I take the time to recharge my own batteries. Tim wants to meet at the bonfire. I’ll have to find out what’s happening with him. I don’t know how to make things better with Andy but I’ve got to find a way. I feel betrayed by Sammy and don’t know what to make of Levi. Should be an interesting night.
“Better turn it off before someone comes.” Sammy surprises me and climbs in. He’s quiet. That’s why he’s such a good hunter.
I don’t answer. He doesn’t say more. The tension builds. Finally, I break the ice.
“What the hell, Sammy. You and Levi? I thought you had better taste. I thought you had a committed relationship with Bruce.”
“Bruce is in Minneapolis and, what they say about Las Vegas goes here too: What happens in Nigeria, stays in Nigeria.”
“Come on Sammy, it’s me. Knock off the bullshit and tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay. I feel bad about Bruce and I’ll tell him when we get back. I think he’ll forgive me. I don’t have affectionate feelings for Levi, but I chalk up our relationship to a form of therapy.”
“Must be physical therapy from what I saw going down on your bed.”
“The first night here, he called me a little queer faggot and told me to keep my hands off him. I was more than happy to comply but when I looked across the room at his face he was crying and when I looked lower, I could tell he was excited.”
“What a contradiction, kind of sums him up.”
“I made it my mission to help him face himself. I’m trying to save him from the agony of spending his best years in the closet. I’m making some progress, but it’s up to him to look in the mirror and have the courage to accept and love what he sees.”
“Pretty poetic for a kid from Warroad.”
“It also helps that he’s the quarterback of our football team and has a great body.”
“Sammy, you’re incorrigible.”
“Last I checked, I was Lutheran.”
“Us Indians don’t notice much difference.”
“Time to change the subject,” he says, patting the dashboard. “I wonder why they keep it here.”
“Something about insurance. Why would they want this old heap back anyway?” I point to the shattered windshield. “It’s not worth anything.”
“Are we still on for tomorrow?”
“Ten in the morning during classes. You sure you know how to drive this thing?”
“My dad’s a logger. He doesn’t think much of me but he’s still impressed with the way I handle those logging trucks. Compared to them, this jeep’s a toy.”
* * *
We wait a few more minutes, then cross the two hundred yard, burnt out field to the bonfire area. We’re early but Arnie’s crew has already started a small fire and the girls are there along with Rita and Mrs. Selby. None of the Buck Brush Falls volunteers have arrived yet.
“The way it works is that the girls have a little picnic and hang around for a while, then Rita herds them back to their dorm. Since we’re special guests, they keep the fire stoked until midnight or we all clear out. Last time there was no one from the school unless you count Arnie and his guys. They pretty much stayed back by the trees and left us alone,” says Sammy.
“Hi Miss. Peterson,” a girl I recognize from class calls out. “Hi Mr. Phillips,” another shouts at Sammy.
“Mr.—Miss we’re pretty important around here,” says Sammy. He laughs, gets a hot dog, and joins a group of girls he knows from his English class.
I’m headed for some girls I recognize from math when Rita and Mrs. Selby cut me off. “Glad you came early. We need to talk to you,” says Rita. “First, I want to tell you what an exceptional job you’re doing with the students. I hope you’ll consider a career in teaching.”
“They’re good kids. They really want to learn—only need some catch-up work on fundamentals.” It’s nice to get a compliment but I know that’s not really why they pulled me over.
“I want to talk to you about Timothy,” says Mrs. Selby.
“Okay.” I give her the Arnie response.
“He’s very bright, and even though he’s injured, insists on helping the young ones with their reading. He says he wants to go to college in the United States.”
“He didn’t have much of a future where he was. Our plan was for him to come here with me. We hit some road blocks but we made it. We hoped that with your connections you’d help him.”
“I’m very impressed. He’s an exceptional person—already gone through the work of getting a passport. He’s also has some money put aside. Not enough for an airline ticket but a start. He says she won most of it betting on a boxing match.”
“He’s full of surprises.” Must have squirreled away some of our money without telling me.
“The college has a small endowment fund to help Nigerian students. We can use some of it for a year’s tuition at North Star but there’s one big problem.”
“And, that is?”
“You.”
I feel like Mama Jefferson’s kicking me in the ribs again. “Me? I’m the one that found him—got him here—”
“Mrs. Selby can get him a visa and some limited funding, but he needs to get accepted first,” says Rita.
“He’s only got a fly-by-night internet high school certificate and is largely self-schooled,” continues Mrs. Selby. “North Star College has very strict academic standards and he needs someone to help convince the school that he’s qualified so—”
“You mean like that idiot Chuck’s dad getting him in because he gives money?”
“I hate to admit it but, yes, something like that. Timothy has already worked his magic with Dr. Mason. He’s on the board of trustees and he’s willing to go to bat for Timothy but he won’t do it unless he promises to stay away from you.”
Rita jumps in before I can argue. “For his sake, we need you to be strong enough to break off whatever relationship you have. It’s the only way he’ll get what he really wants.”
I take another step back. I feel like those two referees have joined Jefferson in the rib kicking party. “Sure, I can handle a trivial thing like that.” I turn and walk away fast to mask my tears.
