We sat silently on the flat wooden benches that  lined the inner walls of the tiny log cabin.   It was me, John,   BJ,  Dan,  Edgar,  and a whole host of other kids from different platoons whose names I had never bothered to learn.

 Henry played the guitar like an angel.  _"I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane."_

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_Source: Pixabay.com_

 I wished I could leave too,  but I've been a bad boy.   Unless I could figure out how to escape from this wilderness prison I wasn't going anywhere.

Days like today made me not really want to leave.

Flannel shirt,  jeans a size too tight, and oversized glasses that framed his long hippie hair made Henry the image of your 1960's hippie. The only difference was that he could bench press 500 lb and knew quite a few different martial art techniques.

None of that mattered as we perched entranced listening intently to him strum out a tune like an angel.

This cabin was a makeshift cathedral.   Our captors thought religion was the answer.

It's always the answer.

Something about singing along from a thick Psalm book with a group of other high pitched kids actually did bring about a sense of serenity,  I'll give them that.

We lined up single file,  tallest to shortest,  and marched soldier style into a nearby empty field.   Two Poles had been placed on either side of the overgrown grass.  A red flag and a blue flag that were actually bandannas were attached to each one.

_Capture the flag._  

No rules. 

They didn't care how rough we got with each other as long as nobody died.   I was a very fast runner but I wasn't really one for taking a hit.     I was almost back to our pole with the red flag when the quick Latino kid landed his kick.  Holy crap could that guy jump.   I kneeled down hard, grabbing at my face.   

He'd opened a huge gash in my left cheek with his oversized cleats.  All's fair.

Everyone was covered in sweat,  blood,  and joyous smiles as we took turns shaking hands and congratulating each other on a fun day together.

 I approached the Mexican kid and stuck out my hand.   

_"No hard feelings,  buddy."_

He belly laughed and let a tooth show from his long lipped grin.  

_"Been practicing that move for weeks man,  didn't think it would work."_ he replied.

We grabbed hands and pulled each other close,  bumping chests roughly. That was what people did around here.

 I heard him gasp as I walked away quickly,   the tiny shiv still sticking from his chest as a pool of blood dripped down his white cotton shirt. 

I whistled a soft tune,  and headed back to my campsite with my team.  _"I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane."_

What can I say?

I've been a bad boy.

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