wilderness Quest has a very high standard for the students they let in. If you’re not healthy enough, they won’t admit you. They don’t want to have any lawsuits put on them- you know, with kids getting injured or having medical issues out in the middle of the desert with no hospital for miles. We’re so proud that you had the health to qualify. A year ago you would never have made it.”
Yeah, and a year ago I was skinny. You forgot to mention that.
“Thanks, pop. I’m going to try and sleep now, okay?”
“Okay honey.”
I leaned against the car window and closed my eyes. It wasn’t that I was fat or anything, at least not in the eyes of the people who saw me. I just wanted to be thin, dangerously thin, model thin, sick thin, wow-she-looks-like-if-you-touch-her-she’ll-break thin. I wanted my body to look like it was constructed with tinker toys, or even better, spaghetti strands. One long noodle for each leg, one for each arm, one for the torso and a wagon wheel for the head--- with angel hair pasta, not the thick kind. I had gotten pretty close last year but was institutionalized and made to gain the weight back.
By now I knew how unhealthy it was to crave emaciation, be willing to die, sacrifice everything just for the perfect body. I knew how ridiculous and sad I was for wanting what I wanted, and I truly desired to change my distorted thinking. But that was impossible and completely inconceivable to me. I couldn’t turn a switch in my brain and all of a sudden be content with my body at a healthy weight. How could someone- anyone- just alter their reality at will? I wasn’t magic, and asking me to change my thinking patterns was expecting the impossible, something I could NOT do. I couldn’t even bring myself to try anymore; I’d tried so hard for so long and yet I was right back where I started. I couldn’t go home and live with myself if I looked this way. That left two options: either go home and get skinny again, or don’t go home at all. My parents chose the latter.
The countryside whizzed by, changing gradually as we drove further and further south. The polished shops and brick buildings thinned out, replaced by horse pastures, sheer red-rock cliffs, sandy turf dusted in sage brush, and the occasional gas station. I watched as we left it all behind: the telephone wires and lampposts, the sidewalks scattered with people talking on cell phones, the flashing lights and moving billboards. The only things in front of us now were a mountain range and a long strip of highway. No more showers for me, I thought. No more toilet, no more running water, no more microwave, no more bed, no more light switch, no more television
The wilderness program was actually my idea, if you’ll believe it. I knew I wasn’t going home (Janna had informed me of this last week) and I was glad. Home scared the shit out of me. I knew I would relapse if I went back, and despite my desire to do so, I knew that if I continued the lifestyle I’d had three months ago it would be only a matter of days until I killed myself- whether intentionally or accidentally I couldn’t say. But it would happen. Death loomed ahead of me, lounging casually on my bed at home, waiting patiently for me to come back and be claimed.
I had informed Janna of this fact many times in an effort to stay longer at the Center for Change. “I can’t recover, I can’t do it,” I’d say, tears running down my face, my eyes looking plaintively into hers. “Yes you can, Sarah,” she’d say. “You aren’t letting yourself try. When you make ultimatums like ‘I can’t’ you are setting yourself up to fail.” “But it’s TRUE!!” I’d say, and burst out sobbing.
My parents gave me a choice. I could go to another treatment center specialized in eating disorders, or I could go to one that treated all types of problems- drugs, alcohol, whatever. I’d tell them what I wanted in my next place and they’d do their best to accommodate me, but I wasn’t staying at the Center for Change and I wasn’t going home.
I had suggested a wilderness program because my old roommate had been sent to one and I’d heard good things about her experience with it. Lindsay had been kicked out of CFC for freaking out and destroying the family room, and her parents had sent her to some sort of outdoor rehab thing. I hadn’t seen her since, but word had it that she’d had a complete turn around and was now committed to recovery. At the time I hadn’t known what a wilderness program was; when it was described to me (a program where kids get put out in the middle of nowhere and have to survive with hardly anything) I was intrigued, and the vision of it had stuck with me ever since.
I pictured trees, a huge forest that went on and on forever. I pictured myself walking through the woods with a backpack, approaching a small lake and peeling off my shoes and socks to wade through it. I pictured the frogs and fish swimming around, me catching a fish with my bare hands, me starting a fire with flint and rock, cooking the fish on a stick and eating it. I pictured a bear coming up to me when I was asleep, going through my food and then leaving, me telling everyone else about it the next day.
