The Brave

by James Bird

  And within seconds, four people wearing long robes enter the teepee. Each robe is a different color: one red, one black, one yellow, and one green. Each person holds a pair of tongs. Gripped in each tong is a different color stone, matching the color of the robe they’re wearing.

  All four people kneel down and place their stones into the fire. The stones sizzle to life, sending gray clouds of smoke into the teepee. The heat immediately engulfs my body. I’ve never been to a sauna before, but I imagine this is what it feels like.

  The four people leave without saying a word. The heat intensifies once we are alone. The air quickly becomes so hot and thick that I want to run out of here and check my clothes for flames, but I don’t. Because the old silent man finally speaks.

  “There is battle within you,” he says. His voice is deep and cracked like a long-forgotten sidewalk.

  In my head, his words resemble the smoke clouds forming above us in the teepee. My sweat begins to sizzle on my skin, so I move slightly, causing the sweat to run down my body. I start to breathe in deep, but my lungs feel like they’re boiling, so I keep my breathing as shallow as I can. Is it supposed to be this hot?

  The old man sees my suffering and smiles. “Become the heat,” he says.

  “Thirty-five. That doesn’t make sense.”

  He waves his arms in front of me, mixing his hands with the flames. How is he not burning? I see the flames touching his skin, rolling over his wrinkled hands, through his spread-out bony fingers. The sweat in my eyes stings and doubles my vision. I wipe it away, but the blurriness doesn’t leave.

  “Close your eyes,” he says to me.

  I close my eyes. Now all I see is black, and it still feels like I am trapped inside of an oven. “Thirteen,” I say through my hot breath, hoping my teeth don’t melt in my mouth as I speak.

  “Do you see the battle inside you?” he asks.

  “Twenty-six. I don’t see anything. Just black.”

  “Look deeper. Not outward, but inward,” he says.

  “Twenty-nine. I just see … Wait…”

  As I look through the blackness, I see something. It’s me. And I’m floating toward myself. What is going on? And I don’t stop. I literally collide into my own body and merge into one. Now it’s just me again.

  What the heck was that?

  But I feel different. Like this black all around me isn’t nothingness any longer. It’s my mind. I’m standing inside my mind. At least, I think I am. I lift my hands up, and I see them in front of my face. I count all ten fingers. I’m all here.

  I must be inside my mind, because I know on the outside I’m sitting in a steaming hot teepee with an old man and my eyes are closed.

  I take a step forward. Wow. I can even walk inside my mind. I turn in all directions, but there is still only blackness everywhere I look. Outer space at least has stars and planets, but my mind has nothing. Maybe there’s a light switch in my head somewhere?

  “Hello?” I shout, and hear my voice echo four or five times until it falls silent again.

  I walk forward, and even though I see no ground, I feel like I’m getting closer to something. The more I walk, the stronger the feeling is. So I run. And the feeling becomes a sound. It’s a faint whimper. I slow down to a walk and follow the noise … And as I get nearer, it gets louder and louder.

  Then I see it. It’s a wolf. Immediately I think of the story Aji recorded for Orenda. But this wolf is large, gray, and angry. It sets its black eyes on me. It growls and drools, revealing its sharp fangs to me. They look like they would easily sink into my skin like knives through butter. I stop and feel my heart beating through my chest. This is fear. My hands are shaking. A thick, heavy rope is tied to the wolf’s back leg. It looks exactly like the rope I climb to reach Orenda’s tree house. I instantly wonder if I’m out of reach or not.

  I look down and see that there’s now a large knife in my hand. The same knife Orenda uses when she cuts peaches. How the heck did I get her knife?

  The wolf growls and steps toward me. As it moves, black numbers and letters shimmer in its fur, the way a dragonfly’s iridescent skin shimmers when it flies.

  I know two things. I’m inside my head, and this wolf is made of numbers and letters. So maybe this is the battle within me that the old man was talking about? Am I supposed to fight this wolf? I can barely fight off bullies in school—how am I supposed to fight a wolf?