* * *
Most of the volunteers have arrived and are milling around with the students. I see Tim sitting on a log by the fire with Mia and Noah. He’s still not in good shape. Dr. Mason has escorted him across the field and I know he’ll help him back with the students, before the real party starts so I need to talk to him now.
I get between them and the fire and look down. “Timothy, I need to talk to you now—alone.” Not using Tim gets his attention and he stands.
“He’s on pain pills so maybe he can handle that,” says Mia, also getting up and moving toward me.
I want to pay her back for stealing my wallet and passport and for moving in on Tim, but I’ve got other priorities tonight. I take some deep breaths and rotate my neck to relax my muscles. “I’m talking to Timothy, not you. Sit down before I shove that delicate, East Side sorority girl ass in the fire. Come to think of it, a singed ass might do you some good. You could get one of those stuck-up frat boys to rub some salve on it.”
She moves closer. I stand my ground and Tim gets between us. “What’s wrong with you two? You think a cat fight between teachers would be a good example for those girls? Sit down Mia. Layla, help me to that bench. We’ll talk there.”
We do what he says. “I’ve forgotten how tough you are,” I say, working hard to smile.
“Let me start,” he says.
“That puts you on familiar ground—in control.”
“Remember what I was trying to say before we got arrested in that French restaurant?”
“Something about being scared.”
“You’re too smart not to remember.”
“How could I forget? You were scared that I’d dump you when I got back to my friends.”
“More than that . . . I’m still scared . . . afraid of lot of things—that you can be funny
and sweet one minute and swing to violence the next—that I like both halves. I’m afraid that you like the violence too much—scared that we’re too much alike—afraid that I’m falling for someone I can’t figure out.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You’ve got a boyfriend here. You’ve got a past together and we just met. He’s devastated because of me. You give mixed signals and I’m worried because you don’t seem to know who you want.”
“I don’t think there’s anything in Ojibwe law that says a squaw can’t have two bucks.” I try to smile, but my lips are trembling.
“Quit running away from reality with those smart ass comments, Layla,” He’s angry and I’ve just been slapped in the face with the truth.
“I’ve got a chance to get out of Nigeria, go to school in America but I have to stay away from you to make that happen. I’m going to do that.”
“You’re siding with Mia and Dr. Mason?”
“I don’t understand what that’s all about—something about your dad that happened a long time ago. I’m siding with myself. If the cost of realizing my dream is dropping you, I’m willing to pay it.”
“Seems you’re paying with some of my money. You held back some of the fight money. Didn’t tell me you kept it.”
“I was scared you’d drop me. I needed something in reserve.”
“At the restaurant, I told you I’d never dump you. Now you’re dumping me?”
“That . . . that’s one way to say it.”
“And the loving, the sex, all that was manipulation. You were just working me for a way out?”
“No . . . no, Layla. That was my plan in the beginning but it got real. Believe me.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
I take his good arm and guide him back to Mia. I’m not up for any goodbyes from him or insults from her so I leave him there and sit alone on a large rock away from the fire. After a half-hour, I watch Dr. Mason help him to his feet. When I see Mia kiss him goodbye, I slap the rock so hard with the back of my hand, two knuckles bleed.
* * *
Since I’ve come back, the other volunteers, except for Mia’s animosity and Sammy’s friendship, have kept their distance. They talk to me individually but freeze me out of their groups. The rock is at the base of a hill, about forty yards from the bonfire. I sit there alone for an hour and watch the party unfold at the top of the hill. It feels like I’m in Desperation Hollow, looking up at the privileged East Side whites.
The party’s in full swing. About half the group are taking liberal advantage of Nathan’s rum Coke and smoke scene. Everyone has kind of paired up. Joe and Zoe head for the bushes with a blanket. Mia is with Andy—that really stings. I watch Sammy and Levi trying to dance to Noah’s guitar. He’s not very good, only knows a few cords, but they’re shuffling around in front of the fire anyway.
I sit alone on the rock. Part of me wants to pick it up, drop it on them all—Tim, Dr. Mason, Mrs. Selby, Mia—and watch them squirm. Another part wants to crawl under it and quit trying, but the longer I sit there the less giving up appeals to me. I think of the country western song with lyrics that that say, sometimes you’re the windshield—sometimes you’re the bug. I’m a better windshield than a bug. I’ve never been a counterpuncher. I need make something happen. Andy won’t talk to me, Tim dumped me, might as well make it a triple—time to have it out with Mia.
* * *
She spots me coming up the hill and weaves down to meet me. She’s unsteady and almost trips over a tree root. “You rich East Siders never could hold your liquor,” I say.
“No, you got that wrong. It’s you Indians that have that problem. I hear tell that’s what happened to your old man.”
“Mia, I’d normally knock you on your ass for that, but since you’re too dumb to know when to stop drinking, it isn’t worth my time. What I really want to know is what’s with you. Why are you so goddamn hostile to me? We were good friends until high school. What happened?”
“I got old enough to realize what kind of scum your family was. I found out you were even worse.”