Part of my vision came from an episode of Law & Order I’d seen last month. Part of it was taken from descriptions of another girl at the Center’s experience in an outdoor survival program. It was also loosely based on the book A Walk in the Woods about a man and his friend who walk the Appalachian Trail together. Most of it was my imagination fabricating scenes for my own entertainment. No matter where I got my information from, I was fairly certain of what to expect.
Monday, March 12, 2007
excerpt from the middle of my book: walkabout, part 1
Here’s an excerpt from the middle of one of the books I’m writing. I chose this part because the next chapter contains the explanation for the name of this website. It’s coming soon.
I’d appreciate any and all comments, thoughts, questions and criticisms on my writing. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings- it would be much meaner to lie and tell me it’s perfect as it is; if I believed that, there would be no editing, no work, no improvement, and most likely no publishing. So, hit me with it.
…Except hold off on the grammar/spelling corrections, please. Unless it’s something pertaining to the story, like if I mistake the definition of a word and use it wrong. Please let me know if I do that.
And by the way, for those of you who are confused about what’s going on in the story, I’m sorry for not starting at the beginning. I wrote the first part a year ago, so it’s got some major reworking to do. Once that’s done with, I’ll put it up.
Until then, all I can say about the story is that it follows a 17-year-old girl dealing with severe depression (and various other issues) who gets sent away to a wilderness program in southern Utah. It’s written in the first person, and describes things exactly as she sees and experiences them- the good, the bad, and the ugly. It’s about how the outdoors, living to survive, complete exclusion from society, the silence of being alone in your head, and some exceptional friends can not only change your life forever; they just might save it. Oh yeah, and it’s 100% true.
For the last two nights, we'd camped at pretty much one of the worst sites i've ever had the misfortune to come across- worse than the one where i slept on shards of churt and woke up with a mouse in my hair, worse than the one where we had to drink water with cow placenta in it, worse even than the place where i woke up in a foot and a half of water. what was so bad about this campsite? one thing, really: the wind. well, the combination of wind and sand, really. no matter what you did, where you went, it was always there, whipping around your hair and spitting sand in your eyes and nose and ears and mouth and down your neck and pants. i wish i had a video of us all trying to cook around the fire- we must have looked so pathetic! no matter how hard you tried to guard your pot, everybody ended up eating sand. and just so you know, the term "anasazi seasoning" is not just a euphemism; it's pretty much an outright lie. i probably lost about half a millimeter of tooth enamel in those two days alone, grinding the tiny rocks around my molars with every bite. for once, dave wasn't the only one eating sand for dinner.
Mark sprung it on me that second night, after the girls finished washing their hair with yucca root and we had a trivia contest for the rest of john's food and zach got taken off small world and the old staff drove off. i could tell he'd said it casually in passing, like it was just another matter of business.
"Gabi, Taylor, Jessica- you're back in agreement. Zach, have your essays finished by Saturday. Ryan, find someone aside from dave show you how to roll your pack tomorrow. i understand everyone in this group needs to do traps and digthrows---"
"I made a digthrow my first week! Phil tested it! Outta pine or cottonwood or something. damn, that was a bomb digthrow, man! fuck yeah..."
"Do you still have it?"
"Uhhh....no...."
"Then you need to make a new one for Family. And you're out of agreement for losing it."
"I didn't lose it! I chucked that piece a shit!"
