I woke up with the flavor of peach wine coolers on my tongue. It took me a minute to realize that I was still in this hell, not at home with Jana. It was all a dream.
The other students were beginning to wake, their arms stretching above their dirty heads. The counselors were over by their fire warming up something that smelled like hot chocolate and raisin oatmeal. They were talking about something quietly, whispering softly…glancing at the student area with unsteady eyes. One of them stood up and came over to where we were laying and put his hands on his mouth, cup style to amplify his voice.
“Ok, here’s the deal! Get up! I have an announcement!” he shouted, looking around at us.
Everyone sat up and looked in his direction, riveted.
“We’re going to work on our bowdrill fires again today. I want everyone up and started on it in 10 minutes. Shove some dry oats down your throats, do whatever, but there’s no time to make a hot breakfast, you got it? Here’s the reason why. Wallwalker is bringing a deer in tonight. Thats right. We’re going to have meat tonight…a feast if you wanna call it. There will be potatoes and carrots, possibly even some juice for you, but the catch is…if you want some, you had better get that fire. By sundown.” He clapped his hands once, hard. “LETS MOVE PEOPLE!”
We all jumped up and rolled up our blankets, setting them in the middle of our panchos. Some kids opened their rations and shoved some dry oats in their mouths, others took a swig of their water, talking quietly about how they were going to be eating deer that night, so they didn’t want to waste their precious oats on a day with meat.
I stood up with my fireboard and bow and walked over to the area designated for our fire practice. I settled my booted foot down on one side of the fireboard and wrapped the string of the bow around the spindle and began to crank my bow, practicing. I sawed…back, forth, back, forth, back, forth til I couldnt feel my shoulder from the burning of muscles in my untoned teenage arm. Nothing was happening, so I sawed harder.
For 3 hours I did this. Sometimes seeing smoke, sometimes not. Everytime I’d see smoke, I’d start to panic and my spindle would pop out of the twine, making my arm shake in relief from the bowing. One particular time I saw the black dust the friction of wood against wood start to pile up on the paper underneath the hole in my fireboard and I began to get excited. I sawed smoothly over and over til it was a coal surely building in there. Once it was red hot and smoking on its own, I could carefully pick it up and put it in the tinder-bundle (nest) and blow it into a fire. I sawed…and sawed…and sawed until my arm was numb from the elbow to my neck and just as the smoke started to come from the coal on the paper, a drop of sweat fell off of my brow. It sizzled slightly, but in my head I was screaming! This was awful!!! I had worked so hard for this! I had to get this damn fire, and I’d been at it for nearly 4 hours at this point.
I stopped for water and as I did, a young boy, no more than 12 was standing by me. He’d already got his fire, miraculously, and he was able to relax this day and write in his journal for as long as he wanted. He looked at me and started to speak.
“I just get mad. That’s what I do. I think about how my mom used to leave me with my grandpa and how he’d punch my ear. He’d punch it over and over because I didn’t hand him his cigarettes fast enough, or because he’d drop something and I wasn’t quick enough to hand it back to him. One time he kicked my dog because it walked in front of the tv when he was watching it. So get mad. That’s what I do…it works.”
I looked at him. He was a tiny little thing, chubby, his orange hair unruly from laying in the dirt out here. He had freckles on his cheeks and I couldn’t imagine how hard it was for this sweet baby to be out here alone. Even more, I couldn’t imagine what he’d done that would merit this kind of punishment. I’d find out later, but this day, he was as innocent to me as a newborn baby.
“Ok,” I said. “I’ll try that….thanks,” I added.
I stepped back to my bowdrill and breathed deeply in as I prepared myself for the task at hand. As I bent over, I remembered how the night before, the counselor Nick had let his hands wander. I thought about how he pinched the skin on my ribcage with his hands as he bit my ears and whispered to me how he knew I wanted him. I bowed harder. The scent of his soap filled my nostrils. I bowed even harder. His musty breath felt like it was even then on my shoulder. I bowed harder than I knew I could.
I didn’t even notice the huge smoldering coal that was piling up on the paper until someone yelled at me that the smoke was bothering their eyes. I hurriedly picked up the paper and dumped its contents into the nest and held it up above my head and began to gently blow from underneath as I cradled the bundle in my hands. Thick white smoke started to curl out of it and I blew even more, still soft as not to blow it out. Suddenly, an orange flame licked up through the middle of it and somebody yelled that I’d gotten my fire. Counselors came over and watched me set it down in the firepit. It joined the other fire that was going and I watched it burst into flames. I didn’t even feel the heat of it.
The memories of Nick and the night before were still burning my brain.
next: the feast
On another topic, don’t forget to vote for me on the Blogette Awards! I could win $1000 if I get enough votes! This sure would help, guys. Look on my sidebar to the right under my profile, click on the second one down, the one that says “Vote Here Too”!!! Thanks sooooooooooooooo much you guys.
Alli
me Says:
May 10th, 2005 at 11:55 amVisit me
You have an excellent blog here. I’m sorry all this happened to you-it’s outrageous. Can’t wait to keep reading-blog on…….
Jennifer Says:
May 12th, 2005 at 2:31 pmVisit Jennifer
Alli,
I am so sorry that any of this happened to you. Thank you for sharing your story. I know this must be very hard for you to revisit. Thank you for being so strong. You are in my thoughts.
This is fake Says:
May 16th, 2005 at 9:27 amVisit This is fake
This is an entertaining story - for 12 year olds.
Did you copy and paste this from alt.sex.stories just to try and ‘win’ a thousand bucks?
You are a lying loser
Bre Says:
May 18th, 2005 at 9:22 pmVisit Bre
I believe you.
