Lost Boy

by Shelley Hrdlitschka

  “Really?”

  “Yep. To my father.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Craig’s eyes are wide. “I knew she was married, but…”

  I look Craig directly in the eyes and nod.

  He pushes the books aside and rests his arms and forehead on the picnic table. “Oh my god.”

  I swing my legs over the bench and lean against the table, staring at the river but not really seeing it.

  Finally Craig lifts his head and suggests we quit for the day and go down to the beach to build inuksuit instead. I agree and shove all my books into my backpack.

  We build in silence, lost in our own thoughts. When we’re done, we sit on the beach to admire our work.

  “Do you want me to tell her that I’m tutoring you?” he asks after a while.

  I think about that. “No. There’s no point.”

  “I’ve been giving her books to read,” he tells me. “She sneaks them into her room and reads them at night. Then we discuss them on the beach.”

  It doesn’t surprise me. Unlike my sisters, Celeste always questioned everything. She was a sponge for new information, and she didn’t get much of it in Unity. When Taviana lived there, she filled her in on all kinds of things that happened in the outside world.

  “Has she read To Kill a Mockingbird?”

  “Not yet.”

  I dig out my copy, which I’ve had to renew twice, and hand it to him. “Get her to read it,” I tell him. “And tell me what she thinks.”

  “Okay, I will.” He shoves it into his pack.

  “She was my mockingbird.”

  He looks at me, startled. Then he grins. “So you do get the concept of symbols.” Our fingers are busy building towers with the pebbles on the beach. “Why did you mention her when I asked if there was anyone you didn’t understand?”

  I knock over my little tower with a flip of my hand. “She had the chance to escape the night before her marriage. She could have come to Abigail’s with me. But she didn’t.”

  “And you think you’d have to walk in her shoes to understand that?” Craig asks quietly.

  I shrug. “I sort of get it. Family’s everything. And she has no education. But the bottom line is, she just didn’t have the guts.”

  “You think that’s all it was?”

  “Yeah, mostly. She was scared of her father. And really attached to her siblings. And her mom.” My heels dig into the pebbly beach, and I bring my knees to my chest. “And maybe her father would have come here and dragged her back anyway.” Actually, there are no maybes about it. Her father would have come for her. That would have been a scene.

  “Did your dad try to get you to go back?”

  “It’s different for us guys. A lot of us have to leave anyway. If the chosen men get three or more wives, well, clearly there’s not enough girls to go around. Boys have to get culled or the whole system falls apart.”

  Craig ignores that. “I don’t know, Jon. It seems like you already get what it’s like to be Celeste.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Or I used to know. Now I have no idea what her life is like. Married to my father. Maybe she even sits at my place at our table.

  I press the heels of my palms into my eyes. Craig drapes his arm around my shoulders. “You’re sure you don’t want me to give her a message from you?”

  I shake my head. No point stirring stuff up now.

  “So,” Craig says while I pull myself together, “the next book I want you to read is The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie.” He takes the list of recommended reading out of my bag and points to the title. “See if you can relate to the main character in any way.”

  “That’s a strange title for a book,” I say, gathering my things.

  “It is, but I think you’ll find it thought provoking.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m still not sure what the point is in reading novels.”

  Craig climbs to his feet. “It’s like what Scout says. When we read novels, we get to climb into another person’s skin and walk around in their bodies for a while. It increases our empathy for other people.”

  I’m having enough trouble walking around in my own skin these days. I don’t know why I’d want to take on someone else’s problems as well, but when Craig and I part, I head over to the library to see if the book’s available.

  I’d expected to see Taviana here, either working behind the desk at her new job or doing her schoolwork, but it’s Selig’s back I see at one of the computers. I walk up and tap him on the shoulder. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Selig quickly closes the window he’s viewing. “Oh. Hi, Jon. Just surfing the Net.”

  “Yeah?” I notice that his skin has gone crimson. “Finding anything good?”

  “No, not really.” His eyes dart around, not meeting mine. “What are you doing here?”

  “Craig has assigned another novel for me to read. I’m just going to check and see if it’s here.” I sit at the next computer and search the catalog the way Taviana taught me to. “Yep,” I say. “It is. Are you busing home? Want to go together?”

  “No,” Selig says. “I think I’ll hang out here a bit longer.”

  I notice he hasn’t reopened the website. “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says, but the look in his eyes tells an entirely different story.

  On a Friday night early in July, Abigail and Alex get up from the table after dinner and decide to go for a walk. Jimmy, Taviana, Matthew and I relax a little longer, and I listen to them making plans for the weekend. Selig is at work.

  “I’ve got something to tell you guys, but you have to keep it a secret,” Taviana says. “Promise?”

  We all nod, curious.

  “It’s about Selig. He’s not attending summer school.”

  “Are you sure?” Jimmy asks. “Jon and I drop him off at the school on our way to work each morning.”

