Somewhere In-Between

by Donna Milner

  She drifted off into a dreamless sleep, while out on the highway, her happily-ever-after world was about to shatter with the unheard metallic scream of steel against concrete lamppost.

  Less than two hours later she had clawed her way up from oblivion to Ian’s hands digging into her shoulders, shaking her like a rag doll— the scent of Tabu perfume filling her nostrils.

  8

  Dad saw me. I wish he hadn’t, although there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about it. I watched his car come up the highway, then pull over on the side of the road. Who wouldn’t stop to see if they could help at the scene of an accident so close to home? Certainly not Dad. But he got more than he bargained for, an image that will stick in his mind forever. The police had arrived only a few minutes before. He would have heard their sirens on his way home.

  The blue and red flashing lights illuminated his face as he climbed out of his car. He took a few tentative steps, froze, and then bolted past the vehicle wrapped around the lamppost on the side of the highway. He pushed his way between the officers and dropped onto the ground beside Levi, who was hunched over, shoulders heaving as he held me in his arms. But how could that be? How could I be there, and here—wherever here was—watching?

  Both Dad and I looked down at the same motionless face. In the same breath of time, we took in the smudged greasepaint that the cold cream had missed at the temples, the diamond-shaped glass shards imbedded in the bloodied forehead, and in the limp hand lying on the ground, crushed yellow rose petals spilling out of the open palm. In the same instant we both knew. Dad shoved Levi aside and pulled me into his arms. I could hear him moaning my name over and over again, but I heard it from another place.

  For Dad the pain was so unbearable that a part of him shut down right then. To protect himself, I guess. Probably a good thing because what he really wanted to do was smash somebody’s face in, and the closest living person to him was Levi, and a couple of police officers. I sure didn’t want to see him hit Levi. And punching out a cop, not so good.

  For me the realization was simply a surprise, like, Oh, okay. So this is how it happens. There was no pain. And no feeling of sadness, no fear. Just curiosity. Like, where am I, and how did I get here?

  The last thing I remembered was Levi cursing, and then white light. Yeah, white light. Just like all those creepy movies.

  In that absence-of-sound-and-colour place, I relived the past. To say my whole life flashed before me would be wrong, because it was like, just that evening, which seemed to play out in real time, starting with Levi driving us to the high school earlier to put on our make-up and costumes before the play. Wedged together on the front seat of his rusted old blue Chevy Malibu, Kajul and I had hammed up our characters. Levi, as always, concentrated on the road, ignoring our giggling and ad libbing.

  Every now and then I would check out his profile from the corner of my eye. I was still certain that, with his dark handsome face, he would have made a better Danny than Wade Morrey. I had even tried to talk him into auditioning for it. There hadn’t been any real hope behind my prodding, but hey, ya never know. Still, Levi acting? Pretending to be anything other than who he was? Not a chance. Anyway, hockey was more important, and I knew that. He was good, really good, at it.

  Grease turned out to be totally sick. It made no difference how many times we had rehearsed the play, or even the final dress rehearsal, the real thing just blew me away. When I was up on that stage in front of an actual live audience, I suddenly realized that I could do this. I was good at it. Maybe I had found something that I could practise and learn to love as much as Levi loved his hockey. Hey, I even thought that maybe I would become an actress, a singer. Why not? Mom and Dad had always drilled into me that everything was possible, that I could do, become, anything if I wanted it badly enough.

  At the party everyone was still on a natural high from the first performance, rehashing the mistakes, the improvising, and breaking into our favourite Grease songs every now and then. I still had on my Rizzo costume, wanting to hang onto the character for as long as I could. With the yellow rose from Mom pinned behind my ear, I knew that I probably looked dorky, but I didn’t care.

  Someone had brought beer. I popped one open and offered it to Levi, who looked from the can to me, his face remaining passive as he silently turned it down. I took a sip, just to look cool. It wasn’t real drinking. Just a beer. I had Mom’s permission to be here, so what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Right? How wrong that turned out to be.

