My nose twitches. I can’t get over the scent of lavender trees blossoming on each side of the porch. It’s a juxtaposition to everything else I’m seeing. Swinging from the ceiling fan in front of me are several fly sticks swarmed with the carcasses of the dead hovering around and around and around. The Enquirer sits on the coffee table as well as an ashtray and several open cola cans with ash around the rims.

  Finally, I understand her infirmity: poverty and lack surround her. Guisy couldn’t really live here, could she?

  “Why? What do you want with her?” she barks. Her presence shows no endearment for my Guisy. She looks agitated. She cracks her knuckles and bulges her brown eyes at me waiting for an answer.

  “I’m her friend. Oh, and I work for her. That’s why I’m looking for her.” My hands rest high up on the screen. I’m about to get in her face to get a direct answer until I see a little girl walk up behind the woman, tugging at her healthy frame. My eyes soften, and my throat gets filled with emotion. She’s such a cute little thing…a miniature little Jay.

  “If she’s not home, could you tell me where I could find her? I travelled a long way to see her.” Getting nowhere, I decide to turn on the charm to get my way. I widen my big brown eyes and bat my lashes a few times giving her the most charming smile. My palms open to her showing I mean no harm. Unspoken gestures speak volumes.

  “I’m her aunt.” This time she smiles back in response. She relaxes her arms by her side and pouches her lips together. I watch this—her reaction to my attention—and she softens and becomes helpful. She points her lips in the direction of the casino.

  “She’s at the Indian casino?” I ask, excited.

  “No! And it’s called the Native American casino, by the way. Guisy’s working in town somewhere serving, I think. There’re only a few places open, try there. Or if you want you can come in and wait.”

  “If you don’t mind.” She opens the door and invites me in.

  “You want to put your bag in her room?”

  “Yes please.” My dimples dance. I’m excited to see where Jay sleeps.

  “Down the hall, last door on the left.” I nod and go down the hall over piles of toys and scattered clothes and diapers, some of them used. I can barely stand the smell but decide to put on a happy face and breathe with my mouth. The door handle to Jay’s room is broken so I push it open gently.

  True to Jay’s nature, the room is clean and sparse. No pictures hanging, but there is evidence of tacks and tape strewn like a constellation everywhere. The window has a curtain. Her clothes are neatly piled in the corner of the bedroom. I place her laptop and charger down gently on her makeshift bed on the floor. Though it hurts my knees, I kneel and run my hand down the two sheets with a pillow on top that constitutes her bed. It’s sad; a far cry from what she left in LA, though her blanket is a beautifully designed aboriginal quilt probably handmade just for her.

  I feel I can’t wait any longer, my longing for my friend runs deep. Without a word, I quickly run out of the house and make my way back into the local town.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m searching through every shop window. Most restaurants are closed. So, I walk into a hotel hoping there might be a restaurant or coffee shop open but nope, nothing. I find my way back to the main street and walk until I hear music, loud music. A bar!

  I wouldn’t mind having a couple drinks and maybe some food. My rumbling stomach and my need for an ice-cold draft nudges me through the doors. Three drink max. That’s my new rule.

  I’m bewitched by the open kitchen showing all the cooks and prep staff cheffing up a storm. For a rundown place they sure have a great diner. I search the walls for weekly specials and find a menu pinned close to the till. I make my order and decide to look around for a table, so I can hopefully call Guisy and tell her I am here to see her.

  My attention is diverted by the loud roar of men hollering and whistling behind me, though I can’t see them. I watch as my beer on a tray comes my way, and when the waitress arrives, I ask for a glass of water too, water then beer, water then beer. I had a new routine and wouldn’t be sidetracked or weakened, but I couldn’t deny that I still loved the taste of an ice cold frosty. My burger arrives and I dig in.