  “I’ve seen him hanging around town, and he’s in the library a lot,” she says. “He says he’s doing schoolwork, but I don’t buy it. My friend Hunter, who works at the same restaurant as him, says he’s done some day shifts there too.”

  “I saw him in the park one day,” says Matthew, who’s working for a landscaping company for the summer. “I asked him why he wasn’t in school, and he said it was his lunch break. I thought it was odd, because it was about two o’clock in the afternoon, but I didn’t figure he’d have any reason to lie.”

  I remember watching Abigail write him a check for his tuition. What did he do with that?

  Jimmy shakes his head. “How long does he think he can get away with it? Abigail’s going to find out when he’s repeating all his classes in the fall.”

  “I doubt he’s planning on going back,” Taviana says.

  We think about this. She’s probably right. But if it’s true, then he can’t continue to live here.

  “He’s actually a really bright kid,” Jimmy says. “He was just too far behind to catch up.”

  That’s not a comforting thought.

  “So who wants to talk to him?” Taviana asks.

  We all look at each other, but no one volunteers.

  “I think it has to be you, Jimmy,” Taviana says. “You brought him here.”

  “I didn’t bring him here. He was leaving anyway. I just introduced him to Abigail.” He looks at her. “He likes you, Tav. Why don’t you talk with him?”

  “Oh no,” she says. “I’m not going to play the heavy.”

  They both look at me. I shake my head, knowing I might be in the same trouble when I get my first report card.

  “There’s nothing we can say to him anyway,” Jimmy says, grabbing his truck keys off the counter. “He’s going to have to deal with the consequences himself.”

  I begin to watch Selig more closely. We continue to drop him off at the school each morning, and he makes his way home from the restaurant each night. Because he’s out most evenings, he usually only sees Abigail at breakfast, and he was never much for conversati
on at the best of times.

  “When do you find time to do your homework?” Abigail asks him one morning in the middle of July. He’s staring into his cereal bowl, not making eye contact with any of us.

  “I go to the library before I start work,” he tells her.

  “You’re not finding it too much?” she asks. “Maybe you could cut back on some shifts at the restaurant.”

  “I’m fine,” he mumbles.

  “Jon’s tutor might be willing to help you if you’re struggling.”

  “I told you, I’m fine.” He gets up from the table and bangs his dishes onto the counter before filling a lunch bag with food. The rest of us glance at each other, then continue to eat, but Abigail stares at his back, frowning.

  “How about I drop you off at school this morning?” she says. “Then I’ll check in with the teachers to see how it’s going.”

  “Are you kidding me?” he asks, spinning around to glare at her.

  “Relax, Selig. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Then leave me alone,” he says and stomps out of the kitchen.

  The rest of us finish eating and begin gathering our things for the day, but I notice that Abigail remains in her chair, staring out the window.

  The summer weeks drag by. Taviana has started her courses, and because it’s sweltering hot in the house, we often sit in the backyard to study at night. When it gets dark, we sit side by side under the porch light, smacking mosquitoes on our sticky arms and legs every few seconds. It’s still better than working inside the house. Abigail and Alex, who have become inseparable, often go for a walk or to Alex’s house so they won’t disturb us. Matthew and Jimmy go swimming or out with friends, and Selig is usually at work.

  One night, when it’s just beginning to get dark, I hear footsteps coming down the back alley. A figure steps into the backyard. It’s Selig, but there’s something wrong. He appears to be staggering, and he walks right into my raised garden.

  “Ouch!” he says and leans over to rub his knee.

  “Are you okay?” Taviana asks.

  He squints toward the house, seeing us for the first time. “Who put this friggin’ garden here?” he says and then throws back his head and laughs. But the way he laughs is wrong.

  Taviana walks over to him. “Have you been drinking, Selig?” she asks.

  “None of your business,” he says and lurches toward me.

  “Selig, you’re pissed!” Taviana says.

  “Just had a couple beer.” He slumps onto the bottom step, putting his elbows on his knees and his head into his hands. One of his elbows slides off his leg, and his whole body just about rolls forward off the step.

  “They must have been pretty strong beer.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Abigail could be home any minute, Selig. I suggest you get yourself to bed before she sees you like this.”

  “And I suggest you quit acting like my mother.” He squints at her. “I bet you’ve done your fair share of drinking, not to mention everything else you’ve done.” He gives her a lewd wink.

  “Selig,” I say, trying to warn him. It’s not like him to pick fights. The alcohol seems to have changed him.

  But Taviana just seems concerned. “Selig, seriously, unless you have somewhere else to live, I suggest you get yourself to bed—and quickly.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Selig says, “I’ve been working on finding a new place to live. Seattle’s not so far away. I’ve got enough bus fare.”

  “What are you going to do in Seattle?” Taviana asks.

  “More opportunities in a big city,” he slurs.

  “For a boy like you, opportunities will be limited,” she tells him. “I should know. Look what happened to me when I tried to get by on my own.”

  “You think I’m going to be a hooker?” he asks. His eyes go wide and he honks out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

  “Selig,” I say one more time, but I realize how useless I sound.