  Will slaying this numeric beast finally cure me? I mean, a part of me knows this isn’t real, but also, a part of me thinks it may be. After all, magic is real. I’ve seen it many times since I’ve moved here. What if that old man somehow transported me to face my fears by literally putting a hungry, large wolf in front of me? Oh, crap. What if this wolf can really kill me?

  Fear grips my entire body as the wolf slowly walks toward me. Should I run? Would Aji run? No, he’d fight. Would Orenda run? No, she’d fight too. Would I run? Yes. I’ve run my entire life. But running never got me anywhere but farther away from where I want to be, from who I want to be.

  I’m done running. I reach my hand deep into my gut and find whatever small amount of courage I have inside and pull it out. I hold the blood-dripping bravery in my hand and watch it sizzle and smoke in my fist.

  “Be the heat,” I say to myself, remembering the old man’s words.

  I stuff my courage into my mouth and eat it. My senses heighten. I feel taller, stronger. No longer afraid.

  I grip the knife as tightly as I can and charge toward the wolf. It snaps its jaws as I get closer. I lift the knife above my head, and right when I’m about to drive it down toward the wolf, it launches up, opens its mouth, and bites down on me. I drop the knife, and I fall to the invisible ground. The wolf is on top of me, tearing my flesh from my bones. It hurts. I hear my bones crack and my skin rip. I scream.

  My eyes burst open. I’m still screaming. But the pain is gone. And all the courage I was feeling is quickly replaced with the sudden returning burst of heat. I am back in the teepee. The old man sits across from me, watching me.

  “What the heck was that?” I say.

  “You failed,” he says, and points to the entrance, which is also the exit.

  “Nine. But I tried. I tried to face my fear. I tried to kill the wolf!” I say.

  “Courage takes many forms. Now go,” he says, and turns his eyes from me back to the fire.

  “Twenty-six,” I say, and rise to my feet.

  Cold air immediately pats me down as I exit the teepee, brushing off the sweltering heat still holding on to my body. It feels better, but I don’t. I feel awful. I feel like a failure.

  My grandma approaches me, seeing the disappointment on my face. “Next time,” she says, and kisses my forehead. This time her dress is yellow.

  “What kind of test was that?” I ask her.

  “It’s called a spirit test. Or is it called a spirit quest? I can’t remember … Oh, that’s right, the test is a quest. Did you try your best?” she asks.

  Even after I failed her, she’s still having fun. Rhyming and giggling.

  “I did, but my best wasn’t good enough … Where have you been?” I ask her.

  “Traveling,” she says.

  “How many adventures does someone your age need?” I ask her.

  “Just one that never ends,” she says.

  “Collin!” shouts my mom, and I turn to her. Even she looks a bit disappointed in me. My grandma pushes me toward my mother and walks off to join a group of people.

  “Six. I failed.”

  “But you didn’t run. Learn from your failures. They are your best teachers.”

  “Fifty-eight.”

  Leave it to my mom to dish out some deep wisdom right now. She puts her arm around my shoulder and walks me back toward her truck. As we pass the remaining parked cars, I can’t help but be moved by this whole experience, whatever it was. Losing fights isn’t new to me, but I’ve never fought an imaginary wolf before in some spirit test-quest battle that all took
place inside my head while my body was cooking in a teepee. I mean, maybe I’m not a brave yet, but I do feel like I’m getting closer to something big. Maybe there is a method to Orenda’s madness. Maybe her training will someday cure me. I just need to figure out how to defeat the wolf.

  “Where’s Orenda?” I ask my mom as we climb in her truck.

  “She had her test.”

  Orenda had a test, too? Did she beat the wolf? Did she have to fight it while sitting in a wheelchair?

  “Did she pass hers?”

  “Yes. Foxy took her home to celebrate,” she says. She drives through the rough terrain of the dirt lot until we once again enter the forest.

  If Orenda passed her test, does that mean she is no longer sick? Can she walk now? The thought of her being cured gives me hope. I imagine her running, dancing, and … us kissing again. That was pure magic. Crickets sang. Lightning struck. Owls hooted. And … I almost forgot …

  “Why didn’t you tell me Aji was gay?” I ask my mom.