  Some of the guys from the play said, “Hey, Dude,” to Levi as they passed, but no one hung with him except Kajul and me. I’m pretty certain it was for no other reason than they were in awe of him. He was something of a hero, a local celebrity in our town, after all. He could have been playing for one of the Canadian Junior teams already, but wanted to finish high school in Waverley Creek. He was that good. Although you would never know it from the way he acts. Anyone who doesn’t know him might take it from his expressions that he’s an angry guy, but nothing could be further from the truth. He’s a little bit shy, yeah, but mostly, Levi never says much. Yet when he does speak it’s usually worth hearing. My mother told me there is something to be said for a quiet man and repeated another of her old-school sayings that she was so fond of, but I had to admit this one fit, ‘Still waters run deep.’

  It is true though, that sometimes the way Levi looks at, or more likely beyond, someone, it would be easy to think he’s judging them, but those of us who know him, know that isn’t true. His mind is just on other things: school, his hockey, his mom out at NaNeetza Reserve. And lately, I believed, maybe even me. I have reason to think that because when we left the party before midnight—just as he promised Mom—he took Kajul to her house first, even though it meant he had to double back to my place. Before I climbed out of the car I pulled his pendant from where it hung beneath my blouse, lifted it over my head, and gave it back to him. He put it back on, and then without a word, he leaned over and placed his left hand on my cheek, tilted my face up, and kissed me, kissed me so lightly that my lips tingled. He leaned back and the dimples that I am so crazy about showed up for a brief moment. Then he said, “You make my heart come glad.”

  Wow, Dude, I thought, that’s just about the best thing a guy could ever say. But I didn’t tell him. I kept silent, knowing that with him that was the best thing a girl could do. So I just smiled back at him as I jumped out of the car. He waited while I ran across our driveway to the front door. He always stayed until he saw that I was safely inside. By the time I reached the porch though, I remembered that I had left my backpack—with my house key and cell phone—backstage at the school. I looked under the rock beneath the juniper bush, but the extra key wasn’t there. Waving back at Levi, I gave the doorbell a few quick jabs. Even after I hammered on the door, the house remained dark and silent. I shrugged and walked back to the car.

  “I’m locked out,” I said, leaning into his window. “Do you have a cell phone?”

  Levi’s expression said it all. Of course he didn’t carry a cell phone. I knew that.

  “My folks must either be asleep or still out,” I said. “Could you take me back to the party? I can use the phone there.”

  It was almost midnight and Levi still had hockey practice in the morning, yet he didn’t hesitate. We drove back up Cottonwood Drive. The party was still happening. More people had shown up, and more beer. The house was crowded. That’s how it is in a small town. Word spreads. I wondered if it’s the same in a big city. I thought that someday I would find out. Not too long from now, two more years of high school and I was off to UBC. Anything less would make both my parents freak.

  I used Wade’s phone and called home. Pressing my finger to my ear to block out the party noise, I left a message telling Mom to mark down the time because I deserved brownie points for keeping my promise to be home by midnight, but that I was locked out. “I guess you guys are out since you’re not picking up,” I added, and left Wade’s number f
or them to call when they got home.

  “Sorry, Levi,” I said turning back to him in the hall. “Hey, I can get a ride home from someone else. You don’t have to wait.”

  He said no, he would wait and drive me home, which of course was exactly what I wanted him to say. Then, just in case I got too smug, he leaned against the wall and added with a grin, “I promised your mom.”

  Someone shoved a can of beer into my hand. I passed it to Levi and went to find the washroom. When I returned he was still leaning against the wall watching the partiers who were getting louder and louder. He handed me the full can of beer and I took a few gulps, then teasingly shoved it back, daring him. This time he took it, lifted it to his lips and took a long swallow. When he passed back the can his dark eyes held mine as if to say, ‘There, are you happy?’

  Suddenly the laughing and singing, all the forced excitement around us, was nothing but noise. I grabbed Levi’s arm. “Let’s go,” I said. “We can wait in the driveway. My parents can’t be much longer. Or I could try the basement and patio doors.”

