Rez Runaway Page 2

  “Yeah, okay.”

  I said goodbye to Sadie’s mom as I led the way out the door. I felt a sharp pang of guilt at the happiness on both their faces. Like me, Sadie didn’t go out much. I had grown up with her. She had pushed me in the mud in kindergarten for pulling her hair. She had taught me how to draw a horse. She had shared her lunch with me when I forgot mine. She had been nothing but nice — aside from the mud puddle incident. I always knew she liked me. But when did she start really liking me? Liking me the same way I liked Benjy. Looking at how happy her mom was and the effort Sadie had made to look nice for our date made me feel like the worst person in the world. I wondered briefly, if I didn’t fit in with someone like Sadie, where did I belong?

  The clearing was a short walk from Sadie’s house. There was a path that led through the woods to the area that the local teenagers had taken over and made their own when my mom and Aunt Ava were young. When we inherited it, we brought lawn chairs, coolers, a radio and a bunch of lanterns. We had a fire pit right in the centre and as long as we didn’t cause any trouble, the adults left us pretty much alone. The clearing was already full of kids dancing, talking, laughing, and coupling up. I saw Benjy sitting near the fire with Brit in his lap. My heart twisted.

  “Want me to get you a drink?” Sadie asked, slipping her hand into mine. She ran her fingers over my knuckles and looked down at my hand, feeling the scars. “How did you get those?” she asked. “It looks like you’ve been in a few fights,” she said, an admiring look on her face.

  She was right, if you could call punching a wall repeatedly a fist fight. I knew how stupid and pointless it was. But it wasn’t other people I wanted to hurt. And there was something about the pain in my hands that made me feel better for a little while.

  “Umm,” I tore my gaze away from Benjy and squeezed Sadie’s hand, smiling faintly down at her. “Working on my car.”

  “Well it looks like it must have really hurt,” Sadie said. She rubbed her fingers over several years’ worth of wall-punching scars while I wished futilely that it was Benjy’s hands stroking mine. I pulled out of her grasp.

  “I’d actually love a drink. Thanks, Sadie.”

  She beamed at me and wandered off toward the nearest cooler. She stopped along the way, hugging friends. She was such a sweet girl. I wished with all my heart that I could care for her as much as she did for me. I also wished that I could be as open and affectionate with my friends as she was.

  I looked over at Benjy again. I caught his eye and he smirked at me as he gave Brit a squeeze. I tried to smile back.

  Sadie had made her way back to me with two cans of pop. She leaned over and handed me the Coke.

  “Thanks,” I told her, taking a sip.

  She lowered herself into my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck, pushing her breasts against my chest. I swallowed hard. Sadie apparently took that for excitement.

  Leaning over and breathing heavily into my ear, she whispered, “Let’s go.”

  She stood and took my hand, leading me away from the glow of firelight and the comforting noise of the other kids. I glanced desperately toward Benjy. He saw me being led away into the darkness outside the firelight and winked.

  Chapter 4

  Making an Effort

  The woods blended into inky darkness as we went deeper into the trees. The sounds of music and laughter faded into the background and I found myself completely alone with Sadie.

  She turned to me suddenly, pressing herself against me. She kissed me with far more passion than I expected from someone as sweet as Sadie.

  The tree branch digging into my back was a welcome distraction. I tried desperately to return her kiss as she thrust her tongue into my mouth. She didn’t even pause in her kiss as she reached down and took my hand, placing it firmly on her breast. I felt a bead of cold sweat inch its way down my side.

  I concentrated, hoped, prayed for a response from my own body . . . down below. Anything. I gave Sadie’s breast an experimental squeeze and was rewarded with a gasp as she drove her tongue deeper into my mouth. I tried to feel something. But all I could think was that her tongue was about to go down my throat and I’d probably either gag and throw up on her shoes or choke to death.

