by Dawn Dumont
“Everett,” he croaked and then laughed because he couldn’t believe how scared he was.
Mike came out of his bedroom about then. He was wearing a nice shirt, not a work-shirt. He told the police to leave Everett alone.
As Mike was led out the door in cuffs, he said to Everett: “Watch my house.”
Everett nodded. Then he went back to bed.
Things That Can Be Taken
October 1993
JULIE SHOWED UP IN the middle of the night — “That was when the bus got in, Nellie” — and woke up Nellie and her roommate, Shaylene, whom Nellie wasn’t even speaking to because Shaylene refused to do her dishes and she never turned off her stupid TV even when she went to bed.
Shaylene opened her bedroom door as Nellie walked past and gave Nellie a meaningful glare before she slammed it shut again.
Nellie was huffy when she opened the front door. “I thought you were coming tomorrow.”
“I didn’t read the schedule right.” Julie shifted her duffel bag from just outside the door, to just inside.
Nellie figured she should do something nice like offer Julie a pop or a beer or something to eat but she had a psychology mid-term in the morning and that was her best class — she was literally at the top of it, like out of 600 other students, and she wasn’t giving that up because someone couldn’t figure out a stupid bus schedule.
“Okay, well, the couch pulls out and here’s a blanket. You can use this one as a pillow or one of those couch pillows or your jacket or something. We have pillows somewhere but I don’t know where my roommate put them.”
“Where’s your roommate?”
“Hear the TV? That’s her.”
Julie’s eyes strayed to the empty TV stand in the living room. “She keeps the TV in her bedroom?”
“It’s hers.”
Julie nodded but her eyes were confused.
“Do you know where you’re going tomorrow?”
“The SIAST campus.”
“Okay, well, good night.”
Nellie slipped back underneath her comforter. There was no sound from the living room. At least, no sound that couldn’t be heard above the sound of her roommate’s fucking TV.
Nellie waited for sleep to pull her under. And waited. She thought about how her mom said she was supposed to welcome guests into a house with a meal and even leave the door open for them so they could let themselves in. Nellie should have asked Julie if she wanted to sleep with her. Then we could have stayed up late giggling and talking about boys and her trip and all that. But no, I stomp to the door and stomp back to bed. This is the way I ruin every moment and that’s why I have no friends. But shouldn’t I have friends who are like me anyways? But would I even like someone who was like me? Nellie thought about taking a sleeping pill but they always made her groggy in the morning and when she took them she felt like she was going to have a stroke — putting stuff into your brain to slow it down couldn’t be good for you.
When Nellie got up the next morning, Julie was asleep on the couch. She hadn’t bothered to pull it out. Her feet, small for a tall person, stuck out over the arm of the couch. Her head perched on the other. Nellie was ninja-quiet heading out the door but when she turned the handle, she heard a soft “have a good day” and Nellie wanted to turn around and do something nice. But what? Kiss Julie on the forehead like she was a child and Nellie was her mom? Um, no, then she’d look crazy. Nellie hurried up the steps; she liked being early to class because then she got the best seat.
Nellie meant to go right home after her exam but then she remembered that she had to meet with her economics prof Mr. Wolski.
He had a grad student teaching his tutorial, a tall, bearded pompous ass. Nellie and he had knocked heads since day one when she corrected his pronunciation of Keynsian. Then she saw him holding hands outside the grad student lounge with Alexandra, a Russian immigrant first-year with white-blond hair, small eyes and big tits.
Nellie told the prof that she wanted to make sure that everyone was getting the same help. The professor had his arms folded when she sat down and pretty much kept them that way until Nellie started citing university policy about student/teacher relations.
“It’s too late to get another grad student,” he said finally.
Nellie stared at him and kept her mouth shut. She’d learned that if you stayed quiet it made people nervous.
“I mean I know what he’s done is definitely bad and likely a conflict of interest but he’s doing a good job, no one else has complained.”
Nellie brought her index finger to her mouth and chewed. She didn’t actually chew her fingernails, but she thought it made her look vulnerable. Mr. Wolski was about fifty, maybe older, because he had those brown spots on his hands that said old-old. His eyes were red in the white parts. But there was a tennis racquet lying in a corner of his office so she knew he worked out. Nellie wondered which student he was sleeping with.
She took her finger out of her mouth. “The thing is Mr. Wolski, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble but I also don’t want to get in trouble myself for not reporting what I know.”
The professor sighed. His chair squeaked mightily as he straightened himself out. The hair on the back of Nellie’s neck stood up — it meant either you were about to get hit or you were about to get your way. He leaned forward and Nellie forced herself to remain motionless.
“I think we can settle this between us.”
Nellie walked down the hallway at a brisk pace. Partly because of her excitement, partly because she felt like if she walked too slow the prof would come out of his office and throw something at the back of her head. But even a possible concussion couldn’t change the facts — she was in second year and she was teaching an economics tutorial. She wanted to stop people and yell it into their faces.
