“John, they don’t come to the reserve.”

  A new kind of fear kicks my hope in the gut, but I’m a fighter. I dial 911.The police answer, but I don’t even let them speak.

  “I just called, so listen. One of two things could happen within the next ten seconds. A—you come out here to the reservation and save these two children. B—I’ll video live everything and send it to the networks right now!” Click.

  I whip my coat off and wrap it over the twins, giving them extra warmth and, I hope, reassurance. We hide just off Main Street, and when police cars, ambulances and even a fire truck drive past, I flag them down. After I hand them the leather-bound book with notes, Guisy steps in front of me and takes over. After a while, she rejoins me and the kids.

  “Can we take them back to LA?” I ask.

  “No. The culture shock would be too hard on them. But they’re going to be ok now, John. They’ll be staying with the band nurse. She’s married to the cop. They’ll stay with them at least until they can sort out a new living arrangement. Once my aunt is done treatment and does her time, maybe then my cousins can get settled back into real life with their mom.”

  “Wow babe, wow. You’re amazing!”

  “I’m not alone. I sent a message to our Chief. He is a good man. I asked him for help with this entire family,” she says, sighing deep and shaking her head. “You see, childhood trauma is toxic and has been passed down through many generations of my family. I asked our Chief to hire the very best counselors for our community. He answered, and the Healing Centre in town are setting up an emergency response unit that can act as a mental health triage centre for children in need, pregnant moms, and stressed-out dads, to find help, hope, and an opportunity to take that trauma shit, name it, give it to Creator, then ask God Creator to turn it into fertilizer to bless this nation.”

  “Oh my God, you planned all this by yourself,” I say, incredulous.

  “I did. This is what I do. And now this is what you do too.”

  “What you do?”

  “I help children.”

  “Why?”

  “Because no one was there to help me.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was the freezing, frigid wind, or the rain, or just plain old shock, but something in this moment revealed the calamity Guisy was. The ambulance driver encouraged Guisy to go to the hospital to get checked over. She asked that the children be seen by a doctor first, then her. She asked me to ride in the ambulance with the children; she didn’t want them to be alone.

  A few minutes later, we arrive at the small hospital in town. Wanting to come clean, I hold her hand and sit her down on the hospital bed. “I came here to see you. I have enough money to get your movie going.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “And another thing, you’ve shown me the worst part of yourself and it makes you all the more precious to me. I’m going to do the same.”

  “Are you native too? My long-lost cousin tenth removed?” says Guisy with a snarky tone and chuckle.

  “Nope, at least I don’t think so.” I pull her closer to my side. She’s almost on my lap, so close I can smell her breath, feel her layers, her angel feathers.

  Longing to hold her, I grab her hovering hands and bring them gently to my chest, lowering my head, and look into her eyes, asking permission. I plant one gentle kiss on her blushing palm, and in my eyes the maps of atrocity trickle away with my tears. The stripper jumps on my lap and hugs me tight, her wild black hair a mess everywhere.

  “Oh, by the way, we’ve got to work on your script. It reads like a doc.”

  Smiling at my goofy doe-eyes she punches my shoulder. “OK”.

  Chapter Eleven

  Raison d’être

  We spent precious time on the reservation at my family home. We ordered a garbage bin and filled it full of aged furniture, rotting groceries, soured clothes, and broken bed frames. The mattresses too said their goodbyes. We pulled the flooring up and bleached the naked floorboards beneath, grinding down the nails used to hold the musty carpet in place. John and I barely spoke. Instead, we worked hard pulling down all light fixtures which dangled vicariously like meat hooks in a butcher’s walk-in. When the shack was all bones, we left, and went for a ride on the city bus to pick out paint, windows, and a furnace.

  There’s something magical about doing this renovation on our family home. Yeah, it feels good. I remember doing my homework, or more like trying to do my homework here. My auntie partied all night, my uncle passed out. It felt good to rip the broken light fixture down, remembering it hanging so low for most of my life.

