Under Lock and Key

14: The Full Moon

Chapter Fourteen: The Full Moon

Lee Clarke, October 28th, 1946

12:50 pm

It was Leisure hour.

I sat with Donny, reading a story I'd assigned him to write. It was finally cold outside. Far colder than I'd imagined it could get. This place was so hot in the summer, now cold, deep into Autumn. Donny sat, biting his thumbnail. I knew he wanted to put it into his mouth, but we'd worked on that too. So he didn't.

Story is a bit of an exaggeration. I'd asked him to write a few sentences to see if he could. About anything. He'd worked hard on it. During class with Mr. Finster, where he and the other littles were completely ignored. I sat at my own desk, taking inventory of all the nicks and grooves in the wooden surface.

Trying to pretend Davey didn't exist. He was just another fellow, like all the other fellows here at this jail for kids school. Ignoring him when I accidentally caught him staring at me.

Trying not to look at Kelly, who sat at his desk, pencil flying as he effortlessly completed any assignment. Tried not to think about how he sat, his body long and lean, his sleeves rolled up, his forearms with scattered dark hair.

Trying not to look at Wes.

Who sat as he'd always done. Working quietly. But with a heaviness surrounding him that wasn't there before the fires.

And now, as I read Donny's labored sentences, I watched as Wes trudged across the yard, everyone avoiding him. Watched as he sat down in front of the burned out husk of a tree that he'd lit up like a torch a month ago. The tree was tough, and had made it out of the firestorm. Not intact, not alive. But hardened like coal.

Everyone liked Wes a month ago. Everyone. He was a happy, smiling kid. A twelve year old who was friendly, hard working during chores, respectful to adults. Likable in every way.

He spent two weeks digging holes out in the scrubland, coming back to the dorm every night his hands red with weeping blisters. We all watched as he wrapped them in gauze, nobody talking to him, letting him sleep unbothered.

He'd gotten another two years added to his sentence.

Which meant four more years to go.

It was in Morality a week after the fire, that he confessed what happened. Why he was here in the first place.

=

"Do you want to talk about it, Wes?" Mr. Campbell asked.

Everyone in the circle stared at their feet. Even the littles were quiet. Listening. Wondering what could have changed their friend from someone they knew, to a stranger.

"I guess."

He sounded like an old man, instead of a kid. Not even a teenager yet.

"I light fires."

I wondered if Lewis would make a smart ass comment. But he didn't. He wasn't even looking at Wes. He was staring out of the window behind Stan's chair. It was raining. We could hear it dance on the roof.

"I don't know. I always have. When I was seven, I lit one in my backyard. A pile of leaves in a garbage can. My parents were there, they let me. It was something we did every year. To clear up the yard waste. I remember liking it. The smell of the burning leaves. The way the fire seemed almost alive."

I watched him relive the memory of that moment. Far away in his head. Back home, the home he missed, with the parents he loved.

"I lit another one in the can, by myself, when my parents were asleep. That night. It was..." he trailed off, unable to describe what it felt like.