ANYWHO—first 2 chapters

Parents send a dissatisfied son to a mysterious camp…

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When I was nine, my parents sent me away. I was going to a better place, they told me, where I’d learn to behave. “Peter,  we hope and pray for your return...someday,” Mom said.

She had tears in her eyes.

I sneered, turned my back, shrugged off their pitiful groping hugs, ran to the car that was taking me away from them for, perhaps, forever. I didn’t care; I wanted to hurt them. It was unfortunate that it hurt my baby sister Elizabeth. But that was their fault too.

I was about two when I performed my first screaming fit. I was new at it but it felt natural. It lasted so long my parents feared I’d deprive my brain of oxygen and took me to the emergency room.

Maybe there were earlier tantrums but they would have been driven only by instinct. This was strategic: they hadn’t given me ice cream, I wanted to hurt them. I made them afraid!! It was so easy that I just kept on. I threw tantrums and tore sheets and broke lamps.

Another time I smeared my poop over the newly painted walls of the bathroom.

Once, a babysitter’s boyfriend tried to stop my screaming; he slapped me. I screamed more. He slapped me harder. I screamed harder. The sitter sent him away.

I always won.

By the time I got into school I was into lying and fighting. A kid could just look at me with a funny expression on his face — most kids have funny expressions — and I’d slam into him, arms windmilling. If he won the fight, I screamed in frustration. Got thrown out of school after school.

Other kids smiled for photos. Not me. My parents started to leave me out of family pictures, which was okay after Elizabeth came along. Dad was tall, skinny and bald. Mother was tall and more full looking and had golden hair, which I loved -- secretly. Elizabeth had golden hair too and the sweetest face in the world.

But I held onto my hatred for them. They didn’t understand me. Neither did the psychologists. Finally, some astrologer woman told them it was because they were Scorpios and I’m a Gemini. Worked for them, I guess, because they quit trying.

Mom had started to pack me a suitcase, but the men who were taking me away said that I’d have everything I needed when I got where I was going. My Dad had even shaken their hands! A friggin traitor to his own flesh and blood.

The men in the car didn’t talk much. After an hour, I asked them where we were going and when they said, “You’ll find out,” I knew I was going to be punished in some awful way for the things I had done.

“It’s not my fault!” I said, starting to cry. I pounded on the back of the seat. The man in the front seat turned around and said, “Don’t worry. You’re going to get away from everything that happened before and it’ll all seem like a bad dream.”

So I figured they really knew what they were doing and I relaxed a little, but I said, “Will I have to go home again if I’m a good kid?”

They looked at each other, and chuckled. “No chance of that happening,” one said.

Chapter Two

iThey drove to an airport at Toledo, Ohio, and put me on a private plane. Nice seats! One of the guys traveled with me.

We flew overnight and after I tore up a couple magazines without getting the guy angry, I slept. I woke up in gray clouds, groggy and with a bad taste; my lips were stuck together with gumminess, I could feel them peel apart.

My guard got me a breakfast of eggs and some kind of meat and a muffin that wasn’t wrapped in plastic, and a cup of squeezed orange juice. I drank the juice and asked for more and he got it. He looked at me for awhile then said, “You better eat. It’s still a long way to go.”

So I didn’t eat. Because he told me what to do.

He wrapped the muffin in a cloth napkin and put it in his pack. Later, when we were riding in a car and I felt really hungry, he gave it to me. I nibbled, made a yuck! face and threw it out the window.

“Okay, so starve,” he laughed. I shouted and pounded and kicked seats and doors but when he stopped for gas he wouldn’t get me any popcorn or candy or a hamburger. I was tired, so I gave up, thinking I’d get even some other way.

We came to the ocean. He parked the car and we got on a helicopter that shot across choppy waves for hours. My stomach yucked up yellow bile. They gave me a throw-up bag. I didn’t throw up any more.

A green island grew up in front of us. He parked the chopper on a landing area and left the blades slowly thrumming. “Where are we?” I asked. He unbuckled me and pushed me out onto the grass. He shouted over the engine noise: “Go up to the buildings and they’ll feed you, you little asshole.”

