Overlooked (Gives Light Series Book 6)

by Christo, Rose

  “But Mom loved Dad,” I said. “Didn’t she?”

  “Hell no,” Mary said. “He only made her think she did.”

  A pair of kids ran in front of us, chasing after a tapikolo. I stopped walking, lost in thought.

  “I do that, too,” Mary said. “Make you think you love me.” She grinned. “Crazy, innit?”

  “But I do love you,” I said.

  “Way to prove my point.”

  Way to make me wanna shove my head through a wall.

  “Mom pissed me off when she got sick,” Mary said. “I thought she was wishy-washy. Weak.”

  “What’s wrong with being weak?” I demanded.

  Mary laughed.

  “No, I mean it,” I said stubbornly. “Why do we make fun of people for having weaknesses? Isn’t that what makes us human in the first place?”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be human,” Mary said.

  “What would you be, then?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You’re too hard on Mom,” I said bitterly. “She’s dead, and you won’t respect her memory.”

  Mary shrugged. “She used to think it was her fault we turned out gay.”

  “What?” I asked, thrown.

  “You’re not too bright, are ya?” Mary asked wickedly.

  I shook my head.

  “Dude,” Mary said. “Our mom was a hardcore Catholic. I’m named after the Virgin Mary. You’re named after a freaking archangel.”

  “So what?” I asked.

  “So,” Mary said. “Christians aren’t exactly cool with the gay thing. That’s all.”

  “But we’re Plains People,” I said. Plains People had always been cool with the gay thing.

  “And that’s why she loved us anyway, but she still thought we were weird. Look, don’t you get it?” Mary asked. “We were colonized by Christians. They rounded us up and did that whole ‘convert-or-die’ thing. Some of us really dig Stockholm Syndrome. Love your abuser and all that crap.”

  “Y’mean like you love Dad,” I said.

  “You love Dad, too.”

  Maybe she was right about Stockholm Syndrome.

  After a short walk through the rez we went home, Mary turning the computer on in the sitting room. I sat on the stool at Mom’s piano, lost in thought. I can’t tell you how it jarred me to realize that Mom wasn’t perfect, but human. I think her absence alone had made me put her on a pedestal. When you haven’t seen someone in nine years, all you remember about them is what you miss.

  “Hey,” Mary said, peering at the computer. “What’s this?”

  I got up and trudged over to her, leaning over her shoulder. A tiny yellow folder on the blue background read, “Cool Uncle.”

  “Uh,” I said, uncertain.

  Mary moved the computer-controller-thing and clicked on the folder. A picture of Uncle Gabriel popped up on the screen. He was wearing his Plains regalia. A second picture popped up after the first. He was building a kid’s raft for the June races.

  “He keeps a folder called ‘Cool Uncle’?” Mary choked.

  I buried my face in my hands, mortified. Mary laughed so hard I thought she was going to break her ribs. It’s not every day Creator gives you providential proof that the man who raised you is a total dweeb.

  “What’re you doing on the computer, anyway?” I asked.

  “Checking my motorcycle payments,” Mary said. She closed the compromising folder.

  “You can’t bring a motorcycle to the rez,” I said, annoyed. “You can’t even afford one.”

  “Can too,” Mary said, clicking around some more. “I worked in an auto shop all last year. Boy, the stories you hear!”

  “What kind of stories?” I asked carefully.

  Mary gave me a long-suffering look. “I knew a guy who got his dick stuck in his bike’s rotary valve.”

  I hacked furiously. I think my face turned blue.

  “Can’t imagine why he thought that was a good idea,” Mary remarked. “Wound up paying something like two hundred bucks just to dismantle and replace the part. A hooker would’ve been cheaper.”

  “You mean he was—” I broke off, horrified.

  “Oh, my God,” Mary said, grinning. “You’re such a baby.”

  “Stop it!” I said.

  “Baby brother!” Mary sang.

  “Stop!”

  She cackled, striding out of the room. I took her seat at the computer, fuming. I didn’t want to, but I had to write a letter to Sage In Winter. Only problem was I couldn’t remember how to open the e-mail thing.

