Rez Runaway Page 4

  * * *

  I woke up, stretched and wondered for a minute where I was. I looked around groggily and took in the beige curtains and carpet before I remembered. I felt a stab of homesickness and looked at my phone. Nothing from my mother. Nothing from Benjy. Nothing at all. I turned it off and headed for the bathroom.

  Half an hour later, I felt much better. I would be in Toronto today and I was ready to find something to eat and hit the road with a large coffee sitting in the console beside me. I left the room thinking I could throw my stuff in the car before returning the key card. I had parked right in front of my room. But I looked around the parking lot and saw only two cars. Neither was mine.

  “My car is gone!” I burst into the front office in a panic. “It’s not in the lot!”

  There was a new clerk in reception. She looked up from her magazine and frowned.

  “Yeah, we’ve been seeing that a lot around here. I’ll call the police. You can file a report,” she said, reaching for the phone.

  “No! Don’t call them. It’s not worth it for my piece of junk.” If she called the police they’d want to see my ID, which had my mom’s address on it.

  She looked at me, but didn’t question my lame reason. Probably because they had rented a room to an underage kid without a credit card. “Do you have someone who can come and get you?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah. Definitely. I’ll just . . . I’ll call my dad. No problem at all,” I blurted out desperately.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. I’ll go out and call now. Thanks a lot.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks.”

  I walked out of the lobby acting like I didn’t have a care in the world. But there was no way I could call the police. I had my backpack and I still had my money. I just needed a ride to the city.

  I looked at the highway in front of the motel and watched the cars whizzing past for a few minutes. I stood up and shouldered my pack, then made my way toward the southbound side. Wouldn’t be the first time I stuck my thumb out for a ride.

  It was a lot easier to hitch a ride on the highway than it was back home. There were about a million more cars going past. The difference was that I didn’t know any of the people driving them.

  I got a ride right away from a normal looking guy in a BMW. He kept up a steady stream of conversation. He was nice enough when he was talking about his wife and kids and his job in customer service. It was easy to tune him out for a while. I just muttered a generic response every now and then and looked out the window at the passing scenery.

  It wasn’t until I heard him saying something about “Indians” that I gave him my full attention.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked. I glanced over at my host. He reached over and patted my knee. I was too shocked to pull away from him immediately. But a second later, I leaned toward the door, making his hand slide off. He smiled as if nothing was amiss.

  “I was wondering if you were an Indian,” the man said. I had already forgotten his name.

  “An . . . Indian?” I looked at him, perplexed. “I’m First Nations, if that’s what you mean?” For all I knew, he thought I was South Asian.

  “See? I knew you were an Indian,” the man said. He smiled at me and patted my leg again. I pulled it away more deliberately.

  “You have a really exotic look,” he went on. “You should be a model or something.” This time he rubbed my arm and gave me a look that set off alarms in my head. Something about the way the tip of his tongue was touching his lip made me feel like his hands were all over my body. I shuddered and he took his hand off my arm.

  “Not really my thing,” I told him. I looked back out the window. We were in the city now — I had seen the Toronto sign a little while ago — but we weren’t downtown yet. I just had to keep the guy’s hands off me for a little while longer.

  “Oh no? You’d do really well as a model. With those cheekbones, you’d make a fortune.”

  I smiled tightly but didn’t respond. There was no way I was going to give him any encouragement. And if he didn’t stop touching me, I was going to jump out of the car while it was still moving. It was making my skin crawl, the way he was looking at me. And all the “Indian” talk was seriously creeping me out. He seemed to think my heritage made me something exotic. Something he wanted to devour.

  He kept talking about my looks and the people he knew “in the industry.” He repeated he could introduce me to them if I wanted. I kept the half-smile on my face and shrugged. I watched out the window for something familiar. We had driven a straight shot down Highway 11 until it turned into Yonge Street. I knew we had to be getting close to the downtown core. He reached over and put his hand on my thigh just as I saw the Eaton Centre on one side and the Hard Rock Cafe on the other. When he stopped at a red light, I grabbed my backpack from between my feet and threw the door open.