“I’m going to tell them what you called me!”

He smiled. “You do that. They’ve got a batch of others nearly as bad as you already up there.”

Before I was out from under the blades, he revved the engine and lifted.

If someone else had been there I would have thrown a tantrum, but they weren’t, so I didn’t.

I walked on a path that curved up the long hill through some short palm trees and some taller trees until I saw what looked like a little village.

In the middle of a big playing field, about forty other kids my age were sitting on the grass. Boys and girls. On the edge of the group, a couple of guys were playing kung fu on each other; my blood started pumping and my hands squeezed into fists.

Then up walked a large black guy in a white outfit, carrying a clipboard. “You two. Stop.” The two kids stopped fighting.

He spoke to us without a mike: “I’m Mr. Andrews. I’m here to welcome you to Camp Ego.” His voice had a growly quality so that everyone paid attention to him. “Eventually you’ll meet just about everyone who’s here to work with you.”

He went on: “Each one of you has been chosen out of hundreds of candidates for this camp. Each of you — this is no big surprise —  each of you comes from a dysfunctional family, and you have behavior problems. We know that. We asked for you. You’re the first group to attend this camp.”

One tough-looking kid interrupted: “So what is this gonna be —  survival training or brainwashing?”

General laughter and snickers.

The man in white nodded. “Survival training comes after we find out how much you can endure. How tough you really are,” he added, speaking directly to the guy who thought he was tough. “Brainwashing? No. Education and training, yes. We’ll see progress while you’re here. For the next several years you’ll undergo intensive education, more difficult than any school you were ever kicked out of, as well as tests that measure your capabilities in other areas, can’t explain those, you’ll just have to find out what they are. In five or six years, you won’t recognize the person you are now. In fact,” — he grinned  —  “You will not be the same person you are now.”

He looked at me. “You must be Peter Howdsley, you’re the last to arrive.” I waited, but he didn’t care if I acknowledged his greeting or not, since he went on speaking to everyone, after a glance at his watch: “In about 15 minutes we’ll have tea.”

“Eewww, and crumpets?” giggled a fat girl and some other girls laughed. My stomach growled.

Andrews went on: “First we’ll have a little physical activity to shake out the wrinkles from your trip. I want all the boys to line up over there near Mr. Casey. Girls, you line up by Ms. Mogdala.”

Nobody moved. Rebellion time!

“You don’t get invitations here,” he said,  “If I have to call in some muscle you won’t like it. Now hop!” and we moved, but slowly. “The sooner you get this done, the sooner you get a tea break,” Andrews said.

Mr. Casey and Ms. Mogdala, both also wearing white jumpsuits, escorted us into our lines.

Mr. Andrews pointed to three people standing about a hundred yards away.

“My associates,” he said, “Are standing near a line of tape. It’s electromagnetically charged. It will recognize your biological signature and log the time you touch it. The order in which you touch that tape determines how many points you get.”

“Screw points!” I shouted. “Who gives a shit? We want to eat!”

“You have a number of demerits from different schools, Howdsley,”he said, “These goody points will help erase those demerits. Otherwise, you will work them off by various tasks. For instance, we have farming fields, and a big garden patch and numerous animals, all of which provide chores. (I sneered.) Some of them involve shoveling shit. Those with the fewest points will perform those chores. Got it?”

“Stuff your demerits!” shouted a girl.

“Stuff your points too!” I shouted.

He said, “Everyone ready? After I blow this whistle, the girls start toward that tape. After 30 seconds, I blow the whistle again and the boys start.”

He blew the whistle. The girls started. Some ran like they didn’t know how, one skipped, one slumped her shoulders like she expected punishment, but most of them pumped their arms and legs.

He blew the whistle the second time.

Only one guy looked like he was an athlete and he zipped off. I pushed and shoved and bumped guys to get ahead, but other guys did that to me too. After we passed the girls in a macho sprint, we ended up in a wrestling pile about fifteen yards shy of the finishing tape. I wasn’t on the bottom but I wasn’t on top either. The girls ran over us and most of them touched the tape before we did. They did arm pumps and shouted while the white jumpsuits watched.