“That’s pure bullshit. I never did anything to you. I’ll admit my family’s screwed up, but they didn’t do anything either.”
She curls her lip and makes a sound like a snarl and lunges toward me. I jump to the side and she loses her balance and falls on her face. She’s drunker than I thought and any conversation is useless. I kick some dirt on her hair and walk away, unsure if I’m the bug or the windshield tonight.
* * *
I head toward the woods and find a bench in a clearing facing the trees. It starts to drizzle and it fits my mood perfectly. The night’s been a disaster. I lose Tim because he decides to drop me to follow a dream. I don’t find a way to connect with Andy who calls me half-breed trash from Desperation Hollow and avoids me. I discover that Levi is having an affair with my best friend and Mia’s too drunk to engage in a productive discussion about our relationship. I’m beyond anger, only sad. Crawling under that rock seems like a very good idea right now.
I sit in the drizzle for another hour, then trudge back to the dorm, wet and alone, feeling much more the bug than the windshield. It’s past two when I get to my room. I’m too tired to clean up so I strip, throw my clothes in a heap on the floor and lay on my back. Before I conk out, I think about tomorrow and wonder if there will be some answers in Gus’s package.
Chapter 31
It’s a little after ten in the morning and I’m curled up under that same smelly blanket in the back of the jeep. When I hid under it, I could see the blood stains where I wrapped Tim. It’s hot, stuffy, I’m getting stiff from not moving, and wondering what’s holding Sammy up.
My morning class ended at ten and I don’t have to be on the roof nailing shingles until two. That gives me lots of time to get to the Tugo post office and back. With any luck I won’t be missed. Sammy may get his hands slapped for taking the jeep on a joyride but it’s the best plan we could come up with.
I’m still under some half-baked form of house arrest. They only let me leave the campus for my morning run and watch me to make sure I don’t go too far. For sure they won’t let me go to Tugo and I want to do that today. Olson is due back tomorrow and the kangaroo court will re-convene.
I hear Sammy slam the door and the starter grinds, once, then a second time, much slower, then it stops. “Pump the gas and count to ten. Then try again,” I shout through the blanket.
“Quiet, someone will hear. Don’t talk until we get past the gas station.”
I start counting under my breath. I must be counting fast because I’m on seventeen when I hear the starter. It turns over twice, then stops again.
“One last shot before the battery dies. Pump the gas hard and try again.” Right now, I don’t care if anyone hears me.
“Shut up, you’re making me nervous.”
The starter turns once and the engine sputters, pauses, sputters again and finally catches. “All right,” shouts Sammy.
“Are we past the gas station yet?”
“Don’t be a wise ass . . . really, zip-up right now. Arnie’s running across the yard. He must have heard the engine start.”
“Hi, Arnie,” I hear through the blanket. “I’m supposed to drive the jeep for a while to charge the battery and make sure it doesn’t freeze up. Some guy’s going to come and pick it up in a couple of days.”
I don’t hear anything. Arnie must be thinking about it and thinking’s not his strong suit.
“Come on Arnie. I don’t have all day. It’s hard to keep this heap running when it’s not moving. Got to go.”
I feel a jerk, then we’re moving. “See you later,” yells Sammy. I feel two jerks and hear the gears grinding. “Never got the hang of these standard shifts, Arnie.”
“Okay.” Arnie’s voice is behind us and we’re moving faster.
“Stay down. We’re going down the driveway and some of the volunteers are watching. Rita’s on the steps.”
&nb
sp; “Okay.”
I stay curled up under the blanket until I feel the jeep pull over and stop. We’re past the crossroad and the gas station is behind us.
“Thought you knew how to drive a stick shift.” I edge Sammy out of the driver’s seat.
“Those trucks had clutches that worked.”
* * *
The road to Tugo is smooth for Nigeria. The feeling of air blowing through my hair and the sight the sun shining through a blue sky dotted with puffy clouds evaporates any hangover from my gloomy mood of yesterday. Today I’m the windshield and the further I get from North Star Girl’s the freer I feel. Sammy has a big grin on his face and is holding his hands in the air like a referee declaring a touchdown. I know he feels it too. We celebrate in Arnie lingo.
“Okay,” I yell.
“Okay,” he parrots.
Tugo is jammed with people, trucks, cars, and motor scooters. The air smells of exhaust fumes and charcoal. “Lots of people for such a small town,” says Sammy.
“Tim told me that Nigeria is the most densely populated country in Africa. They must all be here—”
“Hey, there’s a parking spot,” yells Sammy”
A rusty green Buick is heading for it but I get there first. The driver opens his window and says something we don’t understand. Sammy flips him the bird and he smiles and waves back. “Strange place, I should have paid more attention to Mrs. Selby’s orientation,” he says, flipping him the bird with his other hand and giving him a wide grin back.
We’re on a side street two blocks from the building that houses the post office. It’s a slow walk. Drivers consider the sidewalk part of the road and we need to dodge both people and vehicles. The exhaust fumes irritate my nose and make my eyes sting. People turn and look at us. “I don’t know what’s so unusual about two Americans in t-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops,” says Sammy.
Squaw Girl: A Boxer's Battle for Love Page 16
