Target

by Patrick Jones

  19

  “Who are all these people?” Frankie whispered to his mother after making his way across the crowded office lobby. She ignored him and pointed toward the front of the room, where her boss commanded the group’s attention.

  Mrs. McCaskill, a short woman, said a prayer in Ojibwemowin and then repeated the prayer in English to the crowd of Ojibwe and Dakota women and children. “I pray our ancestors will help us solve our problems today.”

  Like the other children and teens, regardless of age, Frankie held his mom’s hand. It was part of the smudging ceremony. Frankie listened as Mrs. McCaskill spoke, her voice cracking with emotion, about the community “left behind.” Frankie’s mom had helped organize the meeting of women who had relatives—children, husbands, fathers—inside prison walls.

  “We must be purified of negative energy before we’re ready to heal,” Mrs. McCaskill said. “Only then we can gather with warm hearts and create a sacred space, to offer support to one another.”

  “Frankie, you do it.” His mom gently pushed him toward the front of the room. Mrs. McCaskill handed Frankie a wooden match. Frankie lit the match and held it against a sage bundle resting in an abalone shell. As the sage burned, Frankie used a single black-and-white prayer feather with buckskin fringe and a handle wrapped with black sinew to fan the smoke toward his mother. She waved her hands in front of herself so that the smoke from the sage encompassed her body. His mother passed the shell and the feather to the next person. By the time it reached the last woman, a sweet, smoky sage fog enveloped the room. The faces of the twenty or so women turned peaceful.

  As the sage burned, it reminded Frankie of all the weed he’d smoked in Riverwood, and he knew he wasn’t ready to heal, much less help anyone else. His heart wasn’t warm; it was stone cold.

  20

  Frankie stared into the mirror of the parked car outside Rondo. Tiny black shoots of hair poked from his scalp. His grandfather had shaved his head a lot better than his cousins had, but Frankie questioned his appearance. He wondered if it was really his looks, not his business, that Sofia found ugly. It was easy to go from there to questioning his whole identity. They’d watched Hombre last week, and Frankie felt like Paul Newman’s character—stuck between the white world around him and the American Indian world within him.

  “Go get ’em,” he whispered to himself. A kid named Phil had planned a monster party for later that week. Frankie figured it was as good a shot as he’d have with Sofia.

  He caught Luis in the parking lot just before classes started. “Did you tell Sofia that I’m not selling smokes anymore?” Frankie asked, almost pleading. “What did she say?”

  “She says it’s not what you do,” Luis said. “It’s who you are. That’s how she sees you.”

  “But it is not—”

  “Look, she jumped out. I don’t know how Indians do it, but the Twenty-sixers … it ain’t pretty.”

  Frankie shook his head in disgust at everyone and everything. He couldn’t make anybody happy: the twins wanted him in deeper, while Sofia, his mom, and his grandfather didn’t believe he wasn’t in at all. “Tell her to give me one more chance. I like her, and she’s worth it.”

  Luis started to laugh. “What’s so funny?” Frankie snapped in anger.

  More laughter, and then Luis said, “Why don’t you turn around and tell her yourself?”

  Frankie pivoted. Sofia stood behind him with a slight smile and a skeptical gaze.

  “You got something to say to me?” Hands on hips, full of attitude and challenge.

  “I’m like the hombre,” Frankie said. “I used to be wild, but now I’m tame. Trust me.”

  21

  “Frankie, a moment,” Mrs. Howard-Hernandez said as Frankie started to leave the classroom, carefully watching Sofia exit.

  After making him wait two days for an answer, Sofia had told him before class, “I won’t go to the party with you, you know, but you can ride with me, Luis, and Jose.” Frankie had daydreamed through class about the party’s possibilities, but the teacher’s words burst his bubble. She motioned for Frankie to sit in the chair next to her book-covered desk.

  “About the book you chose for your next project,” Mrs. Howard-Hernandez said. “You can’t do it.”

  “Why not?” Frankie expected a “because I said so,” mom-like robot response.

