Uncle Sam's Wilderness Cure for Unstable Youths

**trigger warning: harmful and ableist language/attitudes towards mental health, autistic people, LGBTQ+ people, vaccinations, etc. These attitudes are in no way encouraged by the author or the narrative. This work is a critique and rebuke of harmful, hateful “traditional” attitudes towards these topics**

Naomi lost feeling in her toes weeks ago. The little toe on her left foot had turned green then purple and finally was shriveling into a black nub. Her one pair of wool socks was permanently soaked through with sweat and rain, yet somehow remained stiff from a month’s worth of dirt, fungus, and dead skin. She wasn’t even sure she could get the socks off now, they were grafted to her feet.

If thirteen-year-old Naomi had known that she would be stuck in the forest, she never would have entered the Uncle Sam Outpatient Help Center a year ago. She would’ve kicked and screamed, even bitten her mom if she had to. She would’ve thrown herself in front of a car, masked her symptoms for the rest of her life--whatever it took to keep herself out of Uncle Sam’s Wilderness Cure for Unstable Youths.

The Medical Help Center itself had been a test. Dozens of children and their parents were packed into one small government building. Nurses stood stationed all over the floor, supposedly checking kids in, but really monitoring them. Who looked showered? Who looked anxious? Who was arguing with their parents? Naomi stuck out, huge headphones on over her dozens of skinny black braids. It didn’t matter how carefully they sewed in the weave, Naomi would always yank out balls of hair, leaving puss-filled craters on her scalp. Naomi knew she should try to smile or look friendly, but she kept opening and closing her eyes. Her rapid, firm blinking was the only thing keeping her from screaming.

“You’ll be fine, meu coração,” Mommy had said. She wiped a hot tear from Naomi’s eye. “It’s all my fault, amada, I should never have let them…”

Naomi reached up, keeping her eyes on her shoes and her hand hovering over her Mommy’s cheek. The idea of skin to skin contact brought almost as much vomit up her throat as the idea of eye contact did.

“Love you,” Naomi said, repeatedly popping the joints in her fingers. Crack, crack, crack.

Mommy tugged on Naomi’s jacket sleeve. It was Naomi’s preferred way of being touched by anyone, quick and without skin on skin contact. It didn’t escape Naomi’s notice that everyone else in the room hugged their parents. All the parents would have to go straight to the courthouse to begin their long custody battles. Judges had to hear over a hundred parents' vaccination cases a day. Some parents were lucky and got their kids back from Wilderness Therapy. Others were deemed unfit parents, branded as Vaccinators for life.

A nurse nudged Naomi forward with her clipboard. Naomi inched forward, the neon American flag lights on the receptionist desk burned her eyes. The young receptionist looked up, eyes full of disgust at the sight of Naomi.

CHLOE was engraved on her silver name badge pinned to her red, white and blue shirt. She wore a God Bless America heart-shaped locket around her perfect white neck.

American flags hung from every surface in the room. The only other decorations on the wall were a framed picture of Chancellor Mike Pence and a huge Indiana state flag.

Naomi put all of her camping gear up on the counter. Chloe shuffled the things around with the butt of her pencil, carefully not to touch any of Naomi’s things. Her pencil landed on Naomi’s brand new pair of purple hiking boots.

“Those aren’t regulation,” the counselor said. She swept the purple boots unceremoniously into a cardboard box. The counselor had a pinched-up face and thin blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She looked about college age, only ten years older than Naomi. The counselor plopped a pair of tiny snow boots on the counter, the sole peeling away from the rest of the boot to form a peep toe.

“Muñoz, Naomi?” Chloe asked, her acrylic nails gliding over her iPad screen.

“Is she one of the depressed?” an older man said. He stood beside Chloe, looking over patient files through the iLenses at the end of his nose. He wore a heart-shaped God Bless America pin on his lapel.

“Ha,” Chloe said. “Hell no. Look at her eyebrows, Doc.”

