The Journey Back Read online

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  THE ANTELOPE AND THE ALLIGATOR

  It was best, I decided, for me and Buddy to walk the towpath at night because the police had to be looking for me by then. After hiding out all day in the bushes I had pretty much dried off, but my pants were torn in the knee and the jacket, which had been tied around my waist, dried all wrinkly so I was sure I looked pretty beat up.

  Walking, all I could think about was food. I knew that there was still a pancake mix and the oriental-style spicy chicken dinner in the backpack. But they were my absolute fallbacks.

  The moonlight wasn’t as bright as the night before, but there was still enough for me to see things along the way. Like all of a sudden I’m on this bridge crossing high above a creek and underneath I see this beautiful triple-arch thing. When we stopped for a rest, I pulled the flashlight and the guidebook out of the backpack and read that this arch thing was the Conococheague Aqueduct. Get this: it was a bridge for the canal. A canal which was dug into the dirt and filled with tons of water once crossed over the creek on this aqueduct. If you were a fish back then that looked up one day, you’d see a boat floating up there. Amazing!

  Back in 1920, a canal boat busted through one side of the aqueduct and fell into the creek below. The captain’s son, walking with the mules pulling that boat, was fast thinking enough to cut the towline so the mules didn’t get hauled overboard, too. Those canal boat owners got attached to those mules. I know ’cause I remembered this song, which started going through my head: I got a mule and her name is Sal. Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal. She’s a good worker and a good old pal. Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal . . .

  While I walked, Buddy trotted right by my side, like he was my good ole pal. If I stopped, he stopped. If I started jogging, he trotted. We even went to the bathroom in the woods at the same time. Walking along toward morning when we could see better, we saw some pretty sights, like this great blue heron that flew low—like a glider—right down over the middle of the canal. Since the canal isn’t used anymore, parts of it have dried up. Huge trees grow in some places and in one grassy spot, a whole herd of deer was grazing . . . Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal . . . Once, we saw ten turtles, looked like sliders, clumped together on a log, soaking up sun.

  Sometimes, we’d hear these far-off rumbles that turned out to be freight trains going by on the opposite side of the river. I tried to count the boxcars once. Got up to around seventy-five and gave up.

  Just about the time I figured we ought to find a place to hide out for the day, we come to this visitors center. I didn’t want to get seen, but I was so hungry I snuck around, poking in the trash barrels.

  “You’re up early,” a voice behind me said.

  I whipped around and must’ve looked startled—not to mention embarrassed.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” this guy said. He looked like someone my parents’ age, only he wore a ranger outfit and had a long, gray ponytail and a big mustache. “I was just opening up for the day.”

  “Oh . . . yeah, good morning,” I replied, trying to sound normal while I sized up the guy and wondered if he might be on the lookout for a Cliffside runaway.

  “You hiking the towpath?” the guy asked.

  Just then, Buddy caught up and sat beside me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Me and my dog, we’re hiking the path for a couple days.”

  “Where you from?” he asked.

  I had to think quick. Where was I from? I recalled one end of the trail. “Cumberland,” I told him.

  “Ah! You’re doin’ the whole towpath then? All the way to Georgetown?”

  “Yup!” I nodded. “All the way.”

  The guy kind of looked me over. What did he see? The tear in my pants? The wrinkled jacket? The dirt on my face? A little bit of stubble on my chin?

  “Well, you might want to keep an eye out for the weather today—clouds moving in. Supposed to be a storm blowing through tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks very much. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “If you need any supplies, we sell a few things inside. Bread, peanut butter, water, that kind of thing.”

  Man, I would have loved some of that peanut butter! But I suspected it cost more than the three dollars I had in my pocket.

  “I’m all set.” I started walking away fast then ’cause that guy must’ve wondered why I was poking in the trash and where all my gear was. I stepped up my pace and wondered where Buddy went. Had I lost him already?

  All of a sudden the guy shouted, “Hey! Come back here!”

  I didn’t even turn around, I just took off running. I bet I ran half a mile before I glanced backward. That’s when I saw Buddy trotting after me with a loaf of bread in his mouth.

  “You little thief!” I knelt down, breathless, and reached out my hand. “Give!” Buddy dropped the entire loaf in my hands. “You’re something else, you know it?” I rubbed him on the head.

  We went another couple miles before we hid in the woods and dove into that bread. It was plain old white bread, but it was delicious. We ate three pieces each and I washed mine down with sips of river water. I stuffed the rest of the loaf in the backpack, and we settled in to hide for the day.

  Buddy went right to sleep, but I couldn’t so I pulled out the guidebook again and read up on the dam that nearly killed me, Dam No. 5. It was one of a bunch of dams built on the river to force water into the canal. What’s so historic about the dam is that during the Civil War, Stonewall Jackson tried to blow it up. In December of 1861 Confederate soldiers slid into the water at night and started hacking away at the dam with sledgehammers. But in the morning, Union soldiers blasted them with a cannon. There was a big battle over the next couple days, but the Confederates finally gave up.

  Wow. Made me feel weird having gone over a dam that was the site of a Civil War battle.

