Through Different Eyes

by Karen Charleson

  “Oh.” Nona tried to look concerned.

  “Nothing serious,” Ruby quickly added. As though to prove her statement, she called out to her daughter. “Brenda! Nona’s brought cinnamon buns.”

  A minute later, Brenda appeared in the doorway. She was wearing old sweatpants and what looked like an ancient sweater of Ruby’s. Her face seemed somehow puffier or rounder than Nona recalled. She sat beside her mother and helped herself to a cup of tea and a fresh bun. Like her mother, she praised Nona’s baking. As the girl ate and sipped tea, Nona glanced at her sideways. She was used to seeing Brenda carefully dressed for school; she had lost count of how many new jackets the girl wore. She actually could not remember ever seeing the girl in the sloppy type of clothing she had on now.

  There was no mistaking it. The normally trim girl displayed a most definite bulging belly. Not too large yet, but a noticeable rounding. On a chubbier girl, one might not even have seen it. Brenda obviously believed that the bulky sweater hid it, but sitting as she did on the kitchen chair, the sweater’s bulk gathered behind her and caused the front of the sweater to stretch tight across her belly. Sensing Nona’s eyes upon her, Brenda tugged the sweater material forward. My God, Nona thought, so this is their big secret. Their sixteen-year-old daughter is pregnant.

  Nervous that she would blurt out something inappropriate, Nona quickly asked about Monica. She only listened in part as Ruby described how her sister was asked to help out at the school, how she and Gary had hit it off right away, and how he had all but begged her to stay on and work with the kids. Ruby was justifiably proud of Monica. The whole family was proud of her. Even Brenda seemed to perk up a little when talking about her aunt. She told Nona that some of the kids even came by the house to see her in the evenings.

  Nona went two days without even a whisper to anyone about Brenda. Then on the weekend, Carolyn came by to pick up the bread she had ordered. Nona’s relative was in no hurry. She leaned into the kitchen counter and chattered away. Her favourite topic these days was her daughter, along with the fact that Charmayne and her husband were finally expecting a baby. Carolyn could offer infinite detail about what sounded to Nona like a very ordinary pregnancy.

  Nona hesitated. If she told Carolyn her news about Brenda and Carolyn spread it around Kitsum, as she was sure to do, then Martin and Ruby would know that she was the one who had blabbed. But, Nona countered, the girl had certainly been to see the doctor or the nurse. Likely both. Her mother would have taken care of that, even if Brenda herself was too shy or embarrassed to make appointments. Nona had seen her going somewhere in the truck. People would have seen her at those appointments. And what of Monica and the kids? Maybe Monica could keep her mouth shut, but Martin Junior, he had friends. Brenda herself had friends. Thomas, Becky, and Millie had to have overheard something in that house. News about Brenda Joe could come from a lot of sources.

  She made up her mind to tell Carolyn. Inevitably, that was the way gossip worked. In order to get news from others, one had to — at least occasionally — also contribute news. Nona left out her suspicions about who Brenda had been seeing. They were based upon a single remark that an old friend had made. At the time, that comment had not even made sense. Carolyn was actually quiet for a moment. Nona could not help feeling satisfied with herself. Usually it was her cousin with all the juiciest gossip. For a change, it was the other way around.

  “Holy smokes,” Carolyn finally exclaimed. It was one of her favourite expressions. “Ruby must be horrified. Mad as hell too, I’ll bet.”

  “She seemed okay to me.” Nona felt like she needed to stand up for her neighbour. “I was there not long ago.”

  As Nona had expected, the news kept Carolyn occupied for some time. First she was mystified, and then she was trying to guess the identity of the father. Nona professed to not having a clue, even as Carolyn was shaking her head in disapproval. “What’s been going on over there?” she demanded of Nona.

  “Nothing,” Nona replied. “It’s been quiet.”