  I felt Sadie’s hands at my waist, trying to undo my jeans. I heard the zzzzip as she pulled my fly down and tried to slide her hand in. A picture of Benjy popped into my head suddenly. I jumped away from her as something in my pants finally responded.

  “Sorry! I’m sorry,” I stammered. “You . . . you don’t need to do that.”

  Sadie looked absolutely mortified. I could tell she had risked a lot being that forward with me. And I pushed her away. I felt terrible that I had let things go so far. But I couldn’t get around the fact that being with Sadie that way felt completely wrong.

  “But I want to,” she said, not meeting my eyes.

  I had two choices. I could let her try to get some reaction out of me. Or I could bow out gracefully and try to spare her feelings. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Let’s go back to the fire,” I said, smiling softly at her.

  “What did I do wrong?” she asked, her face crumpling.

  “Nothing!” I told her, awkwardly rubbing her back. “I just . . . I thought we could take things slow.”

  I tried to take her hand but she pulled away and started walking back toward the clearing.

  “Sadie,” I called out at her back. She didn’t even pause. I sighed and followed her. She walked into the clearing and headed straight to where Benjy and Brit were sitting. She started whispering into Brit’s ear. Brit glanced up at me and whispered back.

  I sank into a chair on the other side of Benjy. I stared into the fire and tried to ignore them.

  * * *

  I drank beer after beer and then switched to a bottle of booze that Benjy had swiped from his parents. I was getting kind of dizzy and the fire was spinning but I could see Sadie surrounded by a group of girls, all chattering, giggling, and looking over at me. I couldn’t tune out the sound of their whispering. I took another swig from the bottle, belching loudly and wiping my mouth.

  “Easy!” Benjy said, grabbing the bottle away.

  “Hey!” I said, clumsily trying to grab it back.

  “Party’s winding down,” Benjy said, standing up. “Brit already left. My mom will be looking for me.”

  “Where’r you going?” I slurred. I was trying to stand up too, but I couldn’t quite get my feet under me. Benjy reached down and hauled me up. I stumbled into him and he threw an arm around me to steady me.

  “Come on. I’ll help you,” he said, leading me out of the clearing and toward home.

  The fresh air did absolutely nothing to sober me up. I was unsteady but Benjy’s arm around me was warm and comforting. I stared at his full lips, slightly moist from his constant habit of putting on Chapstick. I breathed him in and felt my groin tighten in response.

  We walked on. Benjy talked about Brit. I tried to remain upright and ignore how his hand was brushing my chest, sending the blood rushing downwards. I tripped over a root just as we left the treeline and I would have fallen if Benjy hadn’t tightened his arm around me and steadied me with his other hand.

  “Easy,” he said. “You okay?” He looked at me, concerned. Having Benjy’s arm around me felt natural. Much more natural than it had felt when Sadie put her hands on me. Having Benjy so close was intoxicating and comforting in a way that I knew being with Sadie could never be. It was more of a turn-on simply to have Benjy’s arm draped around my shoulder than it was having Sadie trying to unzip my pants.

  I shook my head, trying to banish the thoughts creeping into my booze-soaked brain. But I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d do if it was Benjy trying to take off my pants. Who was I kidding? Even staggering drunk, I knew exactly what I’d do.

  He was leaning in so
close and looking at me with such care that I did the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life.

  I kissed him.

  For one glorious, endless second, it was perfect. I closed my eyes. I felt his soft lips against mine and his unshaven chin scraping gently against my face. I opened my mouth slightly and poked my tongue gently into his mouth.

  Benjy shoved me away. Hard. So hard that I was thrown against a tree and slid down it, landing on my ass.

  “What the hell?” he gasped. He looked completely shocked. I held up a hand, my mouth opening to try to explain myself. “What the hell are you doing, Joe?” he asked again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I just . . . I don’t know. Nothing. I’m just drunk,” I said, getting to my feet by hanging onto the tree. “I’m sorry.” Benjy turned and I reached out without thinking and grabbed his arm. “Please,” I begged.