  By evening, when I started walking again, I noticed it was clouding up and I remembered the ranger’s warning about rain. When it started to sprinkle I headed for cover in this old stone building that had a couple walls and part of the roof missing. It was dark already so I took out the flashlight and shined it on a sign that called the building a lock house. There were pictures of the lockkeeper who once lived there with his family. It was his job, I read, to fill or drain the locks, which raised or lowered the canal boats from one level to another. Cool, I thought, how somebody invented all that stuff.

  Inside the lock house, I sat on the dirt floor and took the backpack off. I looked for my sweatshirt, forgetting that I had lost it when we took that dive over the dam. The temperature had really dropped, so I put the gray jacket back on and zipped it up. Buddy lay down beside me. I was so hungry my stomach rumbled.

  After sitting there in the dark for a long time, listening to the rain pouring down outside, I gave in and pulled out the bread. I also ripped open the bag of oriental-style spicy chicken. It was all dry and powdery. Dehydrated, the pouch said. But since I didn’t have a fire or a pot to cook in, I just sprinkled some on a piece of bread and ate it. Parts of it, like the vegetables, were hard as stones and the noodles were crunchy instead of warm and soft. But—this is how desperate I was—I closed my eyes and savored every bite.

  Buddy had two pieces of bread, same as me. Then I took a big swallow of river water from the bottle. Dinner was over.

  I was tired of reading the guidebook so I pulled the white card out of my pocket and turned on the little red flashlight. I shone it smack on the “AMBCs” of anger:

  A = Activating Event

  M = Mind Activity

  B = Body Reactions

  C = Consequences

  Anger. They said that was like my major problem.

  I clicked off the light and shoved the card back in my pocket. Didn’t need to run down the batteries on that crap.


  Darn right I was angry. My father was to blame for all of it, too. True, I still hadn’t figured out exactly how I was going to protect my mom and the kids from him. But I’d find something, or something would come to me, I was sure of it.

  I rested my head against the brick wall behind me. The river was about a hundred yards away, with rain bouncing off it, creating a gray haze. When lightning flashed I could see two small islands with skinny trees and overgrown bushes halfway across the river. The islands looked like they could’ve been big animals, like giant water buffaloes wallowing in the river.

  That made me think back to the white erase board in Miss Laurie’s office, how one day she had drawn a wavy-line river with a blue felt-tip marker and then added these two animals in black, a big-horned antelope standing on shore, and an alligator cruising the water with his mouth open showing off his big, sharp teeth.

  “That’s the antelope and the alligator,” she told me.

  “No kidding,” I said. “But what’s it mean? I mean, why’d you draw it?”

  “Well, I’m glad you asked,” she said, smiling. And she did have a nice smile. But then she went and told me this little story that made me uncomfortable. She said the antelope on shore was supposed to be me. I was looking across the river at my home. But there was this alligator—my dad—in the water. I had to figure out, she said, how to get home, across the river, while avoiding the alligator.

  Get it?

  Well, I got it all right. Only I had to shake my head. “Miss Laurie, I don’t mean no disrespect, but you don’t understand. I spent half my life trying to avoid my dad. But what can you do when you’re little and there’s no place to hide?”

  “Digger, were there any signs of when your dad was about to go off? Did his coming home late mean he’d been drinking? Was that a heads-up?”

  “No.” I kept shaking my head. “No signs. Nothing like that. My dad didn’t work half the time so he didn’t have like a regular schedule.”

  “When he was sober, did you try to talk to him?”

  I sat up and looked her in the eye. “You can’t talk to my dad. He’s like a brick wall. Even if you think he’s listening, he lives by his own rules and they change every day!”

  Miss Laurie frowned, so I gave her an example.

  “Okay, look,” I said. I tried to explain it to her. “One day my guidance counselor, Mr. Benoit, from my middle school? He came out to my house. This was back in sixth grade. He wanted to talk to my parents about why I’d missed so much school. Was I sick? Was there a family emergency? Well, I was standing there in the kitchen so he could see I wasn’t dying from pneumonia or anything.

  “My father wasn’t there, but my mother sat at the kitchen table. ‘No family emergency,’ she said. ‘He’s been helping my husband with work.’ But she couldn’t go on. She couldn’t talk. She leaned her forehead into one of her hands and folded. My mom, she’s a good person, really, but she’s just not strong when it comes to challenging my dad.

  “I spoke up so Mr. Benoit would lay off my mom. I told him the truth—that I had to stay home from school and help my dad haul brush at this construction site ’cause I was being punished.

  “He asked me why. ‘What did you do? Why were you being punished?’

  “My mom and me, our eyes met. I hadn’t said anything for years, so why start then? Maybe because I was sick of it, that’s why. I was still afraid of my dad, sure. It hurt to get whapped upside the head. But nothing ever got better and I was worried he’d start beating on Hank and LeeAnn.

  “‘I have to stay home,’ I finally told Mr. Benoit, ‘on account of I brought home a good report card.’

  “Of course he didn’t believe it. ‘That’s crazy!’ he said.

  “I shrugged. ‘My dad said he didn’t want no smart-ass son. What he needed was someone to help him get his work done.’