  In the end I figured it out with minimal cursing and multiple key smashes. The result was that Sage was waiting for me at the community dinner that night. He sat at a picnic table west of the bonfire, and I sat with him, him shivering because he’d forgotten his jacket. Dummy.

  “Okay,” Sage said. “Uh.” He lowered his voice. He put his elbows on the table. “How do I know that I’m Napaka?”

  I leaned across the table, lowering my voice, too. The kid deserved his privacy. “Did you ever do the Basket and Bow Ceremony?”

  Sage stared stupidly.

  “Alright,” I said gruffly. I took the pencil out from behind my ear. I didn’t have my sketchbook with me, but I pulled a wadded up test paper out from my jacket pocket. I flattened it on the table. “When you’re little, one of your parents asks you to pretend you’re going to get married.”

  Sage blanched. “I don’t want to get married.”

  “Shut up, brat.”

  I sketched a hunting bow on the clean side of the test paper. I drew a burden basket next to it. When I was finished I shoved the paper at Sage. He frowned at me.

  “Pick one,” I said.

  “Wha?” Sage said rudely.

  “Pick one,” I growled.

  “Ack! Okay, okay! Pick the one I like?”

  “No,” I said. “Pick the one you think you think makes a better gift for your spouse.”

  Sage peeked warily at me from beneath his fringe. Sage pointed uncertainly at the hunting bow.

  “Okay,” I said. “You’re probably Napaka.”

  “What—that’s it?” Sage asked, incredulous.

  “Well,” I said testily, “it works better with a real basket and bow. And you’re supposed to have a ceremony afterward—the whole tribe gets together to acknowledge you’re Napaka and give you gifts and stuff. But we don’t have time for that.”

  “But I want gifts,” Sage said.

  “Too bad,” I said.

  “But,” Sage said. “It’s really alright? Being—well, gay?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” I asked, confused.

  Sage kicked his ankle under the table. “I went to public school for a while,” he muttered. “They say bad things about Napaka out there.”

  “How old are you again?” I asked.

  “Eleven,” Sage said.

  Tall for an eleven-year-old. “There’s nothing wrong with Napaka,” I said. “No matter what anyone tells you.”

  “You sure?” Sage asked.

  “The buffalo and the caribou have Napaka. The barn owl, the seagull, even the skinks whose bones give us our jewelry. Are you gonna tell me a bunch of stupid humans are smarter than nature?”

  “Well,” Sage said. “No. But I’m not a skink, am I? I’m one of those stupid humans. I have to live with what the other stupid humans think.”

  “Look,” I said. “Long before taipo’o came to Turtle Island we had men marrying men and women marrying women. Chief Ozaawindib married Chief Wenji-Dotagaan. Princess Pine Leaf liked women so much she married four of them. If you’re gonna worry about what people think of you, you have to remember that our acceptance is older than their hate. If people out there hate you, then just come back here, and you’ll be loved again.”

  Sage nodded. I didn’t think I’d convinced him, but maybe all that mattered was that he had somebody to talk to.

  “Hello, the both of you!”

  Two somebody’s to talk to. Au
brey slid into the seat beside me, tall and weedy and bright as a lightbulb.

  “Er,” Sage said. “Hi.”

  “Hello!” Aubrey said again. “Are you guys eating anything? Should I get you some frybread?”

  “I’m gonna go now,” Sage announced, standing.

  I stuffed my test paper into my pocket. I grunted goodbye. Sage threw Aubrey and me one last, wary look before he jogged over to his sisters.

  “Dr. Long Way took out Dad’s pacemaker,” Aubrey told me, excited.

  “Isn’t that a bad thing?” I asked, worried.

  “Not in the least! His heart’s working by itself all of a sudden. I don’t really understand how, but—isn’t that amazing?”

  “Aubrey,” I said. I wanted to jump up and down.

  “It must have been everyone’s prayers,” Aubrey said. “I’m so lucky, I have all these friends—”

  “Why are you lucky?” I asked angrily. “You deserve your friends.”

  “Well,” said Aubrey, ducking his head sheepishly. “Thank you for that.”

  We talked for a while about school, after which we thumb-wrestled over a plate of potato croquettes. Aubrey won the battle. I sat throwing the croquettes at him in retaliation, but he caught most of them in his mouth. I snatched a plate of pumpkin fritters from the next table, because I wanted to see if he could catch those, too. William Sleeping Fox came over and interrupted us.