Naomi’s fingers traced over her patchy eyebrows. She must have been pulling at them in her sleep again.

“We’ve informed your mother,” the doctor said, “that the State is taking over power of attorney. Your special needs mean that it’s safest if you have other people taking care of you.”

“Goddamn spazzes,” Chloe said under her breath. Her gray eyes studied Naomi’s dark skin and balding hairline.

Naomi had opened her mouth to argue, but she was quickly shoved aside by the next Resident. Chloe scrolled through the list of over a hundred girl names,

REASONS FOR TREATMENT flashing: homosexuality, psychotic episodes, selfishness, depression, anxiety, and the list went on.

The next day when their hike began, Naomi noticed that pinched-face Chloe was leading their group. Chloe walked faster than the Residents, a spring in her step.

“Exercise gives you endorphins!” Chloe yelled. “Lying in bed never cured nothing!”

Chloe was wearing purple boots, even though they were too big for her.

“Those are my boots,” Naomi said, stupidly. None of the other Residents had been dumb enough to open their mouths.

Chloe’s purple boots stopped mid-stride, turning away from her laughing companions who’d gone silent as soon as Naomi had been dumb enough to speak.

“You don’t like your boots?” Chloe asked.

A small girl with orange hair made eye contact with Naomi, shaking her head “no.”

“Um,” Naomi said. “They’re too small. They, um, pinch my toes.”

Chloe raised her carefully-plucked eyebrows. “Oh no,” she said. “They pinch? That must make walking really hard, huh?”

All of the other Residents’ eyes stayed stuck on their boots, some of the girls even turned around or pulled their scarves up to cover their eyes.

The orange-haired girl kept silently pleading with her eyes for Naomi to shut up.

“I’m fine,” Naomi said quickly. “I didn’t mean to say anything. I’m totally fine. I’m good to keep walking.”

Chloe snorted. “God, I’m so glad we have your go-ahead to keep walking.”

Naomi knitted her barely-there eyebrows together. "I don't understand." It was hard enough when she was around people she knew. Her mother had learned a long time ago to stop using metaphors and silly phrases. Naomi knew the world would be a much better place if everyone just said exactly what they meant.

Chloe shot a look over her shoulder to one of the other counselors. "Goddamnit," Chloe said. "It's saaar-caaa-sm. I'd spell it out for you, but I'm not sure if you'd be able to keep up."

The counselors all laughed in chorus.

"I am sorry," Naomi said. "I didn't mean to stop us all. Let's keep walking."

“No, no,” Chloe said. “You said your toe hurts. Take off your shoe.”

Naomi stayed still. She'd misread something, but what? Was there a joke that she was missing?

“Take. Off. Your. Shoe,” Chloe repeated.

Naomi’s lower lip shook, and she bit down hard to keep it from moving anymore.

Chloe dropped onto one knee, grabbing Naomi with enough force to rock her balance. Naomi’s hand shot onto the nearest tree, desperate to keep standing.

Chloe’s manicured nails dug into Naomi’s calf as she quickly undid Naomi’s shoelace. Chloe chucked the shoe a few feet away, right into a pile of animal scat. She pulled off Naomi’s shoe, revealing Naomi’s toes that were swollen with frostbite.

“You poor thing,” Chloe said. She tugged at a chord on the side of her pack and a Swiss Army knife tumbled into her hand. She kept one hand firmly on Naomi’s bare foot, the other hand lovingly searching through the knife’s attachment.

The corkscrew attachment popped out, catching the weak morning light.

“No, no, I don’t--” Naomi began.

“Shh, I’m trying to help you,” Chloe said. “You will let me help you, won’t you?”

Naomi’s entire body was a vibrating tuning fork. She kept her lips pressed together.

“Atta girl,” Chloe said. She gently placed the end of the corkscrew at the tip of Naomi’s left pinkie toe. The little scrap of nail still had some hot pink nail polish on it from Naomi’s pedicure.