Scruffy and sweaty, we trooped into the main building. There was a lounge with comfortable chairs. I pushed two kids out of the way and got the big leather chair I wanted. Then I realized I had to get up to go to the big table for tea and goodies. My hunger fought with my absolute need for that chair.

I would have cried, but then I eyed a fat girl who got up from the couch next to me and started for the table. “Hey,” I said, like maybe I liked her.

“Hey,” she said. Her face was flat with a tiny nose and skinny lips. Her eyes roamed the room like she was evaluating everyone. I’d show her.

“I’m pooped out from that race,” I said. “How’d you do?”

“I’m number 31.” This was out of a total of 40 of us.

“Ha! I’m number 27!” I crowed. “Since I beat you, you bring me tea and some cookies.”

“In your dreams!” she snorted, her eyes flashing.

I had to give up my seat and by the time I got back, the fat girl was in it. I had already eaten two cookies and had six more in my hands.

“Get up,” I told her. She iced me, bit into a chocolate cookie and spilled crumbs on my seat.

“Thanks for saving it for me,” I said like I was a nice guy underneath.

She sneered again; she had a good sneer. “I didn’t.”

I made my face red with fury.”You damn well better get out before I count three!”

“Before you count two, I’ll stomp your toes into the floor,” she said with a grin. She looked like she could do it.

I sat on the arm of the chair.

Her elbow poked my butt.

“Get out of my chair, lardass!”

She poured hot tea into my lap. I stood and screamed as many curse words as I could think of at her, but she didn’t flinch.

An adult in white showed up.

“Hi, I’m Ms. Kasper,” she said. “Having fun here?”

“She stole my chair!” I screamed. “She poured tea on me.”

“Accident,” said the fat girl. “Sorry!”

Ms. Kasper said, “Nobody owns anything here except your mind. We urge everyone to avoid confrontations and share willingly.”

“Then make her share that chair with me!”

Ms. Kasper turned her narrow face to the fat girl. “Do you mind sharing?”

The fat girl pouted, “He never asked me to share. He wants it all for himself.”

Ms. Kasper turned to me. “Would you ask her to share?”

I fumed, wondering where I could go if I just ran out of the building. I didn’t even know where my room was. That’s why I’m angry all the time.

I spoke through clenched teeth: “Will you share the chair?”

The fat girl raised one eyebrow. “Please?” she said.

I said the magic word.

She moved over and patted the seat beside her. I sat down with my tea and cookies.

Ms. Kasper smiled and moved away, mission accomplished.

The fat girl stuck out her hand. “I’m Kimberly Blessingame. I’m from Pennsylvania. My family is all fat as far back as the Civil War. What kind of shit you come from?”

I thought about whether to show contempt or to make an effort. I could get even later. “Peter. Howdsley. We lived in Findlay, Ohio. My family…”  Almost choked up, cleared my throat, stared at her nose, said, “My family’s dead. I’m an orphan.”

She kept her hand in front of me. I gave it a quick shake.

She leaned over and whispered to me. “Peter, I’m sorry about dumping my tea on you.”

Yeah, right. I’d get even. I nodded.

“I’m going to go get some more tea. Save my place.”

I nodded.

While she went for the tea, a batch of grownups came in and lined up in front of the refreshment table. A tall woman dressed in a black jumpsuit with a white scarf around her neck stood in the center. She had a sharp beautiful face and dark eyes. She spoke to us.

“Welcome to Camp Ego. I am in charge; you may call me Chief but you won’t often interface with me. You will see these other people more often. In the white jumpsuits are your caregivers. You’ll meet most of them individually and you’ll see a lot of them throughout each day.  In blue suits are your teachers; these ladies and gentlemen are distinguished in different disciplines and you’ll see them throughout each day. The broad, muscular sinister man in black...” (Some adults laughed nervously ) ...“is Mr. Stone, head of Security. He has a few words to say.”

Mr. Stone stood taller and stepped in front of the Chief.  He looked like he knew every dirty fighting trick and some of them he invented. “You probably have figured out that we’re on an island in the Pacific. Sharks and pirates own these waters. Boats and aircraft are the only way in and out. It’s privately owned; nobody comes here without an invitation or leaves without permission. We’re hundreds of miles from any island like Hawaii, and further from any mainland like New Zealand. Most of the time you won’t see me or my associates unless trouble breaks out. That’s all you need to know at this point.”