  Carolyn launched into a long tirade about unwed mothers. She actually had the nerve to use Charmayne as a good example of a woman getting properly married before having children. It was enough to almost make Nona sick to her stomach. By the time her cousin was ready to leave, Nona was sorry that she had shared the news at all.

  ELEVEN

  It was the big basketball dinner in early February that finally jolted Brenda out of her numbness. Since the holidays, she had stayed almost entirely inside the house. She had gone to a doctor’s appointment, and then two appointments with the health nurse, only because of her mother’s prodding. The sole person outside her family who she really wanted to talk to was Marcie, but her friend had no telephone and Brenda could not bring herself to walk the distance to her house. When Junior’s friends came over, she stayed upstairs in her bedroom. When someone came to visit her mother or father, she hid. Though her mother often suggested it, she did not visit her grandparents. When her family went there for family dinners — her grandmother was big on family dinners — Brenda said that she was not feeling well and stayed home.

  However, the excitement surrounding basketball finally proved irresistible. Junior had talked for weeks about the team’s upcoming trip to Prince Rupert for the All-Native Tournament. He and their father had spoken about little else. Listening to the two of them, every day there was something to be done. Organization and planning just did not stop. There were practices, ongoing considerations of which players were playing well and which players were not, rumours about other teams, fundraising lunches or bake sales or bottle drives, and travel logistics to work out. The house was all activity, and Brenda was no longer the focus of everyone’s muted attention. It felt good to think of something other than herself for a while.

  Every year, Kitsum hosted a dinner for the teams going to Prince Rupert. The whole community attended. People brought their best foods: smoked fish, salmon, codfish and halibut, crabs, clams, pies and cakes galore. By the time the day of the dinner arrived Brenda was as excited as everyone else. She spent the morning and afternoon baking raisin and lemon pies while her mother made a huge pot of clam chowder and stacked a platter full of fried clam patties. The sudden burst of activity invigorated her. By early evening, when they were all getting ready to go to the hall, Brenda was even helping to carry things out to the truck.

  They arrived early and the community hall was already nearly half full. Everyone in Kitsum had a brother or a cousin or a close relative who was going to Rupert. Every young child was dreaming of someday being on one of the teams themselves. During every free break at the elementary school, the gym was filled with boys and girls practising free throws and layups. Ten-year-olds took turns trying their hand at three-pointers. Then in the evening, teenagers and adults would take the floor.

  The Joes settled along the end of one of the long tables. In a row sat Brenda, her mother, Junior, her father, Thomas, Becky, Millie, and Monica. Across from Monica was her Uncle Dan, his wife Linda, and three grandchildren. Brenda had never thought much of Linda, not when the woman had first started staying with Daniel, and not now. Rather than sit beside Monica and have to answer Linda’s questions — the woman was just plain nosy — Brenda tucked herself safely beside her mother. When her aunt called old Nona over to sit beside her, Brenda was doubly glad about her seating choice.

  She watched Junior. This was a huge event for him. His head bobbed constantly towards the doors and towards his teammates. Quickly and repeatedly, his eyes scanned the hall. His legs and feet shuffled rhythmically beneath the table. It was impossible to sit anywhere near her brother and not continue to feel excited. Brenda was glad that she had come.

  Dinner was served first. After everyone had eaten and the tables had been cleared, the teams and their coaches were called up front. Junior and the crew of guys he had played ball with since elementary school made up the Kitsum Intermediate team. They called themsel
ves Kitsum Storm. Martin had coached that team in the past, and this year, he was an assistant coach. He stood up and addressed the boys. He talked about how well they had played last year, and how they had won the trophy for being the most sportsmanlike team, and how he hoped that this year would go just as well. Martin talked about how he had brought the boys out clam digging at Lone Point on the Pacific Queen a few nights before. They had dug hard and helped one another, and together, they had made a good chunk of the money needed for the team’s travel costs. The hall was absolutely quiet. The boys stood completely still. After he had finished speaking, Martin presented the coach with an additional cash donation. Everyone cheered.

