by Dawn Dumont
“Assault.”
“Taz?”
“My neighbour.”
Nellie growled. “That bitch. I knew she was gonna be a problem with all her fake sweetness, ‘if you need anything, just let me know.’ ”
“I guess they decided to believe her instead of the person who can’t fake sweetness . . . ”
“You’re naturally sweet — anyone could see that.”
Julie remembered the judge’s cold eyes and how he interrupted her every time she spoke until her answers were curt and defensive and she knew she could feel the ground crumbling beneath her when she opened her mouth, how she’d tried to smile and knew from his eyes that she looked cocky, not honest. “How’s Everett?”
“If you can believe this, he’s in jail too.”
Julie’s smile was faint.
“My boyfriend is in jail and my best friend. I have got some fucking issues.”
Julie nodded, wanting to say something funny, but the tears were already leaving her eyes.
Nellie rubbed Julie’s hand. “You can’t fucking cry. If you cry, then I’ll cry and then we’ll look like a couple of lesbian lovers sitting here comforting each other.”
“You’re too short for me,” Julie sniffled.
“I may not be hot but I am a lawyer. Well, almost.”
“Got Kleenex?”
“No. Sorry. They kept my purse on the other side.”
Julie wiped her eyes and nose with her sleeve. “I need to get out of here.”
“Who was your lawyer?”
“I didn’t have one.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Julie had thought about this every single night since she’d been locked up. “Because I didn’t do anything.”
Nellie grimaced. “Okay well just tell me everything.”
Julie told her in one long sentence. Nellie had that intent look on her face; Julie called it terrier-face.
Julie sat in the second row of the TV watching area. She wasn’t paying attention to whatever problem the sitcom family were solving with gentle good humour. She felt her blood singing and a secret smile forming beneath her skin. Shells plopped herself down on the edge of Julie’s chair and half on her lap. Julie would never get used to Shells’ casual affection.
“I need you to stay here for half an hour.”
Julie glanced at the clock. “I can stay for an hour, if you want.”
“He doesn’t need an hour. He’s fucking limp dick pig with shit for brains. But goddamn his hands . . . ”
“Clock’s ticking.” Julie did not want details.
Shells practically skipped out of the room.
Julie watched two episodes of Home Improvement before she meandered back to her cell. She’d never watched so much damned TV in her life.
When Julie got to her cell, Shells was sitting on her bunk, her eyes on the floor.
“What’s wrong?”
Shells didn’t look up.
Julie had learned a long time ago that if people didn’t want to talk then you shouldn’t make them. She reached for Shells blanket and pulled it around her shoulders.
Then she climbed on her bunk. A few minutes later lights went out but Julie didn’t hear anything from the figure under her bunk. No sniffles, no tears. She stared up at the exploding penis.
The next morning, Shells was in her bed, the covers pulled over her head. She stayed that way even as the cell doors opened, even as the female guard came in to check on her.
“What’s up Shelley? You feeling okay?”
Shells made no answer. Julie risked a look back. The guard was pulling back Shells blanket.
“Looks like you got a bit cut up here, hey?” The guard’s voice was soft. The woman next to Julie slapped her arm hard and Julie risked another look.
“Her arms are cut up.” Julie whispered to the woman.
“How bad?”
Julie shrugged.
The guard came through the door and yelled at the guard in the office. “Get a nurse on D-block, cell 48.” The women started to chatter.
The guard turned to Julie, “You see her do this?”
Julie shook her head. “Is she gonna be okay?”
The guard ignored this and shooed them down the range. “All right ladies, let’s go. Breakfast won’t wait.”
Julie had spent the morning cleaning the cell. The guards had done a piss poor job and when Julie requested some rags and cleaning supplies they let her do it. She’d always loved cleaning to be honest, liked seeing the difference that hard scrubbing made. She washed the floor until she could see the lights glinting off it.
She picked up her pail and waved at the guard as she headed to the bathroom. She dumped out the pail and felt relief as the pinky water went down the drain. She rinsed it a few times and then began to wash her hands. They were red and peeling in places. Julie needed a lot of moisturizer to fix them — but when would she get that? “It’ll grow back,” she reminded herself.
She heard the bathroom door open with a bang. Three girls came in. Their intent was so obvious that it would have been funny except that she never could laugh when she felt like puking. What made it worse was that Julie knew this was fun to them. What kind of things did people do to them, she wondered to herself. Nellie would say it was no time to get philosophical . . .
They made a semi-circle around her, slowly forcing her into a corner. They were laughing but Julie could see it was forced now. She wanted to tell them this was too much. That she was already having the worst day, her friend was sick and she didn’t even know how bad. But Julie knew they already knew that, or else they wouldn’t be here.
Julie had aunties who were tough ladies. One of them broke her husband’s leg and the other nearly paralyzed some woman outside a bar in Ft. St. John. They’d been telling their fighting stories to her since she was a kid. She knew how the story was going to play out.
Except for the stabbing, that was a surprise.