He stepped back as some kids groaned. One boy shouted, “You can’t keep us prisoners!” A girl stood and said, “We’re Americans! We have rights!”

“You’re not in America now,” said the Chief without annoyance, and went on: “In fact, the kind of life you have known up to now you will not know again for some years, at least as long as you are here. Maybe never.”

“What is this place?” I asked.

She paused and looked directly at me. “You could think of it as your home away from home.” Some other adults behind her grinned.

“I don’t think so!” I shouted. “I want to go back!”

“That’s not possible, Howdsley. You’re here for the duration. We have thorough legal papers signed by your parents and guardians. In effect, we own you body and mind until you’re 18.”

Lots of screaming and shouting. She waited. The Security Guy made a sign and 10 other guys in black Ninja outfits circled us. We quieted fast, but inside I was a volcano.

The Chief went on: “It’s not all that bad, you’re overreacting. Believe me when I say that everything you learn here, although it won’t match your concepts of normality, will be beneficial to you. In fact, I predict that very shortly you’ll be enthusiastic about what we’re showing you.”

Most of us were quiet about that.

She went on: “Each of your days, that’s six days a week, every week, all year round, will begin at 5 a.m. when you are awakened. (“WHAT?” “You crazy, man!” “No way!”) You will be dressed and out on the main yard by 5:30. (“Unh-uh!” “We’re SLAVES!”) After physical exercise, (groans) you will have breakfast from 6:30 to 7. At eight, classes begin. This is not your typical American education, it’s special. You will be in total immersion in each subject for a week and then you will progress to a different subject. Your first subject, beginning tomorrow, will be…” The Chief paused, looked down at her notes, frowned slightly. She glanced to one side. “Is this correct, Dr. Nigel?”

A slender man with a beard, wearing a dark blue jumpsuit, glided forward and bowed his head briefly, then said. “Correct, Chief. The first subject is… (he paused) … Philosophy.”

This made us groan and shout. Some stomped their feet, I was one of them. If we’d had a leader right then, we might have torn the place down. Except that some of us could see the Chief and Dr. Nigel smiling at each other as if delighted.

That made me suspicious.

The Chief cleared her throat. “Perhaps you might explain, Dr. Nigel?”

“Yes,” he responded. “Philosophy is a mental exercise that helps us understand who we are and what we are doing in the universe. Most of you are here because you have adopted an erroneous philosophy about life. (“What does that mean?”) Our focus will be on helping you expand your personal philosophy so that you can better understand yourself. Without that understanding, you cannot succeed. The study of Philosophy is the most important subject you will have.”

The other teachers made rude sounds and stomped their feet. Boos and hisses. They were all grinning. And Dr. Nigel, trying to keep a straight face, stepped back into their midst.

Somehow that quieted us. We had been tricked.

The Chief continued: “Other subjects in succeeding weeks and rotated throughout each year are History, Languages, Social Skills, Science, Art, Combat Skills, Communication Skills…”

She was interrupted by a very intense cute girl who said, “I’m going to be a television personality. How is any of this going to help my career?”

The Chief ignored her while she spoke then eyed her and said, “Tiffany, everything we teach you will help you achieve that career ambition.”

“Great. I’m ready and motivated.”

‘However it will require much more of you than smiling and toadying.”

Silence, before Tiffany screeched. She burst into angry tears and a girl beside her hugged her.

The Chief waited for her sobs to quieten, then went on: “During morning classes, you will be re-oxygenated by two recreation periods, during which activities are organized.”

“I have permission to skip!” one thin boy called; he waved a slip of paper. A dozen other kids held up their hands, me included, what the hell.