  There they go again. They must be watching a baseball game. I turn around and make my way to the group huddling around a large table. The DJ blasts a familiar song. I’ve heard it before but can’t place it. I stand behind the group and lift my burger to my mouth. I peer over the crowd of men sitting beside the stage. What the fuck? But what I see next blows my mind. I can’t even take a bite...there’s a stripper starting to dance.

  “Fuck me!”

  She stumbles to the center of the stage. Fumbling with her buttons, she stops walking then works each one until they’re undone. The men start to boo her. She tries to walk all sexy but it’s obvious she can’t walk in three-inch heels. Her knees knob together, and she falls on her ass. Pissed, she gives them the bird and whips her coat off throwing it at the crowd. The stripper taps her ass, and they roar and whistle, shouting, “Take it off! Take it off!” which she does. She wiggles out of her short shorts and throws it at the pole behind her. Slowly she lies back on her elbows and shakes her body to the beat.

  When money gets thrown at her she moves her legs tight to each other and lifts them up into the air, then spreads her legs apart like she’s done it a million times. The stripper then rolls on her belly and brings her butt up into the air wiggling backwards towards the men. She whips her hair out of her ponytail and slings it around in circles. She turns to the crowd and licks her high-glossed, painted, electric-pink lips. It’s when she stands up and starts making her way to the pole that I drop my burger. The tattoo on her shoulder gives it away first, but then she takes off her pink, glittered, bejeweled mask and ripped pink tank top.

  I drop my beer and burger to the ground. Glass shatters.

  Chapter Nine

  Cyborg

  My head feels like it’s going to explode. I’m so mad at her. Mad at all the pukes watching her like she’s some mindless twit spreading her legs for the world to see. So, I do what I have to do.

  Pulling her off the stage, by her legs, was easy. Pushing her into the men’s john was easy. Holding my hand up and flinging it at her face, well that was easy too. The hard part was stopping mid-air and bridling my rage. I failed at that.

  I grab her by her neck. Time slows down as if I’m idling in my car, bottlenecked on the hellish 405 Freeway, overheating with no air conditioning.

  Why would she give it away and why was that bloody familiar?

  “Can you get your stinking old hands off me?” Guisy’s ready to knee me in the junk. I see it in her eyes—a woman crossed. That old familiar fear realized steadies my hands until I’m able to breathe and let her go.

  “Man. The men’s washroom is way cleaner than the women’s. Un-freaking believable!” she says, looking around the dilapidated cubical as she takes in the unfamiliar scent of sanitary cubes sitting all blue in each urinal.

  I take off my jacket and pass it to Guisy. “Here, cover yourself up.”

  “You cover yourself up,” she says as the bathroom door flings open. The owner of the bar stands in front of her and taps his finger on her forehead. A few more drinks and I would have decked the motherfucker for doing that.

  “You’re fired.” He turns and leaves the way he came.

  “Good riddance,” I say, meaning it.

  “I needed that job, John!” she yells, glaring at me as she rummages through her purse and pulls out a pack of menthols and her lighter. I follow as she walks down the back alley between the strip club and the hotel.

  I can’t answer her. I can’t shake the damned feeling—emotions…damned emotions.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks me as she inhales a drag of her cigarette, not even bothering to wipe away the rain drops on her face gaining a stormy momentum.

  “I was passing through.”

  “Did you go to my house?”

  “Is that what you’d call it?” I grunt.

  “Yeah,” she responds aggressively.

  “Guisy. Come back to the city. You’re burning out here. It’s been four months and look how far down you’ve gotten yourself.”

  “Is that what you think, asshole?”

  “You’re staying in a dump. You’re shoving your tits around and wiggling your ass for a dollar bill. What would you call that?”

  “That dump is all I got so fuck off.”

  “I will,” I whisper.

  She looks at me, resigned. “Let’s go for a drink.”

  “Sure.”

  We walk into the hotel pub and sit down at the bar. She orders shots and doubles. When she orders more rounds, I push the glasses away and ask for water. She eyes me, confused.

