Chevy Stevens - Always Watching

The members splintered off into little groups, or found a quiet spot to meditate alone. Joseph drifted into the woods. One member was always appointed to stay back at camp and ring the chimes, signaling that our reflection walk was over. Aaron had said he’d do it. This time he left us to meditate for a long time, and when we got back it was getting dark. The group decided to have a late swim. I noticed that Willow and Robbie were missing, but Aaron joined us at the river. After the children were sent to their cabin, I stayed awake, worried about Robbie. I tried to make out voices at the campfire and could hear Aaron, and once in a while my mother and other members, but I still couldn’t hear Robbie.

The next day at breakfast, I was excited to see that Robbie was back, but when I ran toward him, I realized something was wrong and stopped as though an invisible wall had slammed down between us. His skin was pale, his hair messy, damp tendrils sticking to his forehead. His eyes were also red-rimmed and bloodshot. And he was holding his hands funny, like they hurt, the knuckles skinned. I wondered where he’d been all night. Then my next thought was, He should ask Willow for some salve. When I glanced around, I couldn’t see her.

Everyone gathered for our morning meditation, but before Aaron started leading us through the chants, he motioned us closer and told us that Willow had left early that morning. “I tried to talk her out of going, but she wouldn’t listen. She said she was tired of being in one place and wanted to travel again.”

When Aaron sent everyone off to meditate and clear the bad feelings that Willow’s abrupt departure had created, I snuck to her tent, searching for a note, an explanation, something. All I found was a hand-sewn patchwork bag tucked under her pillow. Inside were a few items of clothing and homemade toiletries.

Aaron came in after me. “What are you doing in here?”

I clutched her belongings to my chest as I stared up at him, my pulse loud in my head. “I don’t understand why Willow left.”

Then I realized he was wearing Willow’s vest.

His face was calm, but his tone warning. “She didn’t like living as a group, so this wasn’t the right place for her. Each member has to do what’s good for everyone, not just ourselves, or we all suffer.”

A question flew out of my mouth before I could pull it back. “Why do you have her vest?”

“She left it by the campfire this morning.” He looked down at it, fingered one of the tassels. “The Light wanted me to have it.”

Some members were upset that Willow was gone, especially so soon after Coyote had died, but Aaron said that we shouldn’t forget that her negative vibe led to Coyote’s death and that she’d been causing problems in the commune. We’d get along better without her. The only people who ever seemed to have a problem with her were Joseph and Aaron, but now that she’d left, the group was quickly forgetting that detail. Aaron also reminded us that we couldn’t let Coyote’s death be in vain, and we had to try to learn from his and Willow’s mistakes. Coyote’s life had been sacrificed in the river so that we could save ours. That’s when the commune started calling themselves The River of Life, and one of the men carved a sign for the tree at the entrance, two hands reaching up to the light.

I don’t know how long we would’ve lived at the commune if a little boy hadn’t died. His name was Finn, and he was eighteen months old when he wandered off during a late-night campfire ceremony. It was late September, and by the time his stoned parents, who also had a two-month-old baby, realized he was gone he’d been missing for hours. Everyone was woken up and we searched all over, but we couldn’t find him. The commune had a meeting to decide whether to go to the police. It was a risk because they had marijuana plants drying in the barn, and we’d already garnered attention with Coyote’s death.

Finally, Aaron meditated in the sweat lodge and said he’d had a vision that Finn was hiding somewhere warm and because he’d been taught to eat berries and find water, he’d be okay. In the morning, we still couldn’t find him, so we meditated as a group, chanting to bring him home, but Aaron said our fear was blocking his connection with the other side now. Finn’s parents took one of the trucks and went to the station. The police found Finn later that day, facedown in a puddle, his tiny hand still stained with berries. He had died of exposure.

Everyone was devastated. Aaron himself looked upset, holding the wooden horse he’d given Finn, but he stood tall and said, “In my vision, he was okay. I thought it meant he was still with us, but I understand now that was a sign that he’s safe on the other side.” In the days after, Aaron spent a lot of time working with us to reach Finn’s spirit. His face intense as he led us in chants, his voice sure and strong. Sometimes in a meditation, Finn’s mother would start to cry, saying that she’d seen him and how peaceful he’d looked, bathed in light. Others said the same, but no matter how hard I tried, I could never see him.

After Finn died, my mother started having long, private meditations with Aaron, but it didn’t seem to help. She stayed in her cabin for hours, cried a lot, and I often saw her talking with the other women, her face sad. Since Willow had left, Robbie had been spending all his time fishing in the river. I tried to talk to him about Mom, and he told me not to worry about it. She was just upset about Finn. He’d speak to her. Not long after that, our father finally came to get us.

A truck pulled up at the commune when we were in the middle of dinner. I recognized it right away and got up from the table, saying, “That’s my dad!” Robbie also stood, but our mother was still sitting, her eyes anxious.

The truck stopped a few feet away. Dad got out, his dirty baseball hat scrunched down over his head, his face angry, and his hands tense by his sides.

Now Aaron stood and said, “Can we help you?”

“I’ve come for my family.” Dad motioned for us. I took a step, but then I looked at Aaron, who held up a hand. I stopped. Robbie was also standing still, his expression full of relief as he gazed at our father. Our mother hadn’t moved. I glanced over at her. Her eyes were wide and her mouth parted.

Aaron said, “They have a new family now.”

My dad said, “Kids, get your stuff.”

I felt a movement to my left. My mother was starting to rise, but slowly, cautiously, her face scared. She looked at my dad, then Aaron, hesitation in her eyes. I was shot full of fear. I wanted to leave, but I was afraid my dad was going to punish us for having run away. I couldn’t tell what my mom was scared about—my dad or leaving. Robbie was moving away from the table now, toward his tent, but he was walking slowly, looking back at my mom, waiting for her. She finally started toward her cabin, but as she passed Aaron, he grabbed her arm.

“Kate, think about what you’re doing. Your children are safe here.”

Standing by the truck door, my dad said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Aaron glanced at him, then instantly let go of my mother. I looked at my father, and realized he was now holding a rifle down by his legs. He must’ve had it on the floorboards.

My dad said, “My family’s going to get their belongings and our animals. Then they’re leaving with me. You got a problem with that?”

Aaron calmly said, “Hey, man. We don’t want any problems here. If they want to split, they can go anytime.”

The trailer was still parked behind the barn, and Mom and Robbie quickly loaded the horses. Terrified of what might happen once we got home and confused about why my father had shown up after all these months, I was standing transfixed, watching them. Robbie motioned for me to get moving. I grabbed Jake and the cats, putting them in the cab of the truck, with my bag of belongings. I kept glancing at the table, where the group was watching us, some of them looking confused, others upset. I wanted to say good-bye, but when I moved toward the table, Robbie grabbed my arm. “We’ve gotta go.”