"Doesn't matter. Also, you damaged the wood which means that losing it counts as littering. So Dave is out of agreement. All of you, keep your eyes out this week for digthrow material. I volunteer to help everyone with traps. If you want to get a communications circle going, you can call it during a break on the hike, or else once we get to camp. I want us up every morning to crush coals fifteen minutes after i give the wakeup call- that means everyone out there helping, not just staff and the girls- and once that is done, you will have exactly one hour to check your feet, roll your stuff, and fill up your water bottles before you're late. Then we'll have a goals circle, do a quick camp sweep and start hiking. Remember, every extra minute you take will need to be compensated for. Different counselors find the time in different ways; some will have you hike backwards the way you came. As most of you know, I have my groups find time in the mornings; if we're thirty minutes late leaving camp, we wake up thirty minutes earlier the next morning. I don't know about you guys, but I like my sleep. So I would encourage everyone to do what it takes to be on time. Yes, Sarah, this applies to staff as well. If we're late, everyone wakes up early. Any other questions? Yes, Zach, filling up water has to be done during the one hour. Yes, dropping them and attaching them to your pack does too. No, that is not unfair. How are you supposed to do it that fast? I'm sure you'll find a way. No, I think it's a perfectly reasonable expectation. Zach, do you know how long it takes me to roll my pack? About fifteen minutes. Besides, I don't see what the big deal is- we have jug water, you don't even have to walk far to get it! This is ridiculous. I'm not going to waste time arguing about this. That's fine with me if you don't drop your water, Zach. I won't be the one with giardia. Have fun with that. Okay. Fantastic. Moving on, tomorrow will be Sarah's walkabout---"
I'd been drawing circles idly in the sand with my index finger; at the sound of my name I jerked my head up and snapped my eyes on Mark's. I had to crane my neck uncomfortably far back to see under the brim of my hat, which I always wore pulled down over my face to hide as much of it as possible. I squinted at Mark and tilted my hat back a few inches to see him better. He had to be kidding.
"---if you'll do it, Sarah?"
A question posed to me. My bafflement doubled. Everything in his posture proclaimed confidence and leadership, but the look Mark gave me was hesitant. Not like he doubted my abilities; like he wanted me to try but was convinced I would say no. I gave him a look: you have GOT to be kidding. He looked back at me: I'm not.
"HUH?"
Mark repeated his last sentence, this time leaving out the question part.
"What??? But... Like a practice walkabout?"
Nope. A real one.
"But... I've never even done a practice one before! I mean, unless you count that time with Dave, but that was a total disaster. And it wasn't even by myself!"
It may as well have been for all the help he gave me, I thought to myself, mentally laughing to myself. He'd gone crashing through the brush in the complete wrong direction without consulting me at all, and when Gabi tried to tell him she thought we might be going the wrong way, he'd flipped out and said something along the lines of "fuck you, bitch," afterwhich there ensued an interesting circle ending in a role play. I spent the rest of the hike telling him we were going south when we needed to go northeast, and it wasn't until he listened to me that we got to camp. But that was just one time. And once we'd gotten there I'd cried for an hour; it had been such a miserable experience. Surely I couldn't be expected to do that sort of thing again.
"But... Gabi and Taylor and Zach have been here longer than I have... You must mean them, right? Because... they've been here longer, so... right??"
Nope. No mistake. He meant me.
"But... What??? I--- wh--- ...I just don't get it, WHY??? I can't, I mean, I don't... what???"
I looked around helplessly. Most of the others looked confused too. Mark didn't break his gaze. He looked at me, the hesitance beginning to dissolve into apathy.
"You don't HAVE to do it Sarah."
Now I was annoyed as well as frightened and confused. "I just--- I don't think I CAN..."
"I do."
Well, that was just plain weird. He obviously wasn't aware that I had about as much sense of direction as a peanutbutter sandwich. I got lost in my home town. Like, constantly. Where we'd lived for twelve years. My mom was afraid to let me go to the grocery store by myself because she knew I'd get lost. I got lost every single time I went to therapy in Ludlow. (twice a week every week for over three months) I got lost coming home from the library, which was three miles from our house. I had no idea where the post office was, or the bank, or the local public high school. I even got lost on the way to work one time- how pathetic was THAT?! I knew how to get to Walmart, and to church, and to the orthodontist and the mall, and to the groomer's, and to school. And that was IT.
"Like I said, Sarah, it's your choice. You don't HAVE to do it. I just thought it would be a good day for it, but if you don't want to..."
I took a deep breath and held it for a second, channeling my energy into preventing myself from hyperventilating on the spot. Then I lifted my chin, letting out the air with a scowl. I glared defiantly at Mark. Me? Wimp out? HAH! Not on your life. I snatched off my hat and nudged my glasses up the ridge of my nose with the back of my hand. A bit of sand went down the back of my shirt as I tossed my just-washed, yucca-scented hair.
"Sure, I'll do it."
Mark smiled. I raised my eyebrows haughtily. He leaned back on his hands, pleased, and looked around at the group.
"Any other circle business?" The note of finality insured the brief silence that followed. "No? Well then, let's close."
We all stumbled to our feet, dusting sand off our laps and sweaters and hands, moving in to huddle around the area where we would have had a fire--- the wind had been blowing hot coals everywhere, causing us to put it out as soon as everyone finished cooking. It was a bit sad for me, since I had been the one to bust that night. I hastily put my hat back on and the people on either side of me slid an arm around my shoulders. As I listened to the familiar hum and rhythm of the serenity prayer, I wondered to myself:
...What in the HELL had I just done??!
I’d appreciate any and all comments, thoughts, questions and criticisms on my writing. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings- it would be much meaner to lie and tell me it’s perfect as it is; if I believed that, there would be no editing, no work, no improvement, and most likely no publishing. So, hit me with it.
…Except hold off on the grammar/spelling corrections, please. Unless it’s something pertaining to the story, like if I mistake the definition of a word and use it wrong. Please let me know if I do that.
And by the way, for those of you who are confused about what’s going on in the story, I’m sorry for not starting at the beginning. I wrote the first part a year ago, so it’s got some major reworking to do. Once that’s done with, I’ll put it up.
Until then, all I can say about the story is that it follows a 17-year-old girl dealing with severe depression (and various other issues) who gets sent away to a wilderness program in southern Utah. It’s written in the first person, and describes things exactly as she sees and experiences them- the good, the bad, and the ugly. It’s about how the outdoors, living to survive, complete exclusion from society, the silence of being alone in your head, and some exceptional friends can not only change your life forever; they just might save it. Oh yeah, and it’s 100% true.
For the last two nights, we'd camped at pretty much one of the worst sites i've ever had the misfortune to come across- worse than the one where i slept on shards of churt and woke up with a mouse in my hair, worse than the one where we had to drink water with cow placenta in it, worse even than the place where i woke up in a foot and a half of water. what was so bad about this campsite? one thing, really: the wind. well, the combination of wind and sand, really. no matter what you did, where you went, it was always there, whipping around your hair and spitting sand in your eyes and nose and ears and mouth and down your neck and pants. i wish i had a video of us all trying to cook around the fire- we must have looked so pathetic! no matter how hard you tried to guard your pot, everybody ended up eating sand. and just so you know, the term "anasazi seasoning" is not just a euphemism; it's pretty much an outright lie. i probably lost about half a millimeter of tooth enamel in those two days alone, grinding the tiny rocks around my molars with every bite. for once, dave wasn't the only one eating sand for dinner.
Mark sprung it on me that second night, after the girls finished washing their hair with yucca root and we had a trivia contest for the rest of john's food and zach got taken off small world and the old staff drove off. i could tell he'd said it casually in passing, like it was just another matter of business.
"Gabi, Taylor, Jessica- you're back in agreement. Zach, have your essays finished by Saturday. Ryan, find someone aside from dave show you how to roll your pack tomorrow. i understand everyone in this group needs to do traps and digthrows---"
"I made a digthrow my first week! Phil tested it! Outta pine or cottonwood or something. damn, that was a bomb digthrow, man! fuck yeah..."
"Do you still have it?"
"Uhhh....no...."
"Then you need to make a new one for Family. And you're out of agreement for losing it."
"I didn't lose it! I chucked that piece a shit!"
"Doesn't matter. Also, you damaged the wood which means that losing it counts as littering. So Dave is out of agreement. All of you, keep your eyes out this week for digthrow material. I volunteer to help everyone with traps. If you want to get a communications circle going, you can call it during a break on the hike, or else once we get to camp. I want us up every morning to crush coals fifteen minutes after i give the wakeup call- that means everyone out there helping, not just staff and the girls- and once that is done, you will have exactly one hour to check your feet, roll your stuff, and fill up your water bottles before you're late. Then we'll have a goals circle, do a quick camp sweep and start hiking. Remember, every extra minute you take will need to be compensated for. Different counselors find the time in different ways; some will have you hike backwards the way you came. As most of you know, I have my groups find time in the mornings; if we're thirty minutes late leaving camp, we wake up thirty minutes earlier the next morning. I don't know about you guys, but I like my sleep. So I would encourage everyone to do what it takes to be on time. Yes, Sarah, this applies to staff as well. If we're late, everyone wakes up early. Any other questions? Yes, Zach, filling up water has to be done during the one hour. Yes, dropping them and attaching them to your pack does too. No, that is not unfair. How are you supposed to do it that fast? I'm sure you'll find a way. No, I think it's a perfectly reasonable expectation. Zach, do you know how long it takes me to roll my pack? About fifteen minutes. Besides, I don't see what the big deal is- we have jug water, you don't even have to walk far to get it! This is ridiculous. I'm not going to waste time arguing about this. That's fine with me if you don't drop your water, Zach. I won't be the one with giardia. Have fun with that. Okay. Fantastic. Moving on, tomorrow will be Sarah's walkabout---"
I'd been drawing circles idly in the sand with my index finger; at the sound of my name I jerked my head up and snapped my eyes on Mark's. I had to crane my neck uncomfortably far back to see under the brim of my hat, which I always wore pulled down over my face to hide as much of it as possible. I squinted at Mark and tilted my hat back a few inches to see him better. He had to be kidding.
"---if you'll do it, Sarah?"
A question posed to me. My bafflement doubled. Everything in his posture proclaimed confidence and leadership, but the look Mark gave me was hesitant. Not like he doubted my abilities; like he wanted me to try but was convinced I would say no. I gave him a look: you have GOT to be kidding. He looked back at me: I'm not.
"HUH?"
Mark repeated his last sentence, this time leaving out the question part.
"What??? But... Like a practice walkabout?"
Nope. A real one.
"But... I've never even done a practice one before! I mean, unless you count that time with Dave, but that was a total disaster. And it wasn't even by myself!"
It may as well have been for all the help he gave me, I thought to myself, mentally laughing to myself. He'd gone crashing through the brush in the complete wrong direction without consulting me at all, and when Gabi tried to tell him she thought we might be going the wrong way, he'd flipped out and said something along the lines of "fuck you, bitch," afterwhich there ensued an interesting circle ending in a role play. I spent the rest of the hike telling him we were going south when we needed to go northeast, and it wasn't until he listened to me that we got to camp. But that was just one time. And once we'd gotten there I'd cried for an hour; it had been such a miserable experience. Surely I couldn't be expected to do that sort of thing again.
"But... Gabi and Taylor and Zach have been here longer than I have... You must mean them, right? Because... they've been here longer, so... right??"
Nope. No mistake. He meant me.
"But... What??? I--- wh--- ...I just don't get it, WHY??? I can't, I mean, I don't... what???"
I looked around helplessly. Most of the others looked confused too. Mark didn't break his gaze. He looked at me, the hesitance beginning to dissolve into apathy.
"You don't HAVE to do it Sarah."
Now I was annoyed as well as frightened and confused. "I just--- I don't think I CAN..."
"I do."
Well, that was just plain weird. He obviously wasn't aware that I had about as much sense of direction as a peanutbutter sandwich. I got lost in my home town. Like, constantly. Where we'd lived for twelve years. My mom was afraid to let me go to the grocery store by myself because she knew I'd get lost. I got lost every single time I went to therapy in Ludlow. (twice a week every week for over three months) I got lost coming home from the library, which was three miles from our house. I had no idea where the post office was, or the bank, or the local public high school. I even got lost on the way to work one time- how pathetic was THAT?! I knew how to get to Walmart, and to church, and to the orthodontist and the mall, and to the groomer's, and to school. And that was IT.
"Like I said, Sarah, it's your choice. You don't HAVE to do it. I just thought it would be a good day for it, but if you don't want to..."
I took a deep breath and held it for a second, channeling my energy into preventing myself from hyperventilating on the spot. Then I lifted my chin, letting out the air with a scowl. I glared defiantly at Mark. Me? Wimp out? HAH! Not on your life. I snatched off my hat and nudged my glasses up the ridge of my nose with the back of my hand. A bit of sand went down the back of my shirt as I tossed my just-washed, yucca-scented hair.
"Sure, I'll do it."
Mark smiled. I raised my eyebrows haughtily. He leaned back on his hands, pleased, and looked around at the group.
"Any other circle business?" The note of finality insured the brief silence that followed. "No? Well then, let's close."
We all stumbled to our feet, dusting sand off our laps and sweaters and hands, moving in to huddle around the area where we would have had a fire--- the wind had been blowing hot coals everywhere, causing us to put it out as soon as everyone finished cooking. It was a bit sad for me, since I had been the one to bust that night. I hastily put my hat back on and the people on either side of me slid an arm around my shoulders. As I listened to the familiar hum and rhythm of the serenity prayer, I wondered to myself:
...What in the HELL had I just done??!
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