  “You’ve already read The Outsiders, many times, you said,” his teacher explained. “For this assignment, I want you to read something new. Something you’re interested in.” Frankie nodded his head every few seconds as the teacher rattled off title after title, describing books that didn’t interest him at all. He had to make her stop.

  “Was that movie Hombre a book first?” he asked.

  Mrs. Howard-Hernandez smiled briefly at him. “Let’s see.” She typed something on her keyboard as Frankie’s mind wandered again. He had plenty more questions, none of which his teacher, her computer, or her beloved books could answer. How would he get out of being grounded to go to the party? His three-day Riverwood retreat had cost him two full weeks of not leaving home except for school. Well, not leaving home when his mom was awake. When she was asleep, Frankie went about his business, selling smokes by the west-side entrance to his building.

  “Good news, Frankie. Hombre was based on a book, and they have it at the library!”

  Frankie tried to manage a smile as he realized his next obstacle. After the stunt he’d pulled with the scissors, he thought, even getting his mom to let him go to the library might be tough.

  22

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so.”

  “That’s not a reason.” The conversation between Frankie and his mom kept going in circles, always ending up at the same place: he couldn’t go.

  “If I go to the party, I’ll make more new friends so I’m not hanging with Jay and Billy.” Frankie couldn’t confess that he already had a good reason to avoid the twins: the loaded Glock they carried.

  “Well, I would be happy about that, but I know all about parties, Frankie. I was sixteen once you know.”

  “It won’t be like that,” Frankie pleaded, even though he figured it would be exactly like that.

  “You know the destruction that chemical dependency has played in our community,” his mom said, choking back tears. “The stories I hear every day would break your heart.”

  “I’m not like that anymore.” Frankie looked his mom straight in the eye; for once, it wasn’t a lie. He had also seen the devastating impact of drinking, using, and selling in his family, his reservation, and his tribe. “You can stay up late and give me one of those home drug tests afterward, but I really need this. I need it.”

  Frankie’s mom fiddled with her ID badge. “Okay, Frankie, but on one condition.”

  “Anything,” Frankie said.

  “You have to start visiting your father again,” Frankie’s mom said, meeting his eye. “He misses you.”

  Visions of his dad’s eye patch stabbed Frankie’s brain, but it was worth it to go to the party.

  “I shouldn’t have to bargain with you about seeing him,” she said. “You should want to see him. I moved us here so you could visit him. Your uncles too. So, it’s a deal?”

  Frankie nodded. He tried to hide his nervousness that the deal was one he and his mom would both regret.

  23

  Like the week before, the Creech twins waited for Frankie in their car in the parking lot after school. Unlike the last time, Sofia, Luis, and Jose were with Frankie and got a good look at his relatives.

  “Those look like some bad mo—” Jose started to say.

  “Stay here. I’ll talk to them.” Frankie broke off from the group.

  “You want me to get your back?” Luis said, hesitant.

  “Don’t need it. I got nothing to do with those guys anymore.” Frankie looked at Sofia the entire time he spoke. She appeared only half convinced.

  Frankie walked slowly, head dow
n, fists clenched. His friends spoke briefly in Spanish as they headed toward Jose’s Impala.

  By the time Frankie got to the Buick, Jay stood in front of it, pants hung low, head held high. “So, those your friends now?” Jay broke his hard stare only to glance at the Impala.

  “What of it.” Frankie glared back.

  Billy came around behind Frankie. He was trapped. “Any of them Twenty-sixers?”

  “No.” Frankie lied. Luis worked and went to school full time. Jose’s life was consumed with a disabled father, a job, and dealing with family problems. He was talking about dropping out. Sofia had been in the 26ers but said she’d left. Frankie didn’t want to think about how.

  “You gonna hang with friends over family, over tribe, over your people—”

  “Shut up, Jay!” Frankie shouted.

  “You’re gonna have to make me, Frankie,” Jay said as the twins closed like prison gates around Frankie.