  Walking out to Levi’s car, he raised an eyebrow but said nothing about the unfinished beer I brought with me. Outside the rain-slick street had tuned frosty in the frigid night air. Levi drove cautiously down Cottonwood Drive, and then picked up speed out on the highway. Just before we reached the turnoff to our street, the rose fell out of my hair. I unlocked my seatbelt to grab for it and the beer can slipped from my grasp, splashing foam across Levi’s lap. He jerked back, hitting the brake. Suddenly the motion of the tires changed, becoming weightless, soundless, as if sliding across air. “Shit!” Levi swore. “Black ice!” Now this is where it starts to get fuzzy. As the world spun out of control, I lifted my head up to peer over the dashboard just as a lamppost headed toward me at an odd angle. Then the white light, white noise, with no sense of time or space.

  The next thing I knew Levi was carrying me away from his crumpled car, screaming at someone who was jumping out of their vehicle to call an ambulance. He laid me down on the side of the road and placed his jacket under my head. Kneeling over me, his hair and the crow pendant, hanging in my face, his tears falling onto my cheeks, he lifted me gently and held me in his arms. Crazily I was watching all this from above, and all I could think about was how upset my mom was going to be. I kept trying to tell Levi to let her know that I was okay, but my lips wouldn’t move. And then my father was there, pushing Levi away from me. As Dad hugged me to his chest, the truth hit us both at the same moment. Just as an even crazier thought occurred to me—who will play Rizzo’s part in the play tomorrow night?—two of the RCMP members grabbed Levi by the elbows. His arms were forced behind his back. When the handcuffs clicked on and they led him to the patrol car, I knew he wasn’t going to make his morning practice.

  9

  Out on the lake, sunlight shatters into a million tiny fragments across the wind-rippled surface. Julie stands at the kitchen sink rinsing the nugget potatoes and staring out of the widow. The undisturbed view, the absence of anything other than what Mother Nature placed there eons ago, is calming. Something she needs right now.

  The cold water washes over her hands and swirls down the drain with the garden soil while she contemplates her reaction to Virgil Blue. Remorse over her outburst is already seeping into the sliver of space left for any feelings other than ungenerous grief. Was Ian right? Was her reaction so strong because Virgil, like Levi Johnny, was Native?

  All her life, her life before the accident, Julie had believed that the term bigot applied to others, not to her. When she was a child, whenever she and Jessie misbehaved, her father would tease them, saying, “Guess we’ll have to give you back to the Indians.” Back then, her dad’s playful threats had conjured up images of red men with painted faces, bows and arrows.

  Growing up in an exclusive community in Vancouver and attending private schools, Julie’s exposure to other cultures was from a distance, to say the least. It wasn’t until she was an adult, and particularly since moving to Waverley Creek, that she realized that there was worse bigotry than her father’s thoughtless words. Now she is as guilty of it as anyone she has ever judged, because in her heart she has to admit there was a dark seed of truth in Ian’s accusation. It wasn’t only the crow pendant that had thrown her for a loop. Still, her reaction is puzzling even to herself. It’s not as if she hasn’t encountered other First Nations people since Darla’s death. Unless she had never left her house when they still lived in town, she was bound to, even out here. Most of the haying crew this summer were from a local band. She’d simply avoided them. The truth was that Virgil’s height and colouring, his facial features, aquiline nose and flared nostrils, were unlike any of the Chilcotin people she’s ever encountered.

  She suddenly recalls where she saw Virgil before. It was last summer, when her world was still intact, outside of the Waverley Creek Hospital. Why had she gone there that day? A blood test? Visiting a friend? She can’t remember. But she does remember the unusually large crowd of First Nations, Elders and young alike, milling around in front of the hospital doors. The parking lot was full, forcing Julie to find a spot out on the street. On her way back, the people gathered at the hospital entry neither noticed her, nor ignored her. They continued smoking or talking quietly as she wove her way through. Near the main entry someone was helping an old woman climb out of the passenger seat of a van parked in a visitor’s stall. The woman, tiny and bent, a weathered map of wrinkles defining her face, wore a pink cardigan, despite the warmth of the day, an ankle-length skirt and fluorescent green socks. Julie smiled in spite of herself. She’d always admired the brilliant shades of clothing, a quiet celebration of colour, which elderly First Nations women seem to favour.