  “I’ll get out here. Thanks for the ride!” I slammed the door in his shocked face and bolted across the street, throwing my backpack over one shoulder.

  Chapter 10

  Bright Lights, Big City

  I didn’t know where to look first. I was well aware that I was staring and probably looked like exactly what I was. A kid from the rez who had never been to the big city. But downtown Toronto was amazing. Huge billboards. Lights everywhere. A little concrete park where people were milling around or buying tickets to shows. A cool old theatre. Every kind of restaurant imaginable. People were performing on all four corners of Yonge and Dundas. One guy was drumming wildly on a bunch of plastic buckets while another guy danced in front of him. A bunch of guys from Peru were playing flutes and guitars. A man standing on a wooden crate and screaming about God was getting some weird looks. I thought it was less for what he was yelling than what he was wearing — sandals and a robe. Although as I watched him grab a girl covered in tattoos with multiple piercings and scream in her face that she was going to hell, I had to rethink that. I saw the familiar Tim Hortons logo and figured I could use something to eat. I had missed breakfast. And lunch.

  My stomach growled as I held the door open for an older couple and inhaled the familiar smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries. I lined up, my mouth already watering. I ordered the soup and sandwich combo that came with a coffee and took my food to a table in the corner. It was getting late. I’d have to find a place to stay soon. A girl with a pierced eyebrow and blue hair was cleaning the floor beside me.

  “Is there somewhere I could get a room around here?” I asked. She looked up at me as if she was surprised someone was talking to her. Maybe she felt that her plain work uniform acted as a disguise.

  But she answered in a friendly voice. “There are a couple of hotels nearby. And a few hostels if you’re staying awhile.”

  I had her write down the names and general areas as I finished eating. Then I thanked her and headed out the door, still sipping my coffee. I loved it here in the city! No one was looking at me sideways. No one cared that I had a thing for my best friend. No one cared where I came from. I was just another face in the crowd.

  “Ow!” I said as someone bumped into me hard, splashing coffee on my hand. “Excuse me,” I told the man, certain I had somehow caused the collision. He nodded and rushed off without meeting my eyes. I looked for a newspaper stand so I could start looking for a job.

  I walked into a store on the corner to get a paper, reaching for my wallet.

  It wasn’t there.

  I checked my other pocket.

  Not there either.

  I went through all my pockets and searched my backpack.

  My wallet was gone.

  I suddenly remembered the man who had bumped into me on the street. I thought about how he had rushed off, trying not to look me in the face. I ran out of the store and looked around wildly, in case he was still lurking around. I looked into the faces of
everyone passing but I hadn’t really noticed what he looked like.

  I was in the middle of a strange city with no friends and no place to go. And my wallet had just been lifted.

  * * *

  Turns out I had actually heard the advice my mother gave me when I visited an aunt and uncle in Winnipeg last summer. She had told me to always keep some money separate from my wallet. When I was packing to run from the rez, I had taken out fifty dollars and put it in one of the socks I had folded in my backpack. So at least I had something. But it wouldn’t be enough to get me a room for the night or even a bus ticket back home.

  I went back into the Tim Hortons I had just left. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to accomplish there but it was the last place I had seen a friendly face. The girl, Zoey, according to her nametag, was wiping down tables. She must have seen the utter dismay on my face when she looked up, because she tilted her head and studied me for a second.

  “Didn’t find a place to stay?” she asked.

  “I got robbed,” I told her.

  She didn’t look surprised. “Yeah, I should have warned you not to keep your wallet in your pocket. Happens a lot around here.”

  I sank down into a chair with a sigh. “I’ve only been here for a couple of hours,” I muttered.

  She nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. That really sucks. What are you doing to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I shook my head. “I guess I’ll have to figure something out or head back home.”

  She sat across from me. “Home was rough?” she asked, fiddling with her eyebrow piercing.

  “Yeah, well . . . the rez