The Chief said, “We have everyone’s medical documents. Everyone participates. You will find the exercises geared to your appropriate levels of achievement. You will gain strength. Lunch at 12:30. From 1:30 to 2:45 is nap time. (Snickers.) You’ll be glad by then for a chance to rest. At 3 p.m. you will meet with scientists in various labs around the campus, and undergo interesting tests and procedures. Nothing too painful. At 5 p.m, you will have intensive physical exercise. At 6:30, dinner. From 7:30 to 9 is study and research time. Then, free time. At 10 p.m. lights out; you will be in bed. You will have no difficulty sleeping. Now, watch this video that will explain the reasons you are here and indicate what we expect of you.”

She and the other adults moved to stand along the windows at the rear of the room. The windows darkened. A large flat video screen behind the refreshments table came awake.

A guy’s head appeared. He had a shaggy beard and shaggy gray hair. Behind his tiny glasses, he had large eyes, surrounded by wrinkles and shaggy eyebrows. A subtitle appeared on the screen: Dr. Isaac Kam’leon.

“Hello,” the shaggy guy said. “I’m Isaac Kam’leon. (He pronounced it as if it was a foreign word.) I’ve applied myself to differing scientific disciplines and studies and practices in metaphysics. I’ve made a discovery I want to share with the world. You students are among the first to enjoy the benefits of this discovery.”

The camera view widened to show that Dr. Kam’leon was in a wheelchair. He seemed stiff, frozen, like that Brit genius Hawking. The Chief was standing beside him. She was younger, and also wearing a white lab coat.

“My assistant, Theodora, will help me demonstrate.”

She reached out a hand and took his. They both closed their eyes. Nothing happened. Their eyes opened.

The woman spoke: “We have exchanged bodies. I am Isaac Kam’leon, now speaking to you from Theodora’s body and she is in mine.”

The man smiled. “I’m Theodora,” he said.

I felt Kim beside me puff with outrage as she shouted, “Cheat! Liar!”

I shouted: “Con game!” Others were shouting too.

Someone must have hit the pause button because the two figures on the screen remained frozen. Our noise went on for a few minutes. When it subsided, the figures on the screen moved again.

The Chief spoke; it was her voice but we knew it was the Doctor speaking, like, through her: “You’ll find this difficult to believe until you can do it for yourselves. This phenomenon is an outgrowth of the ability of entangled ions to transfer an ‘identity’ from one to the other across distances without apparent connection. That is the purpose of this institution, to teach you how to move from the body you now occupy to someone else’s.”

“Bullshit!” A guy shouted and the rest of us made noises that we agreed.

The Chief spoke: “If I can, I’ll meet you in person. If that’s not possible, Theodora will gather other scientists to train you.”

Here, the videotape paused, and in the darkness, the Chief spoke: “It was not possible for Doctor Kam’leon to be here. He was stricken and…passed on.”

“This is a scam!” I shouted.

“Think so? Watch.”

In the video, Dr. Kam’leon sprang from his wheelchair. He stood on tiptoes and did a ballet step, and then leaped about eight feet from a standing start.

“Whoa!” “Holy shit!” “Aw come on!”

On the screen, the Chief looked into the camera and said, “That’s actually Theodora moving my body. She can make it do things I cannot. While in her body, I am free of my physical shackles.” She walked, jumped up and clicked her heels together. “Why this is so is one of the many mysteries we hope to solve.”

The camera then backed off and showed the big main house — the one where we were watching the video — being built. Around it on every side were construction vehicles and holes, but no other buildings.

While Kam’leon’s body danced gracefully on the grass, the Chief on the screen spoke again: “By the time you arrive, this will be a major research facility. For now, let me welcome you.”

She smiled and continued to watch Kam’leon dancing until the image froze.

The Chief in our room said, “About a year after we made that original tape, this happened.”

The scene shifted. The main house seemed almost complete and other buildings were taking shape on the grounds around it. The front door opened and out of it wheeled Dr. Kam’leon. He stiffly waved a few fingers at the camera then moved along a walkway and then — so quick it caught the camera operator by surprise, because the camera kept moving — the wheelchair stopped.

The camera jerked closer to Dr. Kam’leon’s slumped body. The cameraman gasped “Help! Please! Medical alert!” The screen went black.

“Phony,” I pronounced.

Kim rose. “I dunno,” she said.

From the in-progress novel Anywho