  From the corner of his eye, Frankie saw Jose’s car speeding closer, back door open. Frankie pushed past his cousins and jumped into the Impala, his heart pounding.

  24

  “Did you know Phil had this kind of money?” Jose asked. Phil had thrown a monster party, as promised, that almost everyone in the school had shown up for. “He doesn’t seem like a rich kid.”

  “And what kind of rich kid goes to Rondo?” Luis asked.

  “Even if I had money, I’d still go to Rondo,” Frankie said. “At Riverwood, everybody was the same, everybody was poor. If I went to a private high school with the rich white kids, everybody would be the same there too. Rondo’s got a little bit of everything.”

  Sofia sipped a can of Diet Coke, so Frankie did the same. Luis slammed back strongly spiked punch from a red cup, while Jose stayed sober. Frankie listened as each person told their story. Just like Frankie, they’d failed in the past, and Rondo was a shot at starting over.

  “You know, before they changed the name to Rondo, it just used to be called the ALC,” Jose explained. A senior, he’d started at the alternative school in ninth grade. “The initials stood for alternative learning center, but everybody said it really meant assholes’ last chance.”

  Luis laughed so hard he spilled his drink. “Come on, Jose, help me clean this up. It’s your fault,” Luis said, dragging Jose along and finally leaving Frankie alone with Sofia.

  Frankie and Sofia took turns gulping their sodas rather than speaking.

  “Thanks for letting me come with you,” Frankie finally said. Sofia just smiled.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of them, but you’re one of the biggest reasons I like Rondo,” Frankie said.

  “You say that ’cause you don’t know me. If—”

  Sofia left off as they heard a wail of sirens coming closer. As people started panicking, Frankie reached out his hand, Sofia grabbed it, and they ran for the back door.

  25

  Frankie finally got to touch Sofia, but not as he’d imagined. He pushed her hard from behind to help her clear the high fence at the back of Phil’s house.

  “Run!” Sofia shouted. Frankie scaled the fence on his own and joined Sofia on the other side, in another huge backyard with a pool. “Let’s go!”

  Sofia took off her shoes and set off. Although no track star, Sofia could move. After two more yards, two more fences, and two more pushes, they came to an alley.

  “I gotta stop.” Frankie sat down on the cool pavement, panting. Sofia nodded and sat next to him.

  “You’ve done this before, run from the cops?” she asked.

  Frankie nodded.

  “Me too, but no more.”

  “How about Jose or Luis?” Frankie asked. Sofia shook her head emphatically.

  “Those boys got too much to do,” Sofia said. “Luis with his job, or Jose and his father—if you got something that matters in your life, banging don’t make sense.”

  “Maybe,” Frankie said. He hesitated, but the time seemed right. He told her about his time in First Nation Mafia, his dad and his family’s involvement, everything.

  “That ain’t nothing,” Sofia countered and told her war stories of being in the 26ers. “But I left all that. I came to Rondo for a new school, making new friends, like I’m starting over.”

  “Starting over,” Frankie echoed. “Me too.”

  “Like with your hair?” Sophie laughed. Frankie laughed too as he placed her left hand on his bald head. “I should check in with Luis. See if they got away.”

  “Or we could stay here until they call.” Sofia said with a small smile. Her left hand fell from Frankie’s head to his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

  26

  “Look at me!” Frankie’s father shouted so loud that he didn’t need the inmate phone.

  Frankie tried, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus on his father’s face with the pinkish eye patch still covering the hole where his eye had been.

  “What is wrong with you?” The guards strolled slowly toward Franklin Brave Eagle like children afraid of a dog. They spoke with him, but his father just shouted.

  “Let me talk to him,” Frankie’s mother said. Frankie handed her the phone and stepped away. He didn’t want to listen to his mother, much less his father. His father had told Frankie that he had to act. If word got back that there was no retaliation, then all members of the First Nation Mafia in Stillwater were targets. Inside or outside didn’t matter—all that mattered was respect and revenge.