Julie only heard the next part, the guards over her, arguing whether or not it was serious enough for the hospital or if the nurse could handle it, because she kept her eyes tightly closed like she was on a roller coaster. She knew better than to put her two cents in; plus she was concentrating on stopping the flow of blood from her abdomen. Stop, stop, stop, she repeated inside her head, followed by, clot, clot, clot.
She could feel the wet spot spreading across her tummy even underneath the strong hands of the paramedic applying pressure. He knows what he’s doing she told herself, her lips making the words but not the sound. Finally someone said that they would get into big trouble if the inmate got infected. I’m Julie.
The ambulance drivers loaded her up with no muss or fuss. She heard the handcuff click as they loaded her onto the gurney. She flicked her eyes open when they hit the open air so that she could see the sky as they rolled her out of the building.
Three days at the hospital and then they shipped her back to the infirmary. The infirmary had a nice bed. Julie noticed that right away. She never made a big deal about beds when she was dating Taz and he used to take her to nice hotels but after a month on a metal bunk bed, she sure noticed the difference. Her back felt like it was being hugged. I’m getting old.
Nellie came to visit her and did this whole Terms of Endearment routine where she bitched at the nurses until one of them sniffled and those were some tough ladies. (Julie had just asked for some ice chips.)
Julie asked Nellie to look for Shells among the beds. And Nellie did, sticking her head around privacy curtains even. But Julie already knew she wasn’t there. Shells would have been by her bed by now, telling her which nurse was a closet druggie and which doctor had a big dick. She would have told Julie what she thought of Nellie: “Seems stuck up,” And Julie would have said she’s not, you only have to get to know her.
Julie was still in the infirmary when she met her lawyer, the first she’d ever met other than Nellie but she never thought of Nellie as a lawyer. Kevin was a small-eyed white
guy with narrow lips and a huge nose, the biggest she’d ever seen. She liked it on him. He filled up the room with rants about the institutional racism of the justice system and the racial profiling of First Nations people. He pounded his fist on the table and said that she would not be another victim of a system that allowed tragedies like the starlight tours. He was so offended, he made Julie smile, though she tried to hide it. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
Nellie’s visits were a lot longer than visiting hours allowed because Nellie said the words “civil suit.”
“So you sleeping with my lawyer?” Julie asked one evening.
“Are you fucking crazy? He’s my boss.”
“But I don’t know when I can pay you back.”
“Please as if I would make you do that. I never made you pay me for that pair of shoes you ruined on New Year’s Eve.”
“The heel was already half off when I put them on.”
“Liar.” Nellie pushed the ice chips at Julie. She believed they held magical healing powers.
“I’m not the one paying,” Nellie paused for effect. “Taz was concerned.”
Julie’s stupid heart leapt. “How is he?”
“He’s his same ole shitty self. He asked me if my acne was from eating bad food or from an unplanned pregnancy — is that even a thing? God he’s annoying.” She scratched her chin absently. “Please do not fall back in love with him.”
“Okay.”
“Besides Kevin would do this for free if you went on a date with him.”
“I’m not a hooker.”
“Gees Louise, learn to take a joke.”
Everett got back the day before Julie did. He was in the car with Nellie when she walked out with her garbage bag filled with her stuff. He jumped into the backseat to make room for her. He leaned between the seats and teased her:
“Heard you did some hard time?”
“Idiot, she was stabbed.”
“How’s that going?”
“It’s gross but it’s alright.” Julie figured it was going to scar and it shouldn’t bother her because she wasn’t the type to wear bikinis, but still . . . it sucked. Who wanted reminders? “Where’s Taz?”
“In jail,” Nellie said dryly.
“For real?”
“No, he’s in Ottawa. Had a job interview.”
Julie felt sad at that. She’d been looking forward to strong arms.
That night they drank at Nellie’s. Julie noticed some new furniture; no more cardboard boxes used as coffee tables. Nellie started crying twice for God knows what reason. She’d be drinking and talking and then her head would fall on the table and her shoulders would heave. Julie sipped her beer slowly, wanting the night to last.Everett finally took Nellie to bed after she started crying for the third time.
“You’re home,” she hiccupped and she touched Julie’s cheek before Everett ushered her away.
Julie turned up the TV to give them privacy and to interrupt her thoughts. It didn’t work. She thought about Shells, she thought about the women’s faces in the bathroom, she thought about always being wrong no matter what she said. She felt a breathless feeling like her heart was going burst out of her chest. She wanted to go to the bedroom and ask Nellie and Everett to help her but she didn’t think her legs would hold her.
She didn’t even feel like she could scream. Her heart was racing like a maniac and Julie thought: this is it. This was how she was going to die — from a heart attack, one day out of jail with a beer in her hand. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the third eye but all she could see was Marguerite’s smirk.
Everett tapped her on the forehead. “Jules.”
She opened her eyes. He was grinning at her.
“Your beer is empty.”
He bit the cap off a beer, handed it to her and then pushed her over on the couch with his butt. “Y’know, the first time I went to jail, I was twenty. Everyone said it was gonna be like a party and I’d see my cousins and we’d hang out and play cards and work sometimes and order McDonald’s and it wouldn’t be shit. And it wasn’t a big deal.” He took a sip. “Except for some parts.”