  “You’ve changed.” I ignore her comment.

  “Let’s get a room and get you cleaned up.”

  And we do. After a long shower, Guisy enters the suite wearing long johns and a T-shirt. Her face is pink from all the scrubbing she had to do to take off the stage makeup. She empties her backpack to find her makeshift wallet which hoarded all her tips and strip bills and coins. Along with the baggie, she pulls out her dollar store notebook—aka her ledger—and opens it up to her last entry. Tonight’s storehouse totals $315.72. Not a bad fix for tonight’s short show. Still, it pisses me off.

  “That money is so gross, Guisy.”

  “For your goddamn fatherly information…I don’t strip all the way. If I did, I would make more money, but I could never do that.”

  “Oh.” I’m surprised, but not. I start to relax knowing she protected herself.

  “I need to chill. Let’s watch one of your movies to take my mind off the choking thing you did to me.” Guisy grabs her tablet and the remote. She scrolls through YouTube and finds several titles. “What should we watch?”

  “Whatever.” Nervous, I start to worry about which one she will pick, hoping the infamous, wretched title from my past won’t display on the feed. She picks one and fiddles with the remote, streaming it to the television. Confused, I ignore her, crack my knuckles, and force my eyes closed. If she finds it and watches it... it will kill me.

  I was desperate! I didn’t know that falling into that horrible trope would kill my career.

  I took the role of a child killer. It wrecked me as an actor and a man. No one would cast me after that. Who could blame them? She will think I am so freaking low. I can’t do this. I can’t face the shadows of my past again.

  “I’m going to shower. My bones are aching from the cold wet weather here.”

  “Sure. You stink.”

  “You stink,” I mumble back to her before shutting the bathroom door. I turn on the shower and slowly undress. I look in the mirror, admiring my now clearly defined abs. My face is contoured and chiseled like it used to be when I was young and fit.

  Still, I can’t shake the fucked-up feeling in my stomach. Shame is a bitch.

  In the shower I start to get dizzy, so I hold myself up by gripping the wall below the shower head, allowing the stream of hot water to pour down the back of my neck. My chest tightens up, and the only way I can breathe is by clenching my jaw tight and grinding my teeth.

  I made the biggest mistake of my life with that movie, and it’s still following me. I’m forever fucked. When I walk out of this bathroom the one person that sees me as human will look at me like I’m shit, I know it.

  She’s probably watching it now. Fuck that shit. She’s a little puke and I’m here to make things right because that’s what I do. I’ll pay her back and be on my way. But if she hurts me, I know I’ll go ballistic.

  When I hear her banging on the bathroom door, I open my eyes and allow the water to flow over my face, and my mouth takes in the bleached-out water and spits it out. My heart rate starts to steady, and my shoulders stop hunching, releasing all the stress that even the hot current of water couldn’t rescind. As I step out of the shower, I flex my leg muscles and my chest. When the towel drops to the floor, I decide I’m done. I look up. Gently yet methodically I wipe away the steam building on the mirror. My body still and poised, I open my eyes. I force myself to reflect on the role I once took.

  I’m safe. Breathe out the shit, breathe in the good.

  Chapter Ten

  Cartography

  “It’s like all I deserve is shit!” Jay cries into the wind, leaning against the broken rails of the hotel balcony. Her fingers race to text her Aunt back while slipping on her runners.

  I knew I had to deal with my Settler response to my other half who happens to be Indigenous. So, as soon as my breath work brought me into my moment, I knew I had to run. I had to be outdoors.

  This town is on the outskirt of Guisy’s reservation, so finding a path to run on would be easy because I had to expand the time and space between the stressor and my reaction to take me out of my manly flight, fight, and freeze response. When I got back to the hotel room, the door was open. I knew something was wrong and I knew where Guisy would go.

  She must be so mad at me. I gotta make things right! I raced back to the reservation. My intuition led me all the way.

  Probably the only white man around...this could be dangerous, is all I could think as I walked by the dilapidated buildings and bare windows of the reservation. But what other choice do I have? I’ll just give the kid the money I owe her, compound of course, and that will be that. I don’t belong here.

  Knock.

  No answer.

  Knock. Knock.

  No answer.

  Pounding, I start to worry.

  “Let me in!” I yell through the screen door, shocked that there is nothing there to prevent the pouring rain from feeding the thin line of fungus mold parading in the cracks.

  I open the door and look up at the alarm clock positioned vicariously on the floor beside the coffee table. It’s dead. Power must be out. Making my way to her bedroom, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. I hope she’s ok.

  I pass the first bedroom and peer inside. Empty. The bathroom door is open, the second bedroom vacant. The hallway floor creaks announcing my steps. I can barely breathe. Guisy’s bedroom door is open, so I leap inside prepared to hold her or slap her for coming back here.

  But it’s empty.

  “Shh,” a soft scared voice whispers to me in desperation.

  My skin is covered in gooseflesh, but I follow the voice into the final bedroom—the master—and slowly pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight app. There, crouched over and shivering is my Guisy, only she’s not alone. She’s holding two children in her arms.

  “Sweet stuff, are you ok?” My whisper climbs over the lead lure lodged in my throat. I’m desperate to touch my friend.

  She turns her head up and looks. When I see the blood trickling down over her forehead, pain rakes my chest. The lights flicker on and off, giving her the chance to stand up.

  “John, I’m scared.” I don’t move to her. My eyes roll over the room until I find what I need: a child size baseball bat.

  “Grab your stuff and let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Back to LA.” I pull out my phone.

  “Who are you calling?” asks Guisy.

  “I’m calling the cops.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just don’t.”

  “Guisy. That’s what people do when there’s violence in the home.”

  “Please don’t,” she repeats.

  There are children here. We need to get them to a safe place.”

  Her head sags. “I know. Ok.” She grabs her satchel and pulls out a notebook, black and leatherbound.

  “Why are you handing me this right now?”

  “I’ve been documenting how many times and the dates my aunt has left my cousins alone. She takes off and comes back nuts.”

  “She needs professional help.”

  “I know. Now I have enough evidence to prove it. You can hand it to the police when they get here,” says Guisy.

  “Why me?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m invisible, John. I’m invisible here in my own land and territory, but they will see you and take this serious.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t.”

  “Say no to her then.” She pulls her sheet over her shoulder revealing the little cutie I met when I first arrived on the Rezz. For four years old, she’s tiny, but her eyes shine bright with hope at the weirdo standing above her like a porcelain giant.

  We all walk down the hallway, ready to run down the long road to meet the police officers on their way, but then Guisy remembers all the money she’s got stashed in her room.

  “John, run back to my room and grab your bag, and my stash too. It’s hidden under the vent cover.”

  “What kind of stash?”

  “I’ve saved for the kids. They need clothes and stuff for when they start off at the lost-n-found.”

  Puzzled, I nod my head and run back to her room while Guisy fumbles along through the front room, kids in hand, eager to get out the door to safety.

  I do a thorough search. “There’s no money here!”

  “I know. It’s gone.”

  Chills run up over my back down my arms. I drop my bags to the floor. Shit.

  “You two think you’re so good that you could take my kids away? You’re ruining my meal ticket, asshole. I need their government money. So now you’re going to pay!” screams Guisy’s angry aunt.

  I step forward ready to bolt but lose my balance when my first step falls on the baseball bat. I fall, and when I look up, I get a brief glance at Guisy’s aunt as she picks up the bat and hits my shoulder knocking me back to the ground. She shuffles to my side, so I whip my hands out, grip her wide ankles, and pull, bringing her down with me. I get up and run out the front door, following the running shadows in the distance. When I catch up, I fall into Guisy’s open arms.

  “Where are the police? I told them we needed them!” I say, looking back at the house.

 

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