Jex Blackwell Saves the World

by P. William Grimm

  “Boo’s good,” Q promises, vouching for her friend. “She’s green like me, but that’s it.”

  Eugene’s stern glare relaxes back into a grin. “That’s good, Jex. Green’s good. That’s OK. That’s good. You got a motherfucker of a brain up there and we don’t want you messing it up with your childish ways, do we?”

  Jex giggles in a familiar way. “Yeah, you’re not that much older than me, Eugene – and I will tell you that sometimes I think you act a lot more childish than I do.”

  Eugene chuckles loudly, and coughs on the chuckle a little bit. “Aw, Jex. You crack me up the way you call me out. And you’re right, you’re right. But I’m being good, too,” Eugene explains with glee. “I ain’t been doing any of that bad stuff. Plus, I’m losing weight, almost twenty pounds,” he bragged, patting his belly proudly. “Haven’t even been trying.”

  “I thought something about you seemed different,” Jex comments. “You are looking good,” she says, noticing but not commenting on the dark rings under his eyes.

  “Thank you very much!” Eugene exclaims, a glimmer in his eyes. “I don’t even know how it happened. Maybe I’m on a hunger strike and I don’t even know it.” He lets out a loud guffaw and shakes his head left and right at himself with a sense of self-deprecation. “There are lots of things I would do for the cause, but I don’t know if I could handle that,” he chuckles.

  Q and Jex both smile in a charmed way. “I bet you could do up a mean hunger strike if you wanted to, Eugene,” Q proclaims. “We have seen you do some crazy shit to get your point across, yo.”

  Jex nods her head in agreement. Eugene laughs some more. “I am a dedicated advocate, I will give you that. I’m not going to let my people rot on these goddamn reservations forever, you know. I’m not going to be just some weed dealer the rest of my life.” He shakes his head in disgust and coughs a little. “Just a bunch of meth heads around these days, anyways. They don’t appreciate kind bud.” Eugene seems to catch himself mid-rant and perhaps senses discomfort in Jex and Q who, after all, are here at least partially to buy some kind bud.

  “Don’t get me wrong, loves, my bud is the kindest,” Eugene clarifies with a smile. “And I’m proud of it. The green ain’t never killed nobody as far as I know. Not like meth does. Not like alcohol does, mind you.” He turns abruptly to Jex and confronts her. “Jexy, you sure you’re not drinking?” There is accusation in his tone. Jex is immediate and firm in her denial.

  “No way, Eugene. I promise. I know what that shit can do to you. I’m green but straight-edge as hell otherwise. No shit.”

  Q nods her head in agreement. “That’s the Bible, Eugene. Same with me, for sure.”

  Eugene studies them severely. . After a moment he nods his head in muted approval. “Good,” he says. “That’s good. You know, it’s like Chief Bromden said when he was describing his old man. You know, in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

  Jex and Q both nod silently. They know the book. They know the character.

  “Chief Bromden, he said:

  ‘And the last time I see him, he’s blind in the cedars from drinking and every time I see him put the bottle to his mouth, he don’t suck out of it, it sucks out of him until he’s shrunk so wrinkled and yellow even the dogs don’t know him.”

  Jex and Q are enraptured. They nod at Eugene, like a congregation nodding to their pastor.

  “You know how many of those wrinkled and yellow dogs have withered to death on this reservation? I’ve seen it with my own two eyes,” Eugene states emphatically, coughing between his words. “It is never-ending. It is a vicious cycle.” His eyes bulge a little bit and his cheeks redden ever so. “You hear a lot of talk about the Holocaust? Genocide in the Holocaust? In Germany and the Jews? And you hear about genocide in America? Black genocide? Genocide of the white man over the black man? Or even the Armenian genocide? Right after World War I, all those years ago? Well, how come we haven’t heard about the genocide of the American Indian?” He coughs. “Of the red man?” He coughs again. “You don’t hear about it, do you? No. Not really. We get tossed a bone here and again, one that’s been picked over three times by the time we get it. And why don’t you hear more about this plight? This plight of reservations and drunkards. Drug addicts? Meth heads? People who never worked a day in their life because they never had a chance? And why don’t you hear about this?” Eugene demands rhetorically, his voice almost raising to a scream. Jex and Q are transfixed by his every word.