  “Well, they got hold of my dad and give him this big lecture about child labor laws and how you couldn’t keep a kid out of school like that to make him work, and my dad backed off. I was in class the very next day and my dad never said another word about it. See? You never knew. I think Dad was afraid those Child Protective people from the county would take us kids away. But, like, why would he care?

  “Anyway, I never tried as hard in school after that.”

  Miss Laurie hung on every word I said and I have to admit, it was kind of nice having someone care about what I was saying.

  “Here’s the kicker,” I went on. “I never explained to Mr. Benoit that the whole reason I worked so hard to bring my grades up was to make my dad proud, so maybe he wouldn’t be so mean, and so maybe he’d let me go out for basketball. I thought if he went to basketball games at night, he wouldn’t drink so much and could sort of be like a normal dad.

  “I was dreaming though, wasn’t I, Miss Laurie? It’s not ever going to happen. He won’t change. Some kids, they just don’t live in normal families and nothing you say in here can change that.”

  Miss Laurie was quiet. I mean, I know she said something to try to make me feel better because that was her job. But really, what could she say that would make a difference? What could she do? What could anybody do?

  So, as far as I’m concerned, the whole point of the antelope/alligator story is out of whack. Avoiding my old man is not the answer, or the challenge. Getting rid of him was the answer. How to do that was the challenge.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  * * *

  NEVER AGAIN

  A flash of lightning jolted me from sleep. My eyes flew open—just in time to catch sight of the snake coiled up in the leaves near my feet. It had different-colored bands and a yellow tail and sure looked like a copperhead to me!

  I froze. I was glad Buddy hadn’t seen it yet. Thunder boomed so loud it shook the ground. In another flash of light, I saw the snake raise its head. Yup! That snake’s head had a triangle shape to it, which is a huge warning sign that the snake is poisonous.

  Slowly I pulled in my feet. At the same time, I reached for the backpack in slow motion. I sure didn’t want to deal with a snakebite out in the middle of nowhere.

  Gripping the edge of the backpack and holding my breath, I waited for the next flash of light. When it came—and when I saw there wasn’t a snake there no more—I grabbed the backpack, yelled “Buddy!” and tore out of there. Thunder boomed as I jumped over a ditch and ran down the trail with the rain pouring down and the dog at my heels.

  That snake kept me going a long ways. I ran and walked in the rain for hours that night. All the next day, hiding out again, I was wet, hungry, and just plain miserable. Even after sitting in the sun for a few hours I never got completely dry. Like my underwear was damp and stuck to my skin. I couldn’t lie down and get comfortable either. And I was hungry.

  I tried to think of other things. Like I saw another beautiful aqueduct, this one over a creek called Antietam, so I read up on it in the guidebook when I stopped to rest. Not far away, there was a big Civil War battle on that creek. Turns out the whole battlefield is still there with cornfields and an old church, even cannons and stuff. A total of twenty-three thousand men died there. When you stop and think about it—that’s a lot of people. I wished I’d taken a better look at Antietam Creek when I passed over it. They say the day of the battle that creek ran red with blood.

  The same day I crossed Antietam Creek my towpath journey got cut short.

  We came to this really beautiful place on the towpath where the Potomac River hooked up with another river called the Shenandoah. A confluence it was called, the place where they joined. In between those two rivers at the confluence was a town on a hilly point of land with a lot of people walking around. A bridge went from the town across the river to my side, and to my left, off the towpath, was a steep mountain. I decided Buddy and I would climb up the mountainside to get out of sight and have a good loo
k at things. It was rough going. At times, I had to pull myself up by grabbing on to tree roots and low branches. And a couple times, I had to push Buddy up in front of me.

  We finally made it to this rocky ledge with a nice view. Down below, a CSX freight train was coming across the train bridge at a snail’s pace and I was close enough to read names on the boxcars: Union Pacific, Burlington Northern, Norfolk Southern. There were huge swirls of graffiti on the boxcars, and in between the slats of the containers, I could see shiny new cars.

  After the train passed, I opened the book and found out that long ago this guy named Harper ran a ferry service here so farmers could get their grain to his mill. The town got named for him: Harpers Ferry.

  I was getting to be a regular ole annoying history nut, wasn’t I? That sure was not my intention. I just didn’t have nothing else to do.

  Sitting on the rock in the sun, I decided to take off my socks and boots to dry them out some more. Buddy was so beat he lay flat on his side, panting. I put away the guidebook and lay down beside the dog for a short nap.

  Right then is when this kid showed up on my rock.

  “Hey,” he said.

  I jumped and sat up.

  “Hey,” I said back, cussing myself silently at the same time ’cause I knew I should have hid better.

  The kid seemed like he was my age. Long, stringy hair fell over part of his face, but his hood was up so it was hard for me to get a good look. He didn’t have a backpack or anything, just big, baggy pants and a gray sweatshirt. I looked behind him to see if there was someone with him, but he was alone.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked. His hands were deep in the pockets of those pants that looked like they were gonna fall off any minute.

  I shrugged. “Sure. Have a seat.”

  He did. Right beside me.