  “You never asked.”

  “Fair enough.”

  My brother was gay. That’s it. And Billy seemed like a great guy. Those two were lucky to have each other. And to top it off, Orenda had him as someone to look up to. She saw him as her older brother. I couldn’t think of a better life.

  My mom must miss him so much, but she’s so strong about it. It must be hard to be strong all the time. I reach out and grab her hand.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course,” she says.

  “Why didn’t you and my dad work out?” I ask.

  She takes a moment, assessing how to respond. “When your father and I … met, I was in a dark place. A few years earlier, Aji’s father was killed in a car accident. I fell into a depression. Aji and I had to move back in with my mother, on the reservation. It was a tough adjustment. A friend of mine took me out to a concert, and I met your father. One thing led to another, and there you were. Having another child was going to be very tough for me, but I was ready to do it … But your father’s parents were very adamant about raising you, giving you the life I couldn’t. I wanted you to have all the opportunities I never had, so I agreed. I’m sorry.”

  I tally up her letters and wipe a tear off of her cheek as she drives. We don’t say another word, and she doesn’t even turn on the radio. We just drive in silence together, both of us thinking of the coolest guy to ever live: my brother, Aji.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  REBOUND/REVENGE   (31)

  Me and gym class. It’s a love-hate relationship. I love it for the same reasons I hate it; there is very little talking involved, I’m always the last picked for whatever sport we’re playing, I never get passed to, and I never get asked to participate in the team-building huddles. I never really have to do anything besides stand around.

  In California, I could wander around the field and go unnoticed, but here in freezing Minnesota, we’re all crammed together in the gymnasium. It’s much harder to not be seen.

  Today we are playing basketball, and if I can find any source of light to this situation, it is this: I’m glad my dad isn’t here to see this disaster.

  We all line up at the baseline. The teacher picks one person randomly to step forward and shoot a free throw. If he makes it, he steps aside and lets someone else take a shot at it. If he misses, we all have to run the entire length of the court as fast as we can. And so on and so on.

  I must say, Minnesota breeds some really good basketball players. Over half the class has already shot the free throw and made it. These are natural-born athletes. Must be nice. Their fathers must be really proud. But I am at the end of the line, and I am pretty sure I am going to be public enemy number one by the time class is over.

  Finally there are three people left to shoot the ball. One girl, one guy, and me. The girl walks up to the free-throw line. The gym teacher, Coach Alomits, passes her the ball. She dribbles three times and sets her aim. I watch her take a deep breath, bend her knees, and shoot. The ball bounces around the rim before it falls through the hoop. The class cheers. She bows to the class and joins us at the baseline. The guy next to me is tall and muscular. He looks like he plays basketball for breakfast. He struts to the free-throw line and waits for the ball.

  Coach Alomits passes him the ball, and with no focus needed, he catches the ball and immediately shoots. Swish. Nothing but net. He dusts off his shoulders and strides back to the baseline. Everyone turns their focus to me. I feel like a floodlight just shone on me, onstage, and everyone paid good money for me to entertain them.

  “Step up,” Coach Alomits says to me.

  “Six,” I say, and begin to move my feet toward him.

  A few students laugh, but reality sets in. If I get too flustered and miss the shot, they will have to run. So quickly the gymnasium becomes silent … dead silent.

  “Since he’s the last to shoot, we run until he makes it,” Coach Alomits says to a crowd of sighs—already assuming my first attempt is going to be a miss.

  He passes me the ball as I reach the free-throw line. I bounce it once to get the feel of this round orange leather glob, and it hits my foot and rolls away. The class knows they’re doomed. I run after it and return to the free-throw line.

  “It’s simple, Collin. Just put the ball in the hoop,” says Coach.

  “Thirty-eight,” I say, and bounce the ball again, this time more carefully.

  The class watches me like they’re about to see a car crash. I try to block them out and think of one thing only. Ball, meet hoop. Be friends. Please. I hold the ball and line it up to the hoop. And right before I shoot, I stare at the class, who are standing as if the baseline is the edge of a cliff and it’s up to me whether they plummet to their deaths or not.