  “Because it was the world’s only successful genocide. It’s the only one that worked. The Jews are OK. . The United States of America had a black President. But what about us, Native Americans? Nothing? No money. No hope. No future.”

  Eugene pauses and holds his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee, thinking like a Rodin, a million ideas seeming to flow through him. Neither Jex nor Q dare to interfere with the silence. After some time passes, he continues. His voice is quieter, more in control.

  “The future,” he continues quietly. He looks from Jex to Q and back again. “What will the future be? Leonard Peltier said ‘Only one thing’s sadder than remembering that you were once free. And that’s forgetting you were once free.’”

  Jex and Q nod their heads.

  “I will never forget my people were once free. And we can be free again. There is power in knowledge. There is power in commitment. Recently, you know, this struggle, it has really been consuming me. I have trouble sleeping at night sometimes. Like, I wake up and I’m covered in sweat. Shivering. Like my ancestors, like they are calling to me in my sleep. I have dreams, Jex. Terrible dreams. Visions, almost. I can’t ignore them. I feel like my skin is burning up sometimes.” Eugene stands up and looks out the window. “The last few days it has gotten worse. My body is aching. It’s not like I’m sad or something like that. I’m not depressed. Hell, I’m not even mad or angry. But my body, it is telling me there is something for me to do. There’s a calling. Like a yearning deep inside of me, you know what I mean?”

  The three sit quietly for some time. There is really nothing to say that is worth puncturing the impact of Eugene’s words. The trio just sits there, allowing the gravity of Eugene’s emotions to linger. It is clear that the silence is there for Eugene to break and no one else. Jex and Q seem to feel this and wait for Eugene to speak and no one moves until he does so. It is a long time before he does so.

  “Jex. Jex, your brother was a good man.”

  The words strike Jex in a way that she does not seem to have anticipated. Her eyelids pop open quickly and then just as quickly resume to normal. Lips suddenly pursed tightly, Jex is silent for a moment and perhaps is hoping that she doesn’t have to respond at all. The silence is awkward, though, and it is hers and hers alone to break.

  “Thanks, Eugene.”

  “A very good man,” Eugene continues. “He brought me out of a lot of my misery.” Eugene pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and coughs into it. He looks briefly at the handkerchief and then stuffs it back into his pocket. “It was very sad when he left us.”

  “Yeah,” Jex responds quietly. “It’s still sad.”

  “Yes,” Eugene agrees. “It will always be sad. Particularly for you. Siblings are tough that way. Family,” Eugene emphasizes, raising his voice slightly. “Family is tough that way, you know what I mean?”

  Jex can only nod in agreement. Eugene shakes his head and looks out the window. “It’s good you’re clean, Jexy. Really good. You got a good head on your shoulders. You got to keep it clean like that.”

  “I will,” Jex promises. “I will.”

  “That’s good,” Eugene responds. “That’s good.” He walks away from the window and sits on the floor next to Jex. He has a bag of weed with him, and he picks some stems out, flicks them away. He looks out into nothing before continuing.

  “I wish you all had gotten here an hour ago. My little cousin was here. She’s sixteen I think, can’t be no older than that, anyways. Maybe fifteen.” He pauses a bit bef
ore continuing. “You’re sixteen, right Jex?”

  Jex nods in confirmation.

  “Sixteen, man. Sixteen,” Eugene repeats. “So damn young. Molly is her name, my cousin. She all messed up.” He sighs. “Molly is her name and Molly is her game. She’s sick all the time. Using. And using more than Molly, you know what I mean?”

  Jex nods again. “How long has she been using?”

  Eugene just shrugs. “Shit if I know. I’ve only known for a little while, at least. It comes on so quick, you know. First she was like playing with dolls and shit and next thing you know, I’m finding needles at her house and shit, you know what I mean? That’s how the shit works, man. I didn’t even think she smoked, and then I’m finding … finding fucking needles in her room?”

  Jex nods. “That is how this shit works, Eugene. I’m sorry to hear that. It does happen really quickly.”

  Eugene shakes his head. “I remember when your brother was around and he had his shit together. At the time, he really had his shit together. We would talk about you. You couldn’t have been more than twelve back then.” He looks Jex up and down. “It seems like a million years ago. You seemed so cute and so young but you had your demons dancing in you already.”