  “Get off!” Benjy shoved me again and I went down. “I’m not a fag, man.” I tried to pull myself up again but Benjy stood over me. “Just stay down,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Benjy, wait! I didn’t mean it!” I called out as he turned and started to walk away. “Benjy!” But he hurried to catch up with a group of kids heading home for the night.

  I lay on the ground and watched him leave. I knew in my heart that I had meant it. For the first time in my life I knew what all the books and movies were about. I had felt my knees go weak. I had felt the butterflies in my stomach when I kissed him. I pushed the thought away as I heard laughter. I hoped desperately that it wasn’t at me and what I had just done.

  Chapter 5

  What Have I Done?

  “Stupid, stupid, STUPID!” I was pacing my room and smacking myself in the head with my fist. “What is wrong with you?”

  I had sobered up fairly quickly after Benjy left me lying on the ground at the edge of the forest. I couldn’t sleep. I had snuck into the house and managed to get into my room without waking up my mom. The last thing I needed was a lecture from her on the evils of “that devil drink” or to be told that I was just like my father. And that wasn’t even including what she might do if she knew what really happened.

  What had Benjy told people? Were they all talking about me right now? Calling me a fag, like my best friend had? What had Sadie said? That I couldn’t get it up for her? I dropped heavily on my bed. My mom would kill me if she found out, and she would. I put my head in my hands and tried to imagine how I could get myself out of this.

  I stood up slowly and moved my dresser away from the wall. The spot behind it was marked with patches of dried blood and spots where the drywall had been chipped or dented. I took a deep breath and punched the wall. It hurt but it also felt good. Manly even. Not at all like someone who wanted to be held down and kissed by his best friend in the woods. I punched the wall again and watched as fresh blood smeared across its surface.

  I licked at the cuts and sat back down on my bed, watching my knuckles slowly turn purple. My life was over. By the time I woke up, the rez gossip mill would be in full swing. Anyone who hadn’t heard about that kiss at the clearing would know about it before I could do anything. I wished for the millionth time that I could just go to sleep and wake up someone else. Someone who wasn’t in love with a guy.

  I walked to the bathroom and ran water over my hand I saw a small trickle of blood circle slowly down the drain. I opened the medicine cabinet to get the disinfectant and saw the package of razor blades. I opened it and took one out, watching the moonlight from the window glint off of the metal. I wondered what it would feel like, biting into the skin of this person I hated being. What it would feel like to just cut, deeply, and watch the blood well up and drip down onto the floor.

  I held the blade against my wrist and took a deep breath, pressing it so my skin puckered inward. I held my breath and cut, drawing the blade across just enough to draw blood. I watched ruby red droplets bead up along the line I had just drawn and let my breath out with a big whoosh. I deserved this. I deserved to be cut and torn open for what I had done and for who I was. I made another cut, a little deeper this time and felt the blood dripping down my arm. I watched it splatter onto my jeans.

  I looked at the dark dots of blood near my zipper. I wished that the razor could cut away the parts of me that I hated. If only I could cut deeply enough to slice away my shame and wake up tomorrow like everyone else. But I couldn’t do it. Much as I hated who I was right now, I imagined my mother finding me the next morning, dead and mutilated. Shamed. And I couldn’t do that to her.

  * * *

  I slept. A bit. Fitfully. And despite my problems, the sun still rose and cast its warm glow into my room through the open window across from my bed.

  I sat up, running a hand through my hair and feeling the fresh bruises on my knuckles. I looked at the scabs already forming on the thin cuts on my wrist. I stood up, pulled a T-shirt and sweats on over my boxers, and padded out of my room and into the kitchen. My mom was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea and staring out the window.

  “Morning,” I mumbled. I sat down and pulled the bowl of fruit toward me. I had picked out a banana and peeled it before I noticed that my mother hadn’t responded. “Mom?” She didn’t look at me. Just took another sip of tea before she spoke, her voice low.