  I scan each of their dread-filled faces and realize that this is what power must feel like. Before I shoot, a familiar face catches my eye. It’s Josh. The jerk who peed on me.

  Wait a minute … This can be fun. Sure, I’ll probably get stuffed in a locker for it, but at least I can make them so exhausted that they’ll only hit me once, maybe twice. I stare at Josh and smile. They say revenge tastes sweet. Well, let’s see if that’s true.

  “This one’s for you,” I say to Josh, and shoot the ball.

  Brick. It hits the rim and ricochets back to me.

  “One,” Coach Alomits shouts, and on cue, the class runs full speed up and down the court.

  He passes me the ball again. And again, I bounce the ball a few times to at least appear like I know what I’m doing. I remember how the pee felt running down my thigh, making my pants stick to my skin.

  “Take your time,” Coach says to me.

  But I don’t need time when I’m out for vengeance.

  “Twelve,” I say, and interestingly enough, this time, no one giggles.

  I shoot the ball up again; this time it veers left and bounces off the rim.

  “Two,” he shouts.

  Again, the disgruntled class race up and down the court. I have to say, this is by far the most fun I’ve ever had in gym class. No one is laughing now.

  “Third time’s a charm,” Coach Alomits says, and passes me the ball again.

  “Sixteen.”

  I look at Josh. He’s huffing and puffing on the baseline, with his hands on his knees. He shoots daggers at me with his eyes and clenches his fist, threatening me in between his gasps for air. While keeping my eyes on him, I toss the ball up and hear it clank off the steel rim. I smile as he stomps his feet like a spoiled brat.

  “Four,” Coach shouts.

  The class takes off, this time much slower. I watch them travel the entire court and stop back at the baseline. Hands clutching knees. Deep gasps. Cursing under their huffed breaths. Even moans.

  “Clearly, this may take a while, and I have a sneaking suspicion there is more here than meets the eye,” Coach says to the line of tired students.

  He turns to me. “Collin, choose one lucky person to stay and conti
nue this. The rest of you are dismissed.”

  “Seventy-one,” I say, and point to Josh.

  His nostrils flare. His chest puffs out. But the rest of the class sighs in relief as they leave the court.

  “You … pissed?” I ask Josh.

  “You’re dead,” he fires back to me.

  “Nine. Not if you’re dead … tired,” I fire right back.

  Josh tries to milk the time by taking in as much air as he can before the ball is given back to me. Coach Alomits hand delivers it to me this time.

  He leans into my ear. “I got all day, kid,” he says, and gives me a wink.

  Good to know. This coach hates bullies, too. I’m going to enjoy this.

  “Thirteen,” I say, and accept the ball.

  Josh stands alone on the baseline. Waiting for more punishment. He’s probably thinking of the many ways he’s going to hurt me. But I don’t care because right now, the ball is in my court and I’m in control. I pretend that I’m really going to try this time, but as I release the ball, I veer it right. It bounces off the backboard and returns to me.

  “Five,” Coach Alomits shouts, and Josh runs up and down the court.

  Payback does taste sweet. And it’s surprisingly easy. I haven’t even broken a sweat. And the greatest thing about it all is, even if I felt sorry for this bully, I’d maybe attempt to make the shot, but I suck. So, I’d still be exactly where I am now. It’s a win-win for me.

  By my lack of talent and athleticism, I am forced to punish this jerk. All the years of sucking at sports has led me here. Maybe my dad wouldn’t be proud, but if every kid that was ever picked on, or peed on, by bullies like Josh saw me now, I know they’d be cheering me on to miss as many shots as I possibly could. And it makes me so freaking happy to do them all a favor like this. Hopefully Josh will think twice before picking on someone again, especially someone who sucks at sports. He’ll be forced to pick on some star athlete, but then he’ll get his butt whupped because star athletes are exactly what I am not, physically gifted.

  And after half a dozen more misses, I take a moment to allow Josh a few seconds to catch his breath. He is now barely standing. Sweat pours from his wobbly body. It’s great. I bounce the ball, snapping him out of his much-needed rest and prepare to shoot.