  “I remember,” Jex murmurs distantly, maybe not wanting to remember.

  “And here it is now, what, four years later, and here you are, clean as a whistle, and your brother is gone. Shit, I just don’t understand it.”

  Jex shakes her head. “I don’t understand, either. It feels like a million years ago to me, too. I feel a thousand years old, not sixteen.”

  Eugene nods in agreement. “That life ages your soul. Or maybe your soul is already old, and this life is thrust upon you so you can catch up with your soul.”

  Jex pauses before responding. “I never thought about it like that. That almost seems … right to me.”

  “I wish you could talk to Molly. I try to talk to her but I’m like her geeky cousin. She just don’t listen to me.”

  “Sometimes people don’t listen until they are ready,” Jex responds and then continues. “Hell, maybe all the time people don’t listen until they are ready.”

  Eugene nods. “Yeah. Still, she looks horrible. Skinny and pale and looking like an old lady, swear to God. She’s been away at her pop’s, down below San Diego, came back to the reservation last month. Staying with me, for now. And the change was so damn obvious. She denied the track marks but I saw them, Jex. I saw them with my own two eyes. I never used the needle myself but I’ve seen it enough.”

  Eugene is getting more animated and Jex says nothing in response. “Shit,” Eugene sighs after a moment. “I’m sorry, Jexy and Q. I know it’s a long ride back to L.A. I don’t want to keep you with my melancholy and sad plight. I’m glad you all came to see me. I know there are other ways to score weed that aren’t so far away.”

  Jex smiles and walks over to Eugene. “Everyone in LA is a pecker wood, Eugene,” grabbing the large man and hugging him, nuzzling her head into his thick chest. “I am forever loyal to you. We are family, you know that.”

  Eugene hugs back and laughs. “Aw, Jexy. You are the best. I am so grateful to have you in my life. I am so sorry for rambling on like a bitter wooden indian.”

  Jex backs up and pokes Eugene playfully. “You are speaking the truth, dude. Don’t ever apologize for that,” wagging a finger at him.

  “Ok, Jexy, ok,” Eugene says between laughs and coughs.

  Jexy squints hard at him. “And get that cough checked out. You’ll catch a death.”

  Eugene continues to laugh. “Ok, Dr. Jex. I promise. I will. And you know if you ever need anything, I’ll be here for you.”

  “Right back at you, Eugene. For real, you want me to talk to your cuz, let me know. I’ll come back out. And though sometimes family is like that, sometimes it’s like this, too.”

  Eugene’s eyes seem to well up with tears as he puts his head on top of Jex’s head and messes up her hair. His smile is big, from ear to ear. “Ok, Jexy. Are you sure you guys can’t stay? You know I’m having a big get together tonight?”

  “Oh yeah?” Jex asks. “What’s going on?”

  “At the VFW down the road. I’m speaking on the lack of diversity in the UC system. Particularly the lack of Native Americans, you know what I mean? I’m hoping to get a hundred people to show, you know? And I bet we will. We are going to talk about entrance requirements, costs, scholarships, historical context , what we can do to help ourselves, you know what I mean?”

  “Righteous,” Jex responds with intrigue. “We have to get back though, I have to work at the library in the morning, and I hate morning driving.”

  “Ah-ha-hah,” Eugene responds. “I remember your brother telling me what a nightmare you were in the morning.”

  “Ah-ha-hah, yourself,” Jex says with a playful punch to Eugene’s shoulder. “I can get up just fine if I want. It’s just a … long ride in the morning.”

  “Understood, Jexy,” he responds with a cough and a smile. “Well, you guys be safe on the road, and don’t be strangers.”

  Jex nods and smiles. “We won’t. Promise.”

  * * *

  Jex and Q are on the road, sun setting but still glaring down on them. The windows are open and the music is loud. Q is trying hard to keep it cool, but she is getting bored and she hates long silences anyways.

  “Jexy, what’s wrong? Why you so quiet?”

  Jex shakes her head absently and says nothing. She messes with her septum ring nervously, but says nothing. The music is good, an old album by the Jam that Jex has on CD for some reason she could not explain if asked. She just knows she likes the music. The silence above the music continues.