  “Zeke says you can drive now,” Sleeping Fox told me, dazed.

  I gave him a dirty look. I put the plate down. “How the hell would Zeke know that?”

  “He says you almost ran him over in the parking lot.”

  “You can drive?” Aubrey asked, interested.

  I did something stupid just then: I lied.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  All my life I wanted to be the guy people liked. If wearing glasses and driving a car made people like me, they couldn’t be so bad.

  “Even Stu can’t drive a car,” Sleeping Fox said dizzily.

  “Yes,” said Aubrey, hushed and impressed, “it’s the same with my brother, Reuben. He tried to drive once and knocked down a traffic sign.”

  “Everybody knows Plains People can’t drive!” said Zeke himself, dancing over to our table. “It’s Custer’s Curse!”

  “Stop it,” Stuart said hoarsely, following him. “They didn’t have cars when Custer was alive.”

  “But, like,” Zeke said. “If you can drive, Raf, that means we can go places without our parents!”

  “What?” I asked, startled.

  Allen Calling Owl drifted over to the table, a powder-white specter. “We could go to the desert and have a séance,” he put in.

  “That’s lame!” Zeke said angrily. “Let’s go to a nudie bar!”

  “With what ID?” Stuart pointed out.

  “You don’t have to come!” Zeke said.

  “Where are we going, then?” Aubrey asked uncomfortably. “I don’t think we should spring this on Rafael…”

  “Let’s go on a road trip,” Sleeping Fox offered unwantedly.

  “It’s eight o’clock at night!” I said through my teeth.

  “We’ll tell our parents we’re hanging out at Aubrey’s house,” Sleeping Fox said. “I’ve seen his place. It’s big.”

  Stuart, Sleeping Fox, and Allen went looking for their parents. I broke into a cold sweat. I jumped when I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders. I calmed down at their familiarity, wide and gentle with long fingers.

  What’s the matter? Sky asked. He put his face in front of mine, his eyebrows wrinkled up.

  I relaxed at the sight of him; although now wasn’t a very good time to relax. I laced my fingers with his. “Nothin’,” I said.

  The guys came charging back to the table. They brought Sarah Two Eagles with them, the most awesome eleven-year-old on the rez. My stomach sank. I didn’t mind endangering those other jerks, but I didn’t want to kill Sarah.

  “Where are we going, man?” Zeke asked, frantic with excitement.

  Sky’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Let’s go into the city and buy donuts,” Sleeping Fox said.

  “I really don’t think we should be doing this,” Aubrey repeated.

  “You’re finally cool,” Sleeping Fox said.

  How hard could driving really be? I mean, yeah, I had that whole scare with the moving truck, but trucks weren’t on the road at nighttime, right?

  “Sky,” I said. I was finally cool. “Y’wanna drive into the city with us?”

  Sky grabbed my arm and gave me a stern look. I wilted under his scrutiny. Sky turned around and gestured at Sleeping Fox, who stared blankly in retaliation. Sky’s forehead creased. I felt his frustration for my own. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to want to communicate with people, but to be unable to.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Stuart began, “but we’d better hurry if we want to make it home before curfew.”

  Sky let go of me, which I took for permission. I dragged myself over to Rosa, who sat with Beth and George in front of a small dug frying pit. I told her, without looking at her, that I was spending the next couple of hours at Aubrey’s house. Even if we were getting along at the moment I wouldn’t have gone to Uncle Gabriel, who tended to see through my lies the same way a doctor sees through his patient’s chest. After saying goodbye to Rosa I crept back to my house, snatching the car keys off the hook on the wall. I felt so guilty I crouched on the sitting room floor, grasping my knees. My chest went tight, colored spots spinning in front of my eyes.

  “What’re you doing?” Mary asked. She and Isaac Takes Flight sat on the sofa, a bowl of fried herring eggs between them.

  “Nothin’,” I mumbled, standing up. My legs felt like slabs of rubber.

  When I went back to the bonfire the only person still waiting for me was Sky. When I asked him where the others had gone he nodded in the direction of the hospital parking lot. He stopped me with his hand on my chest, his gaze expectant.