  Other community members followed. Each of them stood up with words of advice and donations. When it looked like everyone was done, the Kitsum Band Chief and Council Members went up to the front of the hall and presented a cheque. It must have been a big one, because the already happy head coaches and team members smiled even wider. All the basketball players started clapping and stamping their feet. That got the people clapping all over again. Clapping and stomping. It was a wonder the hall could contain that overflow of encouragement, enthusiasm, and support.

  Full of good food and in the midst of family and community, Brenda forgot that her slim, well-dressed figure had been replaced by this strange, swollen version of herself that she no longer recognized. For a while, it no longer mattered that she was obliged to wear the baggiest, most nondescript clothing possible. It did not matter that even her hair — which so recently had been long and thick and a rich deep brown that so readily caught the light — was now stringy and dull like so many worn strands of old rope. The health nurse had calculated that Brenda had gained over five kilograms since her first visit in late December. She had also offered suggestions for exercises and eating healthy meals. Brenda had ignored her.

  Marcie came over to see her after the speeches had wrapped up. Brenda saw across the tables that Gabriel stayed on his grandmother’s lap. “I’m really glad that you came,” her friend said. Brenda smiled.

  “I missed you. You and Gabes.”

  “Me too. Come over tomorrow? Please. Just me and Gabes will be home. Mom and Dad are heading for Campbell River.”

  All of Kitsum was in the hall that evening. Everyone had seen her and nothing horrible had happened. The idea of Brenda remaining hidden in the house all day suddenly seemed foolish. Yes, she would go out to Marcie’s and feel the sunlight again. Things would not be so bad. There was no sign of Michael. His aunt and uncle sat in the bleachers. Maybe he had left town. He was gone, invisible; he did not even exist. It was better that way.

  TWELVE

  Monica threw her energies into working at the elementary school. She left the house in the morning darkness and arrived back home in the evening darkness. She knew that there would be more time to do other things in the spring when the days were longer. For now, work and home were enough.

  Tom, Becky, and Millie were especially helpful. They were obviously proud to have her at their school and they wanted her to stay. They explained routines and common practices more effectively than some of the teachers. They told her what past aides had done, and informed her clearly of what they had definitely liked and what they had definitely not liked. Millie told her that the teacher aide who used to work in her class stunk. No one wanted to sit too close to her because she smelled so strongly of perfume. That was why the little kids did not want to read with her. Tom told her that he did not want anyone trying to help him with his math unless he specifically asked. Teachers and aides who pushed their noses into his work only annoyed him. “They think I am too dumb to figure things out by myself,” he said.

  She enjoyed helping at the school in a way that she had never enjoyed working in Vancouver. Not a day went by without her receiving hugs from children and even the occasional parent. Gary made time to answer her questions and offered her a steady stream of educational resource materials. The man had been teaching for over two decades; there was little that he had not thought about, at least concerning elementary school and its students. It had taken Gary only a few days to decide that Monica should become a teacher herself. It quickly became a sort of running joke between them, but like the hugs from the children, his belief in her abilities gave Monica daily confirmation that she had done the right thing in staying home and taking the new job.

  There were seven teachers at Kitsum Elementary, including Gary, and five teacher aides, including herself. All the teachers were from outside Kitsum. Gary and three other teachers stayed in the village in the teacherages across the playing field from the school. The other teachers drove in each day from Port Hope. The aides were all women from Kitsum, and one of them served as the school’s receptionist. Doreen Brown, who was a well-respected elder in the community, had been brought into the school specifically to teach Kitsum language, and to lead the kids in learning Kitsum songs and dances. Monica tried to help out with that as much as possible. She wished that Doreen had been teaching language and songs when she was in school. The elderly woman never made fun of her for learning along with the young students. In fact, she smiled and nodded encouragement at her often. Within only a few days, Monica had divided her time between helping Doreen and helping out with the Grades 4-7 classes.