  “Where did you meet Eugene anyways,” Q asks, “what with him living all the way out here?”

  “He didn’t live here when we met. He was living in Echo Park. He was playing guitar in a band. That’s where he knew my brother from. Their bands played on the same line-ups a lot. We met at a show somewhere. I think in Long Beach.”

  “Cool,” Q responds.

  “Yeah, his band was pretty rad. Really tight punk.”

  Q laughs. “No shit?”

  “Oh, yeah. And Eugene is a huge Mountain Goats fan. Sometimes when I see him out there, all we listen to is tMG. Once, his band played We Shall All Be Healed from beginning to ending, but all electric punk.”

  “Hah, rad,” Q exclaims. “That’s hilarity. Awesome.”

  “Yeah,” Jex agrees. “Those gigs were so much fun. Some of the first shows I ever went to. I was like eleven or twelve and my brother would sneak me in through the back door.”

  “That’s cool,” Q marvels. “I have to use a fake id to get my ass in a club.” She shrugs with a smirk. “Not that that’s any big deal.”

  “Yeah,” Jex agrees lazily. “Anyways, he moved back home about, I don’t know, eighteen months or so ago. The band split up ’cause Gary, the lead singer, OD’d and died.”

  “Oh shit,” says Q with a slight gasp.

  “Yeah,” Jex agrees. “He went out like six months or so after my brother.” Jex pauses, the pain of the recollection clear on her young face, which didn’t seem so young in the brief moments when she spoke about her brother. “After that, I think Eugene had enough and just split the scene.”

  “Shit,” Q says.

  “It was good going out to visit him back then, though. Could really clear my head. Eugene spoke truth to me a lot. Like he speaks now.”

  Q nods her head in agreement.

  “It was worse back then, taking the bus, though. Makes this old Ford Focus seem pretty rad, no?” She chuckles at the end of that.

  Q agrees. “Shit’s a fucking Rolls Royce compared to the bus.”

  The two laugh. “Anyways,” Q continues. “Eugene’s pretty hardcore. Sucks about his cousin. Another junky in his life.”

  “Yeah,” Jex says, her eyes fluttering out again into quiet, into absence. Something had been brewing in her mind and her
mind has for some reason returned to it. Q seems to sense this and sits back into her seat, her attention turning to the mountains passing by her window.

  After a few minutes, Jex breaks the silence. “Shit,” she yelps out. “Shit.”

  “What is it, Jex?” Q asks in surprise. “What is it?”

  Jex shakes her head and repeats, “Shit.”

  “What, Jex, what?” Q urges.

  Jex makes an unexpected swerve to the right and she is barreling down towards the next exit.

  “What’s wrong, Jex? Are you OK?”

  Jex pauses a moment before answering. “Shit, Q,” Jex says. “We gotta get back to the reservation. I think there’s a problem with Eugene.”

  [What’s the problem with Eugene? Will he be OK? Turn to Jenny the Chicken Diagnosis to read Jex’s diagnosis and the conclusion of the story.]

  Bawdy DySmurfia

  Jex Blackwell loves punk music. That’s all there is to say about that. She sits crawled in a ball on the floor of the L.A. Public Library’s basement stacks listening to Milo Goes to College by the Descendants. The volume on her headphones is as loud as Jex can gamble without being heard. If her boss, the inimitable Ms. Thelma W. Tubman, catches her reading one more time, slacking off on shelving books, there will be hell to pay. Again. She can’t put the volume up more than half the way without risk of exposing her hiding place. She is reading Violence Girl by Alice Bag for the fourth time.

  The rubber on one of her Chucks distracts Jex from her reading momentarily. A small part of the rubber has been slowly peeling off like string cheese. Jex gently pulls on the rubber until it splits off completely from the sneaker. She holds it in both hands and studies it carefully, aimlessly. After a while, she returns to her book and slips away.

  Soon enough, though, Jex is distracted again. It is that kind of day. This time, her attention is captured by the spine on a book near where she is sitting. The spine is gold and dusty. It is old and looks out of place. Jex straightens her septum ring and then, after running her hands through her hair, tugging at her ponytail, she reaches out to touch the book. It is scratchy on her fingers. She stares for a moment at it, and then turns back to Violence Girl.