Julie took a long sip. Then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It was still shaking.
When she could trust her voice, she asked: “Were you able to forget it?”
He nodded, without smiling. Julie noticed for the first time that his face wasn’t handsome without the trademark Everett Kaiswatim grin.
Julie pulled at a thread that was coming out of her jean jacket. “Do you know how my mom died?”
“Nellie told me someone killed her.”
Julie flinched at that. She didn’t like the “k” word. “Yeah. She went with this guy and he said she tried to rip him off and he beat her up. Then he dumped her in the woods.”
She looked at Everett. He didn’t look all shocked so she went on: “The cops had to cut a deal with him so that he would tell them where she was.”
“Fucker.”
“They still didn’t find her until the snow melted.” The jacket thread was short and she couldn’t pull it all the way out. She gave up and smoothed it back down with her fingers.
“Nobody deserves that.”
“I remember thinking that if a person’s mom died, you would know in your heart. But I didn’t. I had no idea she was gone until they told me.”
Everett took the remote and turned up the TV. Then he kissed her.
The Great Mystery
June 2001
THEY DROVE OUT OF the city in Everett’s old truck, scratched and dented, bald tires and zero shocks, but still chugging along. They were on the road for about an hour before they passed a dirt road and Everett skidded to a stop.
He laughed, “Fucking almost missed it.”
Taz searched the side of the road and saw a sign sticking out the side of the ditch that said, “Kaiswatim,” and an arrow pointing to the west.
They bounced down the dirt road kicking up soft black dirt behind them. Taz glanced in the rear mirror and thought about how far away their dust cloud could be seen. Weren’t these ceremonies supposed to be secret or something?
“Going to a wedding with Nellie next weekend. Gonna get wasted.”
“White or Indian?” Only white people had open bars.
“Indian. Two weddings this summer already . . . fuck me, man, she always gives me this look.” Everett showed Taz what Nellie’s glare looked like.
Taz saw where this was going and he had no sympathy for Everett. “You’ve been together almost ten years man. Shit or get off the pot.”
“What about you?”
“She wears my ring. I asked her years ago.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No but we’re waiting until . . . ” Taz paused. He couldn’t remember what he was actually waiting for. But then Julie never pushed for stuff like that, probably didn’t even care about it actually. When he gave her the engagement ring, she made a face and said, “Do I have to wear it?” And he was like, “Of course you have to fucking wear it.” Sometimes she was so weird.
“Until you hit the jackpot?” Everett joked. “Thought you were making a million bucks working down at the ole Chiefs of Saskatchewan. All ‘dem fancy suits and shoes.”
Taz shook his head. Could this fucking idiot be any more stupid? “It’s office attire.”
“Fancy fancy.”
“Nellie is being called to the bar this year, isn’t she?”
“Yeah. And her family will be coming up and it’ll be all the questions and I don’t even think her family likes me — ”
“What’s there to like?”
“Fuck you. Anyway . . . I’ve got a plan.”
“Borrow enough gas for the Mexican border?”
Everett laughed. “Nah, fuck that. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go for it.” He pointed at the glove-box.
Taz opened the dusty box and reached around until his hand closed around a tiny velvet box. One of those. He flicked it open with his
fingers; it was an ugly damn ring. Gold, which Nellie would hate. A big pink stone in the middle, which she would really hate. And some rhinestones all around it. Something a dumb reserve Indian would think was fancy but looked cheap to everyone else. “She’ll love it,” Taz said.
“I guess. Nellie’s not picky.”
Taz had to look out the window to hide his smile.
He had some of his own news to tell but they were pulling up at the camp. Or at least it looked like a camp. There were two more trucks, about as beat up as Everett’s parked next to one another. Then miles of waving grass, high as a man’s thighs. There was one tree off to the right with fabric blowing in the breeze. In front of them was a brown structure with rounded edges, like a beaver’s dam. Taz had seen a few lodges on his reserve when he was younger though his family didn’t do that kind of thing. They were United Church all the way; the minister used to eat Sunday supper at their house.
As he opened the truck door, the smell of burning sweet grass greeted him.
Everett met Lincoln at a powwow. He’d been hanging around with some drummers, which led to meeting some pretty little Fancydancers when this old man in a cowboy hat flagged him over to a picnic table. “You a Kaiswatim?” The old man asked when Everett ambled over.
Everett nodded and sat down.
“Who’s your dad?”
“Oliver Kaiswatim. Don’t know him though. My uncle raised me. He’s a Pratt.”
“Right. You know your other relatives on that side?”
Everett had never bothered looking for them. He figured if his dad couldn’t make the effort, then why should he?
“Nah.”
“Oliver’s sisters were looking for his boy. You know Freda or Pauline?”
“Never heard of them.” Everett turned his eyes towards the Fancydancers lining up for Grand Entry.
Everett gave one of them a grin and she blushed. He turned back to the old man who was giving him a measuring glance — like he didn’t know if he liked him or not.