  “There’s a market for boys like you,” she tells him.

  “Well, I don’t give a flying fuck,” he says, which is totally out of character for him. “I’m damned for all eternity anyway. Just like you are, Jon.” He gets to his feet and tries to maneuver up the stairs. “I’m a worthless, stupid piece of shit, and I don’t really care what happens anymore.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Selig,” Taviana says. “Don’t say things like that. You’re going through a rough patch, that’s all. Things will work out. They will.” She puts her arm around him, but he shrugs it off.

  “Easy for you to say.” He pushes the door open with his shoulder and practically falls into the house.

  Taviana and I follow him inside and watch as he lurches down the hall to his bedroom.

  “I hope he doesn’t get sick in the night,” Taviana says.

  It’s a rough-looking Selig that climbs into the truck the next morning. He slept in and missed breakfast, but fortunately Abigail seemed preoccupied. When we get to the school he climbs out of the truck and looks back at me. It’s the first eye contact he’s made this morning, and he has the look of a stray dog who’s been kicked and beaten until he’s lost his trust in humans.

  “Have a good day, Selig,” Jimmy says.

  Selig just stands there, hands shoved in pockets, waiting for us to leave so he can walk away from the school. I wonder if he’ll find somewhere to sleep it off. As soon as we pull away, I tell Jimmy about the previous night. He just sighs and shakes his head. We drive to the job site in silence.

  Craig and I are working at the picnic bench. He’s quizzing me on the elements in the periodic table when I see a familiar girl walking through the park. She glances over at us and then does a double take.

  “Jon-without-an-h!” she says, tottering over to the table. She’s wearing sandals with a wedge heel, a bikini top and cutoff shorts. The button above the fly has been left undone.

  “Hi, Belle.” I see Craig glance at me curiously.

  “I hardly recognized you. You’ve…changed your hair,” she says.

  I nod, trying to maintain eye contact, but it’s hard with the way she’s busting out of the bikini top, which is right at eye level with my position on the bench.

  “Where have you been hiding?” she asks. “I keep asking Jimmy. He just says you’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the truth. Working and studying.”

  “Sounds like a boring existence. Why don’t you come out at night with him anymore?”

  I shrug.

  Her attention turns to Craig. She sticks out her hand. “Hi, I’m Belle.”

  Craig shakes her hand and smiles. “Craig.”

  She’s beaming. “You should come out too.”

  I don’t know how to respond or where to look. Finally I turn to Craig. “I guess we’d better get back to work.”

  She gets the hint. “Jimmy knows how to get hold of me when you decide to have some fun,” she says, smiling. “Nice meeting you, Craig.” She turns and bounces across the park.

  “I wouldn’t have thought she was your type,” Craig says, smiling.

  I feel my face burn. “I only met her once, the second night I was here.”

  “She’s really friendly.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think she likes you.”

  Funny. Jimmy said the exact same thing.

  Nine

  “So I totally get why you thought I should read this novel,” I tell Craig. “Arnold’s like me, stuck between two ways of life.”

  July has rolled into August, and there’s only a few weeks before school starts. We’re at our usual picnic table, discussing The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. I read so slowly that I’ve only completed two of the suggested novels.

  “I thought you might identify with him.”

  “Yeah, but there’s one big difference. Arnold gets to go back and forth. I’m here for good, whether it works out or not.”

  Craig nods, waiting. I’ve grown used to
his way of tutoring. He doesn’t instruct so much as listen carefully and then ask thoughtful questions.

  “And my life in Unity wasn’t as hard as his was in Wellpinit.”

  “Would you say Arnold was suffering a life-changing identity crisis?” He’s reading from a list of discussion questions again.

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Well, what do you think his main problem was?”

  I think about that. Poor Arnold had a lot of problems. He had health issues, his family was a mess, and he was bullied. But mostly he was trying to figure out where he fit in, at the reservation or in Reardan, where the white kids went to school. “I guess he was trying to figure out where he belonged.”

  “Exactly.” He studies my face. “Does Unity have anything in common with Wellpinit?”

  “Are you kidding? Alcohol is forbidden in Unity.”

  “That’s just one aspect. Think some more.”

  I stare out at the river, struggling to find anything the two towns have in common. “Well, they’re both isolated from the rest of the world.”

  “Good point. Anything else?”

  “There’s strong family connections, I guess.”

  “So what does Arnold ultimately decide? Where does he fit in?”

  “He decides he’s not just Indian or just white. He belongs to many tribes.”

  Craig studies me for a moment. “Can you apply that to your life?”

  I just shrug.

  “Well, you grew up in Unity,” he says, trying to encourage me, “and now you’re here.”

  “Actually, I think it’s different for me. I was a polyg, and now I’m not. Unlike Arnold, I don’t belong in both places.”

  “I think you’re wrong about that, Jon. You grew up in Unity, where there are strong family values as well as strong religious ones. That will always be a part of you. You’ll always be able to empathize with other people you meet who have come from different backgrounds.”