“No. People make their own decisions. You can’t blame yourself if people want to get fucked up. I’ve never spent money on it, but you know I’ll do stuff if people offer it. If it makes me feel like shit it’s my own fault.”
“It’s not right though.” There is silence for a moment. He can feel her getting impatient. She doesn’t like it when he seems uncertain.
“It’s not about right and wrong. It’s about making that money and getting your ass to school,” Tara says.
“Yeah.” They talk for a while after that, but they don’t have much to say. They exchange the same old words about missing each other and Shane promises to call her once he makes his first sale. She doesn’t say I love you, and neither does he.
Shane hangs up the phone. He can hear other kids his age whooping and calling out to each other down the road. Their voices are thin and faraway sounding, like they’re coming to him on a toy phone made of tin cans and string. He can’t tell if they’re laughing or crying for help. Nothing to be done either way. Shane imagines planting David and Jackie and Tara and all the people he’s ever loved deep into the soil, with only their heads poking out. A human garden. He could feed them and talk to them and make sure nothing bad ever happened again.
An idea brushes over Shane’s neck like a gray spider. He’s being watched. Shane twists around to get a look at the room. Everything looks normal but it feels like someone has replaced each of his things with an exact duplicate of the original. And now if he were to walk out into the house he would see that the living room, the TV, the kitchen, even Destiny’s room and his mother asleep inside have all been swapped out for identical but slightly wrong versions of themselves. Or maybe it’s him. Maybe everyone else is exactly the same, and he’s the one that’s been exchanged for another version of himself, one that’s attracted to guys, one that sees spirits and deals drugs to teenagers.
Shane shoves the bag of pills and powders and weed into the back of his desk drawer. He should make a list of people he can sell to, and then hide one small baggie of each drug in the small compartments of his backpack. He should find a permanent hiding place for the rest. That would be smart. But he calls David instead.
Shane puts the phone to his ear and feels a flush of pleasure until he remembers that he’s on David’s shit list. David picks up but he doesn’t say anything.
“David?” There’s nothing but the light hiss of air on the line. “I miss you. I’m sorry,” Shane says. The words fizz from Shane’s phone up to a satellite in space, and then beam back down to David. They travel tens of thousands of kilometers to be heard a fifteen-minute walk away. “I’m sorry about the shit with Debbie. I wish I knew another way … maybe I could just sell to older people or …”
“People that don’t matter?”
“I don’t know what to do, David.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
The hissing silence passes between them, connecting them like an umbilical cord. He imagines that he can hear David’s breathing, the warm steady beat of his heart. Imagines him with the Toronto guidebook in his lap, its words and pictures fluttering on the backs of his eyelids like gray birds reflected in a stream.
“I—” A loud crack comes from the other side of the bedroom door. It’s followed by a sound like a bathtub full of chunky stew getting dropped in the living room. Jackie calls for him from Destiny’s room. Shane opens the door and pokes his head down the hall. The living room is awash in rotten drywall and swampy water. The bulging area around the leak has become a gaping hole in the ceiling. Shane realizes he’s still holding the phone.
“Oh shit! Sorry David—I have to call you back.”
*
Cleaning the place up takes most of the night, and when he’s done no one would really call it livable. He does what he can, but the living room is finished. The smell is so bad he has to run out for air a few times to keep from throwing up. Shane finds some old plastic drop sheets under the sink and staples them to the door frame. At least that way Jackie won’t wander in. Good thing it’s summer. But what happens next time it rains?
He closes the door of his bedroom. Through the window, he can see the light beginning to brighten the treetops outside. He collapses into bed and pulls the blankets up around his chin. The room seems deadly quiet at first, and then the little sounds of life creep in like they’re being turned up by a remote control. Cue the distant rumble of the train. Cue the crack of gravel under a truck’s tires. Cue the lapping of waves and the friendly sound of boats nuzzling the dock.
Shane rolls over on his side and checks his phone for messages. He sees one from David: Come over tomorrow morning. My nookomis wants to see you. Shane sighs. It’s already morning. He sees that David sent another message ten minutes later: I <3 you.
Shane wants to roll over and ignore it, but something bubbles up in him and won’t allow him to put the phone down. His fingers hover over the screen for a painfully long moment. Shane silently counts, One … two … three … four … five …
When he’s done counting and the kicking in his chest has settled into a sickening sway, Shane types: I <3 you more. He slides the phone across the floor to the other side of the room. Maybe that way he won’t be tempted to check it every five seconds. Maybe. Shane shimmies under the covers and turns out the light. There’s a grizzly on his chest and minnows in his stomach, but he can’t stop smiling.
chapter eighteen
She might be lying but Ashley’s auntie Lisa said she saw my mom when she was out in Dryden a few weeks ago. She told Ashley that she asked if my mom was going to come back to visit my dad and me. She said my mom laughed, like it was funny that me and my dad might want to see her. Lisa said my mom was just passing through town, only there for one night. She said she’s lost weight and she’s blond now. Dryden’s a shit hole, but it’s only about an hour away. After leaving without a word for years, she couldn’t drive for even an hour. What did I do to her? Roberta says it doesn’t have anything to do with me, but that’s bullshit. It has to have something to do with me. Even if she left for her own reasons, she left me here with him. She left knowing that it would hurt me. That’s why people don’t just leave their kids. They don’t just walk away. It’s too cruel. There has to be a reason. It’s messed up, but I would rather believe that I did something to drive her away than just shut up and accept the fact that the people I love and trust might just walk away for no reason at all. That can’t be true. I couldn’t handle it.