Chloe’s hand shot to the left, the corkscrew following soon after. A crescent-shaped toenail sailed through the air before disappearing on the forest floor, a trail of blood following after it.

Naomi screamed even though she had sworn at herself not to--a pathetic, shaky scream. Her pinkie toe was gushing blood, a hollowed chunk of skin where her toenail used to be.

That was the last time Naomi talked for the next month. She didn’t say anything, not when her toe got infected or her boot filled up with blood for two days straight. She wouldn’t open her mouth again until it was time to meet with her therapist.

The therapist’s office was an offensive shade of bright yellow. A mini rainbow disco ball hung from the ceiling, sending a kaleidoscope of light over the walls. Dr. Lin’s chair was an itchy white fur contraption. The couch Naomi sat on was sticky, squeaky green pleather. Every time Naomi shifted, the couch made an awful sound. Dr. Lin kept the room at a purposefully sweaty temperature. The doctor also held a sound effect remote in her hand, ready to play nails on a chalkboard or a car alarm.

Dr. Lin threw every sensory thing she had at Naomi. Once Lin had gotten very desperate and threw her God Bless America heart-shaped locket through the window. She'd been angry and the force of the pointed metal shattered the glass. A hundred shards fell into the bushes beneath the window box.

But Naomi wouldn’t budge, she kept her hands firmly in her pockets. She’d managed to cut holes in the lining of her pocket so she could press her hands against her thighs, digging her nails into her flesh to keep still. Whenever Naomi got the urge to pluck at her hair or cover her ears, her nails found the familiar grooves of semi-healed indents.

“Have you been feeling overwhelmed out there?” Dr. Lin asked.

Naomi’s brain tugged a thick plaster mask from her chin up to the top of her forehead. Her crusty lips spread into a smile over her unbrushed teeth. “I’ve never felt better,” Naomi said. “Nature is so peaceful.”

Dr. Lin scrolled through Naomi’s chart. “No meltdowns, I see. That’s very good. I don’t see any sensory processing issues either.”

“We’ve managed to get almost all of the vaccines out of your system,” Dr. Lin said. “Don’t be afraid if your legs start to tingle or you get some red spots. Perfectly normal. Better a quick battle with measles than a lifelong battle with autistics, huh?”

She's made a joke. She is smiling like she made a joke. Now you smile.

“I was very hopeful when you started the program, Naomi,” Dr. Lin said. She slid a small tray across the coffee table. Seven pills sat in the shallow dish.

Naomi concentrated on keeping a pleasant expression and an even tone of voice when she asked, “I get to go home soon?”

Maybe she could go back to her parents. If her parents got too suspicious of her not being fully cured, she could run.

Dr. Lin’s eyes flitted to the pills. Naomi followed her gaze. She swallowed the pills dry as Dr. Lin watched. Naomi greedily gulped down two Dixie cups of water. She hadn’t seen water that clean in six months.

“I’ve worked on the Program’s most difficult cases,” Dr. Lin said. “The gays, the psychos, et cetera. None I’ve found as challenging as dealing with the autistics. Women shouldn’t be able to be autistic, of course.” Dr. Lin turned her iPad around. It was a calendar with Naomi’s name, tracking the days of her menstrual cycle. “It all comes down to how much women get themselves worked up. The ancient Greeks were a bunch of queers but they got one thing right: hysteria.”

Naomi launched herself off the couch and tried to stand, but pockets of black fuzziness poked at the corners of her eyes. She braced herself against the couch, desperate to stand.

Hysteria. The girls were told every day what happened to hysterical girls, what had happened to Chancellor Pence’s granddaughters.

“We know only one thing can cure women. Only one thing can cleanse them, really get all those toxins out.” Dr. Lin reached for a phone beside her.

Hysterectomy, Naomi thought. Oh my God, they’re going to cut me open.

“Will you please,” Dr. Lin said, “let me help you?”