Serenity Says:
May 19th, 2005 at 5:59 pmVisit Serenity
“This is fake”: shut up you bitter little bitch.
Alli: I also believe you and have been reading every single entry…we’re on three hours now. Sometimes things so horrible and unimaginable happen to young people during their childhoods that others, who have never experienced a hard day in their lives simply cannot believe it. It’s foreign to them, they don’t want to admit that the world isn’t all rosy and glory like they were brought up to believe. Their anger stems from this; their anger comes from the guilt of knowing they had it good while others suffered needlessly. There’s nothing they can do so they lash out at those who did experience trauma.
I know. I’m a survivor myself. I didn’t go to Challenger or anything like that…but the events in my early years of life were horrific. You are strong because you talk about it. I can’t talk about it because I know people will blame me for it, even though I was just a child or they won’t believe me and accuse me of looking for attention or that I have some other motive for relaying my story. Or worse yet, condascend me with their pity.
But, it’s their problem. Not mine. Eventually I’ll grow strong enough to write it all out. You are there. You are writing it. You are getting it out of you. You’ve won.
Speaking of winning, since I just found the site today I am hoping it’s not too late to vote for you. I hope you win that money. It’s not even consolation for what you went through…the double whammy of going through it and the realization that your own parents put you there even after you pleaded with them to listen to you…but I still hope you win. The writing around the story is tragically beautiful.
Gambitgirl Says:
May 25th, 2005 at 12:41 pmVisit Gambitgirl
i believe alli.
James Says:
May 29th, 2005 at 12:15 pmVisit James
The guy who says this is fake is an awful person. It’s pretty fucking obvious she’s being sincere, and it’s a demonstrable fact that places like this exist. So don’t be a jackass.
Sandra Says:
June 11th, 2005 at 12:34 amVisit Sandra
Listen THIS IS FAKE:
I don’t believe you’ve ever gone through any horrific struggles so keep your mouth shut about things you’d probably never understand in your entire miserable stinking life. Allie, continue to keep strong.
Lauren Says:
June 30th, 2005 at 11:29 amVisit Lauren
THIS IS FAKE:
First of, you are an ass. I know Alli personally and when she talks about it, you can tell it is real. She is also one of the sweetest people I know. I am trying to start a drug prevention camp for teenagers and she has generously offered to help with raising funds and more since it is non-profit. And I am sure that is more then you have ever done.
Patti Kling Says:
July 27th, 2005 at 9:25 pmVisit Patti Kling
Alli,
Keep up the writing. At 40 years of age, I look back to when I was 18. My parents convinced me that checking myself into a mental healt hospital was best for me. 8 months later, I was a different person and my innocence was lost. I feel for what you have gone through, my experience may have been different, but we are both survivors, continue with your story.
Patti
sharmaine. Says:
August 24th, 2005 at 6:36 amVisit sharmaine.
whoever said this is fake is an asshole. seriously, if you have your doubts, keep it to yourself so you don’t reveal to the world your status of major retard. and christ, saying something so unsubstantiated and foolish proves further what alli is speaking out against the whole time. that people are just heartless. this incredible girl is writing about some horrific shit, and people are trying to continually bring her down.
stay strong as hell, alli.
Liz Says:
December 10th, 2005 at 12:32 pmVisit Liz
Yeah, it’s a great blog. Should be a book, really.
About this food thing… I just get more and more disgusted as I follow along! I know institutional food isn’t always that great. I went on a residential “French camp” once, which I think lasted about a week, or 5 days, or something. It was in a British building much like a stately home. But the level of food was disgusting - on a much lower level than than “school dinners”. It was jail food, as opposed to canteen food. It was particularly IRONIC; as we were supposed to be imbibing French culture and well as language - we had to say everything in French; but I don’t think that they had bothered to hire any kind of a French person as a cook, which rather spoiled the experience! I suppose they were cutting corners, as many of these semi-charity places do. “Youth camps”. (The nearest I ever got to such squalor again was a like, “youth hostel” kind of thing in Scotland, but we cooked our own food.) Our parents paid - not a vast amount, but obviously it wasn’t enough for the organisers! I hate penny-pinchers. Decent food can be cooked cheaply and simply.
As for dragging people around in the desert with only (raw) dried oats to eat… that is the pits. Couldn’t the states order at least that they should have army rations?? K-rations? On all such trips?
They COULDN’T treat adult prisoners, convicts, like that, you know. Not in Britain; nor in America. I think they know that, and that it would cause a massive riot, so they wouldn’t dare.. though they try the scam on a bit, in “tent cities”, don’t they. Again: which are for petty, often non-convicted criminals, in the main.
Ha ha… they’d never DARE try it with some real adult Crips or something… I’d like to see it!!
Most of all I hate the sexual assault bits.
lexi Says:
September 25th, 2006 at 1:47 amVisit lexi
some people are such idiots, it only takes a google search to verify her story…
Rose Says:
October 24th, 2006 at 12:39 amVisit Rose
I cannot believe this but its true the more and more I read Allison the more my memory is coming back I remember I was in handcarts for the first time we were at lake powell and that day we could just chill out on our sleeping bag I remember Im not good with names at all and I dont know if its you but I will describe what happen the councler had dark dark hair and eyes and very dark complection but he may have been just a tanned person or spanish he was one of our counclers and then we had 2 other counclers which were female my point is that something happen between the male councler and the student and alls I know is the councler dissapeared and was no longer with us Im not sure if it was you or another girl having a sexual episode by one of the male workers there .
Alli Says:
October 24th, 2006 at 12:43 amVisit Alli
Rose. It was me. That was him. You’re spot on. This is freaking me out.
Testssss Says:
November 24th, 2006 at 4:15 amVisit Testssss
Hello
Bye