Shane is no better. People say I’m lucky to have him taking care of me, but that’s bullshit. I’m the one that’s been propping him up when he’s sad, worrying about what might happen to the plans for his future. And then when I get the first news I’ve had about my mom in years and it’s SHITTY, he can’t even be bothered to ask me what’s wrong. I end up helping HIM. Reassuring HIM. Telling him it’s okay to be a drug dealer if you’re doing it for a good reason. I love him but sometimes I want to scream, You have it so easy! People believe in you! They want you to succeed! Man up!
I wanted to write a poem or something more about Mom, but I don’t have anything left. I don’t even hate her anymore. I feel like she’s something awful that happened to someone I used to know.
chapter nineteen
When Shane steps outside, he is reminded how a good rain refreshes the world. Most of the world, anyway, not his crappy little house. It’s like the laws of the universe reverse themselves as soon as you cross the threshold. Rain leads to rot. Roofs let the weather in. Daughters die before mothers. Sons take care of mothers. Each breath he takes in the outside air is a relief. Even though he barely slept and he doesn’t know why Evie asked him to come over, stepping outside the mushroomy walls of his house feels like a small taste of freedom.
Last night Shane dreamed that he was standing in the middle of the house with his arms stretched up to the
ceiling, barely supporting the weight of the place on his palms. His arms shuddered and shook. He called out to his mom and David, who sat at opposite ends of the table picking dry husks out of a basket of manomin. Help me! I need your help! he called. Jackie and David stayed hunched over the basket, absorbed in their task. They bowed their heads and said in unison, You have all the help you need. That’s all he remembers. As if there wasn’t enough uncertainty in Shane’s life, his dreams never have clear borders and they never really end. They stop before anything is resolved: all questions and no answers.
*
Evie’s house sits a little ways back from the road behind a fringe of trees. It was built and maintained by generations of men who were lucky enough to get steady work nearby. Unlike most families, they were able to maintain the old ways through the decades when it was illegal to sweat or drum or speak the language. Their rebellion is the only reason those ways weren’t lost forever.
Shane stands in front of Evie’s house, not yet ready to go in and unable to walk away. The screen door squawks. Evie comes out drying her hands with a red cloth. She looks down and squints at Shane standing by the road. He freezes on the spot, gripped by the idea that maybe Evie, like some ancient creature from one of her stories, won’t be able to see him if he doesn’t move.
Evie squints harder. “Shane?”
He lets out a breath. “I thought you were pretty much blind.”
“Blind maybe, but not stupid.” Evie grins. “C’mere and help me shake this out.”
*
Inside, Evie shuffles around the kitchen with a kettle of hot water. Shane slouches in a cracked wooden chair. “Is David here?”
“Oh, he’s around somewheres.” Evie sets her battle-scarred teapot down on the table beside Shane and settles into her chair with the dusty-rose cushion. Shane reaches out for the teapot and pours them both some tea, hoping David will come soon. His eyes follow the steam billowing from his cup. He knows if he were to turn his head, she would be squinting hard at him over the top of her thick lenses.
“How’s your mom?” Evie asks at last.
Is this why he’s here? “You should ask her.”
Evie frowns and blows little gusts of air over the surface of her tea, sending up wispy puffs of steam that fog her glasses
“You got time to pick manomin later today? I was supposed to go out with David but my bum leg won’t let me.”
“You never missed going out on the water in your life.”
Evie nods. “That’s what happens when you get old. First time for everything. And at my age there aren’t a lot of first times left, so I better make the best of it.” Evie smiles.
Shane nods. “I, um … I could use some cash. For school in Toronto.” Jesus, this is embarrassing. You don’t ask an elder for money when they want you to help them.
Evie frowns. “You’d be more good to us if you stayed here. Bad things happen when people go down south. They get a degree, get addicted, go gay, and who knows what else. We don’t hardly see them after.”
Shane takes a long swig of tea. “A hundred bucks?” He can’t believe he’s doing this.
Evie stares him down, giving him that elders’ look. The one that usually means You’re in deep shit. Shane’s belly does a flip. There’s still time to apologize or play it off as a joke. She wouldn’t believe him but …
“Seventy-five,” Evie says.
Shane strokes his beardless chin and makes a show of thinking about it. “Deal. You’re gonna have so much rice you won’t know what to do.”
They chat for a while longer, sipping their tea and avoiding any talk about Jackie. It’s not long before David comes in from the yard with some rough tarpaulin bags and firewood.
“You made it.”
“I did.” Shane smiles. He wishes he could say, You look good with a stick of wood in your hands! But he doubts David’s grandmother would laugh at that one.