Instead she steadfastly avoided eye contact with anyone in the hallway and went directly to the library to check on her holds. She was distracted by a book in the “New Books” display about serial killers. She enjoyed reading about them, even thought she might make a good FBI profiler (if it paid well enough). But she tried not to read too many serial killer books because after a while she started seeing everyone as a possible murderer — like her roommate, for instance, who was secretive and manipulative. Then again, Shaylene was also a real slob and serial killers tended to be anal and neat. They would probably make decent roommates.
Nellie signed out her library books and headed to her favourite study carrel. It was on the seventh floor, which was second to last. The last floor was where fuckheads went to fuck each other. She preferred the cool, quiet seventh floor where people studied. She cracked a book and turned off the world. The next time she checked her watch, it was after eight. She piled her books in her backpack along with a bag of Ruffles she’d snuck into the library. It kept her from having to go down to the cafeteria and eating down there with all those sneering assholes staring openly at her second hand clothes and her bulging backpack.
She caught the bus — it was empty except for some trades dudes who smelled like gasoline and had black smeared hands. A guy with two missing front teeth and grey hair smiled at her. She gave him a crooked smile. Maybe you can save me. Maybe we can move into the rooming house where you live with six other old guys like you with tight bodies and craggy faces and slowly drink ourselves to death.
Her eyes locked with his and he looked away.
Nellie turned towards the window and smiled at the tired girl looking back at her. That was the most sexual attention she’d had in months. She made another mental note to kill the hairdresser who had given her the shitty perm.
Nellie heard a strange sound coming from her apartment; it was laughter. Nellie stopped outside and took a deep breath before opening the door.
She opened the door. Julie sat on the couch and Shaylene sat in front of her on the floor. It looked like Julie was grooming her roommate like a chimpanzee and then Nellie saw that she was actually braiding her hair. Those tiny brai
ds that took forever.
“Hi,” Nellie tried to speak over the volume of the TV.
Julie flashed her pretty teeth. “Wow, you bring home the whole library?”
Nellie disentangled her backpack from her arms, “Just half.” It dropped to the floor with a thud.
She stared at the TV. It was in the living room on the stand that had stood empty for the last three months. Nellie’s eyes eagerly ate up the bright colours of a Simpsons episode.
Nellie dragged her eyes away. “How was your day?”
Julie made a face.“They won’t let me register. The school says the band never sent the money for tuition. So no student-Julie.”
“That’s awful! Did you call them?” Nellie would have complained until someone cried and then she would have mowed through those tears until she got her way.
Julie shrugged.“No biggie. It’s my first time being here. I wouldn’t mind seeing more of the city before I get serious.”
“But you don’t have any money.” And you can’t stay here for free.
“She has a job.” Shaylene’s eyes shone and her lip was curled like she knew the punchline to a joke Nellie hadn’t heard.
“It’s a waitressing job.”
“At Lorette’s.” Shaylene’s smile was as bright as The Simpsons’ opening credits.
“That’s a good place.” Nellie picked up her book bag and walked it to her room.From behind her she heard Julie call out, “You want something to eat? I made rice.”
“No,” Nellie yelled through her closing bedroom door.
She sat on her bed and saw herself in her full-length mirror. Red faced, brown curly hair cut into a shape of some sort, glasses sliding down that oil slick she called skin. When was the butterfly supposed to emerge? She snorted.
She stood up, walked up close to the mirror, pulled up her shirt. Tummy, lots of it. She grabbed a fat roll and pinched it. “Gross, so fucking gross.”
Nellie had thought about getting a knife and cutting into her belly, and pulling the fat out and dumping it out on the floor.
Emergency could sew her back up; that was their job, right? She might be horribly scarred but she would be thin.
But what about her face? That would still be fat and plain and pimpled and all those things that made people’s eyes pass over her.
The door opened. Nellie dropped her shirt. She covered the movement by pretending to massage her waist. Julie slipped inside the room. “What?” Nellie’s voice suggested that she was intruding.
“It’s just me.” Julie dropped herself on Nellie’s bed and leaned against the wall. “You wanna go out? Sort of celebrate my escape from the rez?”
“I have a lot of homework.”
“You know Everett lives in town, right?”
“Yeah, I see him all the time. He helped us move our couch.” Well, he lent us his truck.
“I saw him today — ”
“Where?”
“Downtown, near the bus stop, and he said he was having a party tonight. You wanna go?”
Nellie’s fatigue was washed away like sand beneath an ocean wave “Sure, whatever.”
Nellie could feel her heart beating faster so she reached beneath her bed and pulled out four beers on a ring. Julie laughed.
“You have beer under your bed?”
“Sometimes I have one before I go to sleep.”
“Smart.”
They opened them at the same time. There was barely a pop.
“Shaylene says she’s gonna stay in. She doesn’t drink, huh?”
“Nope.”
“So what’s happening with Everett?” Julie smiled up at Nellie.
“Nothing. I mean we kissed a few times but everyone kisses Everett. He’s community property.” But not forever . . .