  “Mary’s with Isaac,” I said dumbly. “I think your dad’s safe.”

  Sky didn’t so much as move. I scuffed my hiking boots nervously against the rough soil. I bent my head, but he took my face in his hands until I looked at him. His mouth was pursed wryly.

  “So what?” I insisted. “Rosa says I’ve gotta learn how, anyway.”

  Sky shook his head slowly. Sky stroked my hair, my temples with his thumbs. I slumped against him, arms loose around his waist, face in the crook of his neck. He felt so good, especially when I wanted to vomit.

  Lazy, he said, jostling my elbow.

  “In case we die or something,” I said, “you’re still the best.”

  Sky leaned back and showed me a bland look. Sounds fun.

  He was holding my hand when we went out to the parking lot. Zeke ran circles around Stuart, who yelled at him, but didn’t give chase. Aubrey sipped orange juice from a juicebox. Sarah waved at me, bouncy in her bright blue rain boots. What the hell, kid? It hadn’t rained since July.

  “Hello, Rafael,” Sarah said. “Hello, Skylar. I am very much excited to hit the road with you.”

  Sky’s face was one solid, adoring grin. He leaned over and tousled Sarah’s short hair with both hands. Sarah hooted at Sky like an owl. Sky stood back, confused.

  “Forgot she does that,” I muttered.

  “No!” shouted Allen. He put his arms over his head, paranoid.

  “It wasn’t a real owl!” I yelled.

  I unlocked Uncle Gabriel’s car. It was an eight-seater, a good thing, or someone would’a had to sit on the roof. The Tyke climbed into the back and bounced up and down on the gray leather. I sat heavily on the driver’s seat and swallowed, my nerves in overdrive. Sky perched on the passenger seat next to me, which was the only thing that kept me from puking on the steering wheel.

  “Play Kenny Loggins!” said Zeke in the middle row. Stuart swung their door shut.

  “What’s Kenny Loggins?” Aubrey asked.

  “What
is Love!” Zeke shouted.

  “That’s not Kenny Loggins,” Stuart said.

  “Fat Joe,” Sleeping Fox said.

  “I think ‘Rotund Joe’ would be more politically correct,” Aubrey said fairly.

  “Road Trips of the Dead…” Allen intoned.

  I drew in a breath and didn’t release it. I adjusted the mirrors. Sky grabbed my hand, eyeing me seriously. You don’t have to drive them anywhere, his face said. You really shouldn’t be doing this, it said.

  “Let’s go, Rafael!” Zeke shouted.

  I put the car in reverse. The headlights lit up, stark white spilling on dark pavement. Christ, but the roads were pitch black, reminding me of an oceanic abyss.

  “Not now,” I muttered, apprehensive.

  Too late. My imagination screeched in gear, the unwelcome bastard. The claustrophobic car became a submarine, panels glowing on steel-plated walls. I groaned with resignation when my jeans and jacket melted into dark blue military fatigues.

  “Whoooo!” Zeke screamed. He thrust his arms in the air, accidentally slapping Aubrey in the face.

  A school of silvery-pink fish drifted past us, phosphorescent weeds dancing after them like skinny glowworms. Sky stared at me for a very long time, like he knew exactly where my head had gone. I couldn’t help it. I put my eye against the periscope, perusing murky blue waters.

  “You’ll want to get on the I-10,” Stuart told me.

  “Uh,” I said.

  Stuart sighed wearily. “I’ll watch the exits for you,” he offered.

  I kicked the buoyancy system on the floor. The submarine rose. A shark swam at us, razor-sharp teeth bared. I toggled the rudder and we swerved neatly away. Maybe driving was one of those things you only did well when you stopped thinking about it. Thinking wasn’t my strong point; but daydreaming was. I dreamt of buried treasure and smooth ocean doldrums. I dreamt of mermaids with bloody pearls strung around their throats, rusty scales for skin.

  “What’s everybody’s favorite music?” Aubrey asked politely.

  “Kidz Bop,” Sarah said.

  “Blues!” Zeke said.

  “None,” Stuart said.

  “Well, I like bluegrass,” Aubrey said.