Evie is in the kitchen struggling with a jar of pickles. “David, gimme some help with this.” David takes the sweaty jar in his hands and twists at the lid. It resists for a moment, then it makes that satisfying little sucking sound and pops open.
“How does it look out there?”
“Great. Clear sky. Flat water.”
“Good.” Evie picks up a slice of bologna and chews it thoughtfully. “So Shane, when you going to get my grandson a pretty little girlfriend like yours?”
Shane laughs. “I think that’s up to him.”
“Leave love up to young men and it’ll never happen.”
Shane and David exchange sly smiles.
“You’ve been seeing a lot of each other lately.”
David turns red. Shane pours himself some more tea.
Evie squints at them. “You know, it’s good to have other young men as friends. Not too close, though. Too much male energy is no good. There has to be balance.”
The air in the kitchen is suddenly thick. Shane and David don’t dare to risk another look at each other.
“I know,” David says.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Shane agrees. “I’ll ask Tara if she has any friends that might have a crush on David.” He resists the urge to glance at Evie to get a sense of how much she’s picking up on, and how much is coincidence. Shane can tell David is trying hard to make it look like he’s focusing on getting a slippery pickle out of the jar, but there’s not much that gets past his grandmother.
Evie frowns. Shane stands up before she can ask another question.
*
It’s just like David said, open and clear, a perfect day to be on the water. They walk to the lake side by side. Each time David’s hand bumps against Shane’s the crackle of their secret dances up and down his body. Like a bird flying against a strong wind, they may not be going anywhere but at least they’re flying.
Shane’s phone buzzes. Tara is messaging him again. She’s been at it all morning but Shane doesn’t know how to respond. Where RU? U OK?
Shane wishes he could write back, Why can’t I just do my own thing sometimes without you getting in my face? But of course he doesn’t. Shane types: On way to the islands with David. Back by dark. That should satisfy her for a while. He turns the phone off and stashes it away in his bag again, knowing there will be a storm of messages coming through from Tara when he turns it back on again.
Shane and David push their way through tall grasses that chastise them like frustrated librarians. Shhhhhhh! Shhhhhhh! Shhhhhhh! David’s arm grazes Shane’s, lingering long enough that he imagines he can feel the meshing of the fine hairs along their arms before David pulls away again. Shane grins at David.
“Don’t look at me like that. Someone’s gonna see.” David’s eyes scan the field.
Shane won’t be shut down. “So you heart me, hey?”
David smiles a shy, little-boy smile.
“I heart you too.”
David laughs. “Brave. Very brave.”
“We can say it with the real word if you want.” Shane casts a sly glance David’s way. Should he push it? Loose hair dangles in front of David’s eyes, making him impossible to read. “I can even say it first,” Shane ventures.
“Heart’s good for now.” David pushes aside a clump of tall purple thistles, letting the grasses do the talking for him. Shhhhhhhh! Shhhhhhhhh! Shhhhhhhhh! Shane gives him a good-natured shove and follows him, replaying their exchange in his mind, trying to figure out what just happened. David didn’t say he loved him, but he didn’t take back his text either. It could have been a brush-off, or a lead-up to an I love you, or anything at all.
*
David gives the engine some gas, and they putter slowly away from the dock. Once they’re clear of the bay, David guns the motor, nearly sending Shane tumbling into his lap. Shane grabs on to the side of the boat and pulls himself upright again. David laughs.
T
he front end of the little aluminum boat rises off the surface of the water. Shane imagines it lifting higher and higher until they are up over the bristling tops of the trees. But where would they go? Is there anywhere more beautiful than this? Anything better than the two of them with the prospect of a long afternoon alone together, bodies warming in the sun …
David turns the boat at an angle, and a rush of cold water hits Shane full in the face. “Got to pay attention on the water,” David yells. “You never know what’s going to happen!” David’s cackle rises up over the roar of the engine and he turns the boat toward the shore. Shane does his best to dry off with the hem of his T-shirt, but it’s wet too.
David cuts the motor and they drift into a quiet corner of the lake, where there’s an old wooden shack by the water. It’s the house Evie’s mother was born in, but no one has lived there for years. “Gotta pick up the canoe. Nookomis likes to keep it close to the rice.”
“Why do we need the canoe? You’ve got a boat.”
“Nookomis says she can taste the gas in the rice. Prop gets caught up in it too.” They pull the boat up onshore and drag the old fiberglass canoe to the water. They don’t need much, just paddles, a few bags for the rice, and a pair of wooden knockers.
*
When they get to the narrow canal that leads to the mouth of the creek, David stops paddling. The long green stalks of rice wade into the lake like a crowd of elegant, willowy women. They dip their heavy heads in the breeze and graze the surface of the water with the tips of their leaves. Shane’s eyes travel up the snaking line of the creek with its lean banks and mossy shoulders. Wet, abundant life ripples through the water and the trees, filling the landscape with a hum of sex and bugs and honey. It flashes bright green in the water; it rattles through the air like a chorus of singers calling him into their song. The voice of this place tugs at something buried beyond memory—an aching need as basic as thirst. His body swells with life.
“Look at all this.” David’s arms sweep open to embrace it all. “Couple of lucky neechees, hey?”
Fire Song Page 11
