The Boiling of the Bones

15. Rocky Mountains

Life in the Rocky Mountain Rehabilitation Center was rough. They deliberately went out of their way to make it miserable. I couldn't play the guitar. The structure of it was very militaristic. We marched and did push-ups a lot. Our uniforms were gray—like drab prisoner uniforms. They woke us at five every morning for the first of three workout sessions. We did sit ups, push-ups, pull ups.

Then we dressed and cleaned our rooms. We had strict inspections. The beds had to be made perfectly. They had lots of stupid rules. If you didn't pass any of the inspections or broke rules, there were punishments ranging from extra push-ups to isolation in solitary confinement--a small square room with no bed or chair, just a concrete floor to lay on.

It was a military tactic. They were trying to break down individuality to build teamwork skills. Some guys never learned. They pushed back and rebelled and were dealt an endless string of punishments. It was hell. I quickly learned to comply with their stupid rules simply to make life easier.

I pushed myself harder and faster through workouts to get stronger. I had nothing else to do. Days stretched to weeks as I slowly fell into the same miserable routine. I kept to myself. I made a few acquaintances; none I'd keep in touch with. The other guys were cool, but some scared me. They'd actually committed crimes. Some were gang members. They'd stolen cars and sold drugs and broken into homes. One kid stabbed and killed somebody. He almost went to prison, there was a trial, but the other guy started it, so the jury believed he'd acted in self-defense, to a degree. They'd reprimanded him here. Which I suppose was practically prison.

Months dragged by. Winter turned to Spring, then to summer. It felt like years.

In June I missed graduation. We had a lame ceremony. I was awarded a diploma along with seventeen other guys and a bunch of girls. There was no audience, no pomp and ceremony, no applause. The diploma said, Rocky Mountain Rehabilitation School. I scoffed. As if I'd cherish and always want to remember that. Yeah right.

I missed all the pictures and yearbook signings. I could never forgive my parents for taking that away from me. The staff took away my diploma and said I could have it back when I was released.

I channeled my energy into getting stronger. The workouts were paying off. I'd always been fit with a solid core, but my body was starting to look chiseled. I developed a nice six-pack of washboard abs. My chest, shoulders and biceps were noticeably larger and nicely sculpted.

After seven months I figured they had to release me on my eighteenth birthday. Legally, I'd be an adult, responsible for my own choices. But one of the other guys said that wasn't necessarily the case because your parents can legally obtain guardianship if they can prove to a court, you're incapable of making your own decisions.

Knowing my dad was a legal maestro, I feared he might persuade a judge that such was the case, even though nobody in their right mind would come to such a conclusion if they met me. Surely, I'd have to appear in court remotely or at least make a deposition where I could plead my case for independence.

My birthday was July seventeenth. As the day approached, I was on pins and needles waiting to be released. The night of the sixteenth, I couldn't sleep. I'd seen guys go home. Without any advance notice, they get you in the morning around seven or eight.

I'd watched two dozen guys laugh and smile or start crying in a few cases.

I didn't tell anyone it was my eighteenth birthday; we woke at five and we did our first workout session. I showered. At six, the sun peeked over a mountain with a giant white letter Y oddly carved into the side. I thought it needed a question as well.

As in, why me?

Why am I in this hellhole?

I made my bed. Seven am came. An administrator entered the room. He glanced around.