  As the woman moved slowly through the respectfully parting crowd, Julie couldn’t help but notice the tall man helping her inside. At the time Julie had no idea who he was, but she remembers being struck by the handsome face and the coppery hued skin that made him stand out in the crowd. Only now does it occur to her that the man escorting the woman that day was Virgil Blue.

  Later, inside the hospital, Julie had asked the woman at the reception desk what was going on outside.

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, one of their Elders up on the third floor is dying,” she said with impatience. “Whenever one of them dies, the whole damn tribe shows up.”

  Taken aback by her words, Julie had replied, “How wonderful to have so many people who want to say goodbye.”

  She had turned and headed to the elevator, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks, and shame at her own initial reaction—that the gathering was some kind of protest. Even worse was the fact that she had avoided Levi Johnny’s eyes in the crowd, that she had not said hello or acknowledged him as she passed by.

  The sound of the door in the mudroom opening and closing breaks into her thoughts. She remains at the sink when Ian enters the kitchen.

  “Virgil will leave,” he says behind her.

  Picking up the dishtowel from the counter she turns around. She studies her hands, drying them with measured movement as Ian walks over to her. He hands her a slip of paper. Recognizing another of Virgil’s scrawled notes, Julie takes it. Ian backs away and sits down at the table while she reads the short message.

  If it will help her heart to heal, I will go.

  She takes a deep breath, lets it fill her lungs then slowly releases it, imagining it as a black poison escaping from her body, an exercise she had learned from some forgotten book on spirituality and personal growth, books left behind in another lifetime. “He doesn’t have to leave,” she says, quietly. “You need him around here.”

  “If you want him to go—”

  “No. It’s fine. Really. He should stay.” She looks up. “I’m sorry, Ian. You’re right, I behaved poorly. It’s just that seeing him made me think of Levi Johnny, of Darla...”

  The sudden shock of their daughter’s name hangs in the air, the absoluteness of her death filling the silence. Ian’s
face hardens into an emotionless mask.

  “Don’t,” he says in a tone she has learned to recognize as a warning.

  She drops the note on the table. “How do you do it?” she asks.

  Immediately regretting the sharp edge to her words, she touches his shoulder and adds quietly, “Sometimes I wish I could be like you. Just move on with life as if nothing has happened.”

  Ignoring her hand, Ian stands up. Without meeting her eyes he asks, “What choice do we have?” and heads to his office.

  “Choice is an illusion,” she says to his back.

  10

  Outside, Julie sits on the porch steps lacing up her hiking boots. She doesn’t even know what she meant by her parting shot at Ian. Other than the helplessness of knowing that if she, if he, had made other choices the night Darla died… No. She can’t go there. Just as Ian can’t talk about their daughter, she can’t let her mind dwell on the ‘if only.’

  Rising from the porch step she walks across the yard, intent on burning off some of her pent-up angst. At the corral the Clydesdales’ giant heads hang over the top rung. They snort a greeting as she opens the gate into the field. The warm scent of horse manure and summer dry hay fills the air. Cutting across the empty pasture she heads toward the western slopes. Although she has yet to run into Virgil on her hikes, she doesn’t want to chance it today.

  Out on the lake a loon lifts its heavy white chest, unfolds its wings and lets out a warning yodel. Nearby, its mate, riding low in the water, veers away. Their adolescent offspring bobs along weightlessly behind. Up close the adult birds appear so much larger and heavier than they do through binoculars. Julie has spent hours watching them nest in the marshes all summer, felt a thrill when two downy chicks appeared hitchhiking on their mother’s back. Now she sees only one. She stops on the edge of the field to scan the surrounding area, searching the reeds and lily pads in the shallows, but there is no sign of the other young bird. Sadly, she wonders what has happened to it. A predator, an eagle or the osprey that nests in the treetops? She’ll never know. The loons glide out into deeper water, moving soundlessly across the surface unconcerned, their loss forgotten. Memory. A bitter-edged blessing.