  “Is it true?” she asked coldly. I stopped with the banana halfway to my mouth, my blood suddenly turned to ice water in my veins.

  “Wh . . . what?” I asked, lowering the banana to the table and feeling the colour drain from my face.

  “Is. It. True.”

  I knew what she meant. And that she already knew the answer. I opened my mouth and closed it again, trying to find the words to explain myself but coming up blank.

  “Mom . . .” I began. But I was stopped in my tracks when she stood up and walked over, leaning over so she was looking me dead in the eye.

  “Berdache!” she spit out. Before I could react or work out what she had said, she drew her hand back and slapped me across the face. Hard. She burst into tears but before I could try to comfort her, she ran from the room and into her bedroom, slamming shut the door.

  I put a hand to my cheek, feeling it burn. I listened to my mother sobbing in her bedroom. Because of me.

  It wasn’t the first time I had seen that look on her face. It was horror and disgust mingled together into something that turned the love she felt for me into hate. She had looked at me the same way once when I was a kid. She had caught me wrapped in the robin’s egg blue shawl from her jingle dance regalia and painting my face with her makeup. I didn’t understand what I had done to make her look at me like that. I had just wanted to be as beautiful as she was. But she had looked at me with such disgust — such hatred — that I had burst into tears and run from the room. I remembered how she had come in later and found me still wrapped in her shawl. She had gently wiped the makeup from my face with a cloth. When I asked her why I couldn’t wear regalia and makeup and dance jingle dance like her, she told me that was only for girls. She must have seen how much it meant to me, because she told me she would make me a beautiful regalia the same colour as hers so I could dance fancy dance with the other boys.

  I had seen the fear in her eyes then but I didn’t understand it. I saw it again before she started crying in the kitchen. I really wished that I could tell her that she had nothing to worry about. The problem was that, as far as she was concerned, she had everything to worry about.

  Chapter 6

  Berdache

  “I will never accept what he is!”

  “How can you say that? He’s your son!”

  “No son of mine would ever choose to be a berdache!”

  I winced at the word. Whatever it was, it was obviously not a compliment. I sat on the swing and idly pushed it back and forth with one toe. My mother had called my aunt from her bedroom and Aunt Ava had come over, telling me to wait outside wh
ile they talked. But they forgot to close the kitchen window and I could hear every single word.

  I rubbed at the welt on my face and felt a flash of anger at my mother’s words. As if I’d choose to be like this. I pulled out my phone and googled the word berdache. I wanted to know what it was my mother was calling me. I scrolled through the results and stopped suddenly, my face burning with embarrassment. Berdache was a term used in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries meaning “kept boy.” The term came to include all the condemnation white Christians had for gay sinners. Is that really what she thought of me?

  I started reading some of the articles about berdache, trying to ignore my mother’s voice as she told my aunt that I was an abomination. That I’d go to hell for “sinning in my heart.” I was barely aware of Aunt Ava trying to defend me to my mother.

  I tuned them out while I read article after article. I kept coming across the term “two-spirited.” What was that? I expanded my search to find out about two-spirited people in Aboriginal cultures. I discovered that different First Nations recognized people with both male and female sides to them, who embraced both sides of themselves. Two-spirited people weren’t ashamed of who they were and they weren’t told that they were abominations by their families. I was amazed to read that two-spirited people were considered to have great gifts. They were called visionaries. They were medicine men, shamans, and warriors of both sexes. Two-spirited. I liked the way that sounded. It was a strong word. Much better than the names my mother was calling me.

  I tuned in again to what was happening in the kitchen as my mom continued on her rant.

  “I wish I was dead,” I heard her say to my aunt. I looked up, listening, my heart pounding. “I’d rather be dead than have a son who is gay.”

  And there it was. Gay. Just like that. Out in the open.