  Frankie placed his right hand over his mouth, brushing against his lips. Just last night, Sofia had kissed those lips, and everything seemed softer. But looking at his father’s disfigured face, Frankie realized last night was just an illusion. This nightmare was his life; this reality was his legacy.

  “He wants to talk to you.” Frankie’s mom handed him back the phone. It was wet with tears.

  “Listen, son,” Frankie’s father started, but then stopped. “You like that word, son? Well, you’re not my son anymore,” his father hissed. “Jay and Billy, those boys know their responsibilities to their family and their tribe. But you don’t seem to, Frankie.”

  Frankie tried to argue, tried to prove his father was wrong. But even though the phone was at his ear, his dad wasn’t listening. He had made it clear what Frankie had to do to prove himself.

  27

  “I don’t want to visit him again tomorrow.” Frankie slammed the car door after getting in, anxious to drive away from the Stillwater prison.

  “You promised,” his mom said.

  “I need to talk to Grandfather.” Frankie started to dial his prepaid cell number.

  “You know my father would rather dance naked than talk on the phone.” His mom laughed as she turned the key to start the engine. But the laughter ended as the engine turned over briefly and sputtered out. Frankie heard her curse under her breath.

  “Then let’s go see him,” Frankie pleaded. He knew he sounded like a spoiled child, but he felt like a child asked to take on too much too soon.

  “This car may not make it back to St. Paul, let alone all the way to Riverwood.”

  “We could rent a car,” Frankie said softly. He clutched the wad of bills in his pocket.

  Another laugh. “With what?”

  Frankie showed his mom the money as he told her the story about smuggling cigarettes from Riverwood to sell in St. Paul. He didn’t mention the smash and grab from earlier. Still, his mother fumed.

  “Look, I’m done with it,” Frankie said.

  “You’ve said that before, and then you tell me this. Why should I believe you?”

  “Sofia, she’s this girl—” and the words poured out as Frankie talked about Sofia like he’d never talked about a girl before. His mom was stunned.

  “Don’t talk so fast, Frankie,” his mom said, trying to catch up, trying the ignition again. The engine roared but didn’t purr.

  Frankie rolled his eyes and laughed. “Normally you’re mad because I don’t talk to you. Now I do, and you tell me to slow d
own.”

  “We’ve got time,” his mom said. She drew in a big breath. “It’s a long drive to Riverwood, even in a rented car.”

  28

  “Next time, Frankie, you need to stay longer.” Frankie and his grandfather stood on a small hill at the end of a dirt road. Each of them carried a large sack of rocks and stones.

  “Um. Yeah. I hope so.” Frankie wasn’t sure how to answer. Life in Riverwood moved so slowly, and most everything his grandfather did connected to ancient traditions. His grandfather rejected almost anything modern. He wouldn’t allow Frankie to listen to music or talk on the phone in his house.

  “I know that tone, Frankie.” His grandfather pulled Frankie next to him.

  “Sorry,” Frankie mumbled. “I just got a lot on my mind.”

  “Exactly. When you come again, we will clear your mind and purify your body.”

  Frankie snorted. “Not another vision quest?”

  His grandfather laughed, not the most common of sounds. “No, that didn’t work out.”

  When he first started to get into trouble, Frankie’s grandfather had intervened and forced Frankie—by the power of his personality—to embark on a vision quest. Frankie was sent off for four days and nights to sit by himself on the top of the hill. With no food or water, and just a ceremonial buckskin skirt, Frankie was told to wait for the insight that his grandfather said would emerge.

  But after four days, when his grandfather came to retrieve him, he found that Frankie had violated the most sacred part of the ritual: he had not been alone. Someone—Frankie never told who—had brought food and water, and more. His grandfather saw the truth in Frankie’s bloodshot eyes. For the first time ever, his grandfather had struck him hard across the face with the back of his hand. Frankie remembered how the blood had dripped down his nose onto his left arm, newly decorated with a First Nation Mafia tattoo.