“Same ole Everett.”
“He doesn’t work, y’know. He does odd jobs and stuff. ’Cause he doesn’t have to pay rent — ”
“’Cause he lives in the house of a guy who went to jail.”
They laughed.
“Only Everett.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Guy has a horseshoe up his ass and then some.”
Nellie dressed carefully. Something fitted but not tight — something that made her look skinny — skinny-ish. And definitely a blue scarf because colour near her face made her look less tired. And if they were walking home tomorrow morning, it wouldn’t look so obvious. They could be anyone, headed to the farmer’s market, going to the library to return some library books, off to brunch — or they could be two hungover Native chicks heading home — the sky was the limit.
Julie wore a pair of sneakers, jeans and a KISS T-shirt. Nellie wanted to change — her clothes, her hair, her genetic destiny. Instead, she finished her beer with a final gulp and tossed it.
“You look amazing!” Shaylene gushed at Julie. “How do you stay so skinny?”
“I’m too fucking skinny. I wish I could gain weight.”
“You’re so lucky.”
Julie smiled and nodded as her eyes studied some crud on the counter. Nellie understood that look. It’s what she did when people complimented her on her grades. Because there was nothing you could really say. What other people wanted came naturally to Julie and they weren’t complimenting her so much as expressing their desire to have it. (Of course Nellie’s grades were something she had to work for but she tried not to let anyone know about that part. Why ruin the illusion and destroy the one thing she had over other people?)
“We should go.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Julie asked Shaylene.
“I don’t like parties.”
“For real?” Julie cocked her head to the side.
Shaylene put her fist to her mouth and nodded.
Nellie poked Julie in the back. “We should go, bus is coming.”
Nellie walked fast but Julie had no problem keeping up.
“What’s with Shaylene? Is she like religious or something?”
“She used to go to parties at Everett’s house but then she got raped.”
“Oh. Did they catch the guy?”
“She never charged him.”
“Who is he?”
“A southern rez guy. If he’s there, I’ll point him out.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell Everett?”
“Shaylene doesn’t want anyone to know.”
“We’ll watch each other’s backs, okay?”
Nellie had that feeling again, like she wanted to grab Julie’s hand and squeeze it. Instead she thought about how tall and thin Julie’s shadow looked next to hers and how she should try that lemon and pepper diet she saw in the back of Cosmo magazine and this time she would stay on it no matter how hungry she got. No pain, no gain.
There were three guys sitting on the front steps when they walked up. Everett, Gary and some other guy Nellie had never seen before. He was ugly. No, be nice Nellie; he’s just “not cute.” Everett stood up as soon as he saw them and came bounding up to them. “It’s the girls!”
The girls. Not girls. The girls. Like as if no other girls in the world mattered.
“You got a liquor store nearby?” Julie asked.
Everett shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. These guys just got paid.” Everett introduced them: Gary had been staying with Everett for a couple of weeks, he worked at the post office. The less than handsome guy’s name was Chris and he was an ironworker.
“Like those Mohawk guys that work on the skyscrapers?” Julie asked.
“Yeah, ’cept there’s no skyscrapers here,” Chris drawled. He leaned backwards to take in all of Julie, his legs splayed in front of him.
Nellie noticed this because she’d read a magazine article on attraction and when men were attracted to a woman they unconsciously made themselves bigger and women did the opposite. Nellie noticed that Julie’s posture remained unchanged. Too bad for you, Chris.
They sat on the steps and the boys made them
laugh with their work stories. Everett changed jobs every few months so he had the most. He’d just finished a stint at the water treatment plant. “Guys piss in the drinking water all the time,” he said. “Half the water you’re drinking is some asshole’s pee.”
“That’s why I stick to beer,” Julie joked.
“I heard that all of our drinking water is recycled through at least four bladders,” Chris said. Everyone looked grossed out.
“Wouldn’t it be an infinite number of bladders?” Nellie asked. “Because, you know, it’s the same water that’s always been around.”
There was a long pause. Long enough for Nellie to feel her neck turning pink.
“Nerd.” Everett leaned forward and poked her in the tummy.
Nellie wondered how it would be when they were married. Like would he start reading more? Maybe they could take a class together. She didn’t want to have stupid kids. But she would love them no matter what.
A cop car drove by slowly so they took the party inside. They decided on a game of poker. Nellie talked them out of strip poker. Not because she was shy or prudish but she could tell that she was not the main attraction.
Think positive Nellie, remember what Oprah says, the right man will find you, you just have to live your own life until that happens. And get drunk a lot in the meantime, because what else are you going to do? Everett went to get the cards, the other guys stayed by the cupboards where they discussed motors and other boring things.
Nellie opened another beer. She watched the foam pour out the beer and slide down the side.
“Watcha thinking?” Julie perched on the counter next to Nellie, her long legs double crossed.
“I got a teaching job at the university today.”
“That’s great!”
“I blackmailed my teacher.”
“What does that mean?”