  Gary’s Grade 7 class ran the most smoothly. It was obvious that he genuinely appreciated and respected his students. The students mirrored his attitudes right back at him. They rarely spoke badly to him, and even when they grimaced or groaned about assignments, that seemed to be with a positive spirit. Of course, Gary, being such a good teacher, needed the least help in his classroom.

  Monica spent a lot of her time helping Helen, the Grades 4-5 teacher, and Marge, the Grade 6 teacher. It did not take long for Monica to also come to respect Marge. The fact that the provincially funded elementary school in Port Hope had more resources and funding than the federally funded on-reserve school in Kitsum was a topic of frequent discussion. Marge rarely took part in these conversations. Monica initially thought that she — as so many people outside the community tended to do — somehow took offence at their criticisms of the provincial schools. Then one Monday morning, the woman showed up at the school with a complete set of individualized reading plans for each of her students. She had worked the plans out during her evenings at home with the unofficial help of the Special Education teacher in Port Hope. After that, Monica made sure to sit in the “library” at the back of the classroom each afternoon, and spend at least ten minutes listening to each student read to her individually.

  Compared to Marge, Helen was extremely outgoing. She was a veritable bubble of enthusiasm and excess energy. Almost every day, she invited Monica over to her place for tea and a visit. Monica’s string of excuses did not appear to deter her in the slightest. As for Becky, she raved about Helen. According to her second-youngest niece, Helen was the best teacher ever! Monica thought that Helen’s classroom was barely controlled chaos. What little order there was seemed to hang by the thinnest of threads. Helen believed fervently — and she was happy to tell anyone who would listen to her rant — in letting students work at their own pace. That was fine for students like Becky who actually sat down and did their work. As far as Monica saw, it did not seem to go so well for the kids who chose not to do much in the way of work at all.

  Monica’s role as the “disciplinarian” in Helen’s classroom evolved quickly. At first, she only spoke up when Doreen was trying to teach. Someone had to settle the kids down so that the older woman could actually be heard. For Monica, it was a matter of basic respect. At home, Becky was quick to point out that she was too crabby at school. Across the kitchen, Ruby arched her eyebrows and stifled her laughter. “I’ll try to be less of a crab, okay, Becks?” Monica grinned at her sister.

  “Sounds like you’re doing okay at the school,” Ruby remarked after Becky had left the room. “No big problems, then?”

  “No, not real
ly. Nothing I can fix anyways. It’s easy to see that the school is short-staffed. I don’t get into classes of the younger kids at all. So the school definitely needs more aides. Gary goes on and on about needing Special Ed teachers, which is totally true. I mean, there are kids with special needs in every class. Like a couple of kids in the first grade who are obviously hard of hearing. And there’s definitely some kids with other issues. It’s too much, and the teachers can’t get it all done by themselves.”

  “Gary’s been trying to get funds for more support staff for years. Since he got here.” Ruby kept up with education issues in Kitsum. She had been on the PTA since Brenda started school. “They do have Special Ed in Port Hope. But it’s a provincial school. We get to fight and wait for Indian Affairs to keep underfunding us. It’s been like that since the school started.”

  “Yeah, Gary’s giving me stuff to read on fetal alcohol syndrome and some of the problems it can cause. I’ve only started to understand some of it. There’s a lot to consider, but there are also a lot of strategies and methods that can be used to help those kids more.”

  “You’ve got the time, Monica. These problems aren’t new. They’ve been around for a long time now. And they’re certainly not going to be solved overnight.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Monica chuckled.

  “What is it that Gary is always telling you? Take your time.”

  “Yes, it is good advice.”

  When the letter arrived, Monica realized that she had been expecting it for a while. Saul did not give up easily. He professed to understand the reasons why she had not wanted to move to Ottawa. He claimed to understand that she missed her family and wanted to be closer to her sister. He was not completely wrong. Saul believed that the problems between them could be worked out. He declared his ongoing love for her. The letter closed with his “deepest hopes” that she had not given up on their relationship.