  Once, I daydreamed of hanging myself from it. Life was hard, but it was the hopelessness that was a bitter cold that never went away.

  But I felt like I wasn’t alone throwing that light fixture into the garbage bin; I felt my Creator healing my brokenness. The past served its purpose; cycles are broken. I am strong enough to cry now and strong enough to rebuild this home for the next generation, leaving them a great inheritance: hope.

  I’ve seen a lot of dives in my time but this one takes the cake. To think this is the house she grew up in. This is the very epitome of who she is. It’s heartbreaking. I’ve given her the space she needs because I sense the demons surfacing as she works and the brutal strength she bolsters, needs, in order to place all things where they rightfully belong: in the past piled up with the rest of the shit. Who knows what went on here? But judging from the lives of her little cousins, she probably had it worse.

  I had no problem being the only white man hanging around her Rezz. And who would’ve thought that I would be accepted! Many neighbors and the curious passersby popped in as we worked, chatting amongst themselves. One elderly couple even set up a makeshift table below the cherry tree. They came by many times throughout the days bringing deer jerky, bannock, stew & rice, blackberry pies and homemade iced tea.

  The old lady and I grew quite close, enough so that she would stand behind me as I inhaled her cooking. Then one day, she smiled at me and slowly her hand reached out for my head. Guisy said she wanted to feel my wavy, curly hair. She’d never touched a mane of fuzz before, or even a white person for that matter, so of course I took my baseball cap off, and at that moment, I looked up at her frail husband and noticed his long, white hair braided sitting under a western top hat. He must have been a catch in his day, and judging from the kindness flowing from this woman, she is too.

  He gave me my laptop and told me to rest. He told me he was going to fix my roof, pull up the shingles and replace the rotting wood as he held a roll of weather membrane. He told me to write a story, freestyle. No Avid. No blog. But to write that story down for my eyes only.

  As I watched the community members bring bags of used clothes to him, I laughed... They think him poor, a vagrant. He smiled, and did the Indian nod before examining each shirt, boxer, sock and pant like he was opening Christmas presents under a towering, richly adorned tree. He was fitting in better than I could have ever imagined.

  As he climbed up the ladder, I turned on the power to my laptop. As he began prying the tiles off in a horizontal line, I opened Word. With a coffee pot beside me and a pack of cigarettes in my pocket, my fingers hovered over each letter wondering where to start.

  I remembered the teachings of my grandparents. I took a cigarette out of the package. I pinched the filter off, then lifted the broken cigarette up to the sun. I closed my eyes and gave thanks, gratitude, out loud, talking to Creator. I laid the tobacco down on to the earth as an offering—my sacredness.

  I wrote about this journey. I started smoking in grade seven— as soon as I hit puberty and my aunt started hitting me. Tobacco is a sacred medicine—well it used to be to my people. They say tobacco has a spirit and that every spirit has a job. I think tobacco spirit chose me as its job. I think it laid its life down as an offering to make sure that I live, that I would never commit suicide. I think it protected me.

  The home makeover took several months to complete. Even the very foundation had to be reinforced. We shoveled a ditch around the perimeter of the shack, mixed cement in a barrow and poured it between new forms. The septic tank was pulled out and replaced.

  When it was finally complete, I decided to look in the mirror. I no longer looked tired. I no longer have dim sclera—healing whitened that thin, tough layer. My black pupils are sweet like licorice.

  I spin around like the ballerina on my jewelry box, but instead of a white flowing dress, I’m dressed in buckskin wearing an ornate, braided, cedar bark crown.

  “I’ve been here many times in the last two months. What is going on? There was no mention why you have changed the layout of this house?” says Chief Clem. Perplexed, he walks up to us.

  “Guisy. Why do you have every bedroom set up for a child? Why are there two home offices? What is going on?”

  “John and I have rebuilt this house, and we’ve paid off the remaining mortgage,” I reply.

  “You’re moving back?” The Chief stares at me, his joy transparent.

  “Nah. This is now the new home for Children and Families. Here is the key,” I say, beaming as I hand him the key. “Please run programs in this building that will reinforce the safety and nurturing of all children in need—the unborn, the infants, the children, the teens, the young parents and, most of all, those hurting parents who need help to become what they were meant to be—healthy, and full of our culture and our lost traditions.”

  Chief Clem was beside himself.

  “Thank you Guisy, and you too, John. I know and understand the great loss you have gone through. I see you healing, both of you, and I hope to lift you up in ceremony and prayer. My home is your home. I will take care of this family including their mother and all extended family members. May Creator bless you on your journey.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Grand Slam!

  Living here in Los Angeles is outrageous. It’s nothing like home on the Rezz. When I returned, I sought out the familiar because that’s what we do. Every step I take I’m walking in two worlds: the left so conscious and aware of technology, busy streets, working for the almighty dollar, and the right cognizant of the zealous Creator who gives me breath on borrow until my next journey, giving gratitude to my relations past, Mother Earth below my feet and Father Sky above. It hasn’t been easy to get to this point, but I’m not the first or the last.

  I reflect on my past, on my torrid childhood and the trauma I’ve endured and emulated, and I’ve created a decree of emancipation. All during the human horrors, Creator upheld me, kept me alive—I was never truly alone.

  Granny taught me to forgive and Mama taught me to love hard, laugh hard. I’ve embraced the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful, not letting that define the lady in the mirror. I’m like the acquitted vampire girl—different by nature, but bearing a daylight ring on her toe that gives her the opportunity to ravage life under the bright Sun. The blinds no longer blackout the windows of my ‘home’ and now I am free to sow my Creator-given gifts. It’s what I do with this life I’ve being given that defines me. Resilience is my crown.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Come In, the Door’s Unlocked

  My plans for tonight are cleaning up my pad, paying my bills online, following up with my notifications, and the three S’s. Guisy texted “what’s up” and I told her “2001” and she didn’t answer or complain so I know she’s coming over. She’s a die hard. I’m sure she has a copy of the script and I’ve got the movie. It’s Monday. We do this every Monday. It’s our time. Nothing gets in the way. She’ll never expect what I’m brewing tonight!

  When the doorbell rings, I bolt to the door and answer it. I’ve got a question for my babe. I have my momma’s ring, her wedding ring. Tonight is the night I propose.

  I knock gently at his door grinning, my hands holding the prize: theatre popcorn with extra butter, a bag of licorice, and a two liter of cola. Inside my jacket, against my chest, sits my special gift for my best friend. He lets me in.

  “Hey sugar-face, I missed you!”

  “I missed you too...you brought your onesie? I thought these went out of style at the age of three.”

  “Relax. I brought you something too.”

  “Oh no way, I’m not wearing baby clothes.”

  I can’t get over how smashingly great he looks. A bit weathered but he pulls it off so well.

  “What? Why are you staring at me like that?” he asks.

  “No reasons other than you need these.” I lift out a pair of socks from her bag.

  “Those are fucking ugly,” he says, though seconds later, he pulls on the striped toes.

  “Come on. Let’s start. We can share the script as we watch the movie.”

  “What is it tonight?”

  “9 1/2 Weeks. It’s a classic.” I jump on his couch and pour the soda before pulling off my T-shirt. Once I slip into my onesie, I zip it all the way to the top and slide across his solid wood floor.

  “You’re a nut! What about 2001: A Space Odyssey? It’s our favorite.” He grabs my hand and pulls me down onto the couch.

  “No. Go make popcorn, then we’ll begin,” I reply.

  “Guisy, I missed you.” He grabs my wild long hair and wraps it around his hand, tugging me to his chest. For a moment, I peer up at his dimpled face and without a thought, I kiss him on his chin then slap his ass for good measure.

  “Food now please and thank you,” I grunt out and push him into the kitchen.

  We play nice, friendly, and platonic, until Guisy gets tired, plops her pillow on my lap and snuggles into me, her bestie, arm entangled around my leg. My hand relaxes on her pigtail, smoothing it over and, occasionally, I lift it up to my nose and take in her fresh scent. I smile and close my eyes in bliss.

  Then I made the move. I eye up Guisy’s curves that couldn’t hide under her dorky outfit, the flannel so soft and pink bringing out the beauty of her skin tone. Unfettered, my hand moves up and down over her outline and I hope for a reaction from her. I get one. She snuggles deeper into my embrace, and I’m in heaven.

  When she starts to snore, I smile again and close my eyes. I don’t mind that her sinuses make vulgar sounds, and I don’t mind the fact she was drooling in her sleep. I accept her just like she accepts me.

  She shifts and turns her body over. The pillow slips from under her and lands on the floor, waking her up. Naturally, she opens her big tired brown eyes. I lift one supporting knee up and bring her into my full view.

  God she’s cute even with sleep gathering around her eyes and popcorn shells napping on her neck.

  I move my hand under her chin to shoo them away and she smiles. She stops my hand and holds it long enough for me to read the little crazy thoughts rolling around in her head, and she clarifies it when she takes my hand and leads it to the onesie zipper and top button. My hand stalls, but Guisy, the brave one, takes the risk and unbuttons it, biting her bottom lip.

  “Guisy. Not here,” I say, making her frown. I love her so much it breaks my heart. I never want her to feel unwanted or unappreciated, and while I’ve never made the move, I can’t get her out of my mind; not that I ever tried to.

  I slowly stand up and make my way to the bedroom.

  “Babe, come here,” I whisper, turning around to see my girl.

  Can she hear my heart sing out to her? Does she know every guitar needs a stand? I’m solid, babe. I am forever. Should I tell her God sent down a defibrillator to me, my salvation and that sharing flesh is the lowest level of my love, that I can hold space her?

  She drops her outfit to the ground, and I wince. It’s not about the sex. I dropped my guard down to the ground too. I’ll come back a thousand lifetimes if I have to—some love unions are destined on that great celestial timeline. I’ll take my chance. Win or lose, I care for her. And she’s so freaking hot.

  On my knees I cradle her waist. I fall hard like a dying star falling deep into her earthly brown eyes as she looks down on me. I kiss her lips and she leads me to our bed. Two souls become one.

  Maybe it was the scent of fresh coffee brewing that woke her up. She’s in my bed, she’s mine. I love watching the sun rise but watching her sit up and rub the chunks of sleep from her eyes is heavenly. God, she’s my love. I have the weathered box under in my hand.

  She rolled over into my arms, her face on my chest. I love her so much. I hold my mother’s wedding ring in my hand. I hold this woman in my other. I love them both so much, both so strong and so beautiful. Can I be so lucky? What did I do to deserve such beauty?

  “Guisy. I love you.”

  “I love you too, John,” she replies. It’s a real and deep love; I’ve never known love until I met you.”

  “Guisy, will you marry me?”

  I place the box into her hands.

  “John, yes. I love you.”

  I open the box and put the thick gold band engraved with the quote, “United in Creator’s love we become one Spirit” onto my love’s ring finger.

  I spent time with Guisy on her reservation and it broke my preconceived beliefs of who an Indigenous person is. It forced me to dig deep to discover where it comes from inside me, exploring the relationship between sensation and perception. I decided that Guisy entering into my life was not perchance but destiny.

  I love the Indigenous people of the West so much. Maybe one day we will create life and I can hold a little one close to my heart and say he is mine. Maybe a dozen if the good light bulb or Creator or whatever shines His life on me; or Her.

  Our marriage vows took place in the Sacred Sweat lodge of her people. There, in ceremony, we were wrapped in one blanket blessed by Great Spirit, bound together here on Earth until death. It was beautiful. I walked into the lodge sun wise with a prayer on my lips for all things and all beings. I see Guisy as a precious being as well, deserving of all my love and we together walking into the universe as one.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6