The Journey Back Read Online Free Page B
Author: Priscilla Cummings
knew a little bit about those helicopters âcause my old friend Brady had a cousin Carl, who was a paramedic. Carl took us with him one day to the state police barracks in Centreville to see a state chopper that was parked there. It was a twin engine Dauphine Europcopter and we actually got to sit inside. This guy, this pilot who actually flew choppers in Vietnam, explained all the controls and showed us that special camera underneath the helicopter nose. It was called FLIR, which stands for Forward Looking Infrared. I never forgot that because that camera was so cool. What it did, it could tell temperature differences on the ground and things would show up black and white on this little screen in the cockpit. Like a human body? Itâs warm, right? So the camera would pick up that a warm body was on the ground and flash an image to the pilot. Even if it was dark out, the camera could do this.
I dug myself in best I could, hoping that camera couldnât get a picture of me if I was curled up in a tight little ball beneath the thick bushes. That or else theyâd figure I was an animal or something.
Lying there, making myself as small as possible by hugging my arms and legs, I listened as the chopper noise grew louder and louder, finally passing directly overhead. I lay still, barely breathing, until the helicopterâs sound grew fainter, like a distant heartbeat in the sky.
I didnât want to take the chance of getting spotted, so I decided to hide out for a while. Hidden by the bushes, I sat up and took off one boot to shake a stone out. Then I took off the other boot, too, and peeled off both socks so they could dry out a little. Everything was wet and muddy from sloshing through that swamp. I saw big blisters on my feet, but there wasnât anything I could do for them so after a while I put my damp socks back on in case I had to leave in a hurry.
About that time, I realized how hungry I was and felt for the box of Cocoroos in my pocket. But I decided Iâd better save them for when I was
really
starving. In my other pocket, I found a balled-up Kleenex and my white card.
I took the card out and was getting ready to flick it into the water down below, but then I realized that the card could float downstream and become a clue. I held it in my hand and looked at it. They give us that card the first day we signed in at Cliffside. It was about four inches by four inches and laminated so we could keep it in our pocket all the time. We were told to memorize it, all the tiny print, front and back. Like we had to recite the twelve problem areas us boys fall into and the four most common thinking errors we make, plus a whole lot of other stuff so we could change our ways.
I knew the whole thing. Memorized it the first week just for something to do. With my eyes closed, I could repeat the entire card, starting top left with those twelve problem areas: low self-image, easily angered, inconsiderate to others, aggravates others, authority problem, alcohol or drug problem, stealing, lying, etc.
Yup. I must have gone over that list a dozen times with Miss Laurie, my mental health counselor. I liked Miss Laurie. She was pretty, with long dark hair she pulled back into a ponytail. She wore pink fingernail polish and interesting earrings, always something dangly. And she smelled good, too. First two days I was in her office I didnât say a thing, and she didnât care. She said it was okay to just sit there if I wanted. She offered me candy from her jar and I took a piece, a little Hershey bar. I sat there eating chocolate and watching the angelfish swim around in their tank for a full hour.
âAnything we talk about in here stays here,â Miss Laurie told me. âI donât report back to juvenile detention.â
But still I didnât talk. She did paperwork while I watched the fish and picked at a hangnail.
Along about the third or fourth time, Miss Laurie played a game of cards with me and
I dug myself in best I could, hoping that camera couldnât get a picture of me if I was curled up in a tight little ball beneath the thick bushes. That or else theyâd figure I was an animal or something.
Lying there, making myself as small as possible by hugging my arms and legs, I listened as the chopper noise grew louder and louder, finally passing directly overhead. I lay still, barely breathing, until the helicopterâs sound grew fainter, like a distant heartbeat in the sky.
I didnât want to take the chance of getting spotted, so I decided to hide out for a while. Hidden by the bushes, I sat up and took off one boot to shake a stone out. Then I took off the other boot, too, and peeled off both socks so they could dry out a little. Everything was wet and muddy from sloshing through that swamp. I saw big blisters on my feet, but there wasnât anything I could do for them so after a while I put my damp socks back on in case I had to leave in a hurry.
About that time, I realized how hungry I was and felt for the box of Cocoroos in my pocket. But I decided Iâd better save them for when I was
really
starving. In my other pocket, I found a balled-up Kleenex and my white card.
I took the card out and was getting ready to flick it into the water down below, but then I realized that the card could float downstream and become a clue. I held it in my hand and looked at it. They give us that card the first day we signed in at Cliffside. It was about four inches by four inches and laminated so we could keep it in our pocket all the time. We were told to memorize it, all the tiny print, front and back. Like we had to recite the twelve problem areas us boys fall into and the four most common thinking errors we make, plus a whole lot of other stuff so we could change our ways.
I knew the whole thing. Memorized it the first week just for something to do. With my eyes closed, I could repeat the entire card, starting top left with those twelve problem areas: low self-image, easily angered, inconsiderate to others, aggravates others, authority problem, alcohol or drug problem, stealing, lying, etc.
Yup. I must have gone over that list a dozen times with Miss Laurie, my mental health counselor. I liked Miss Laurie. She was pretty, with long dark hair she pulled back into a ponytail. She wore pink fingernail polish and interesting earrings, always something dangly. And she smelled good, too. First two days I was in her office I didnât say a thing, and she didnât care. She said it was okay to just sit there if I wanted. She offered me candy from her jar and I took a piece, a little Hershey bar. I sat there eating chocolate and watching the angelfish swim around in their tank for a full hour.
âAnything we talk about in here stays here,â Miss Laurie told me. âI donât report back to juvenile detention.â
But still I didnât talk. She did paperwork while I watched the fish and picked at a hangnail.
Along about the third or fourth time, Miss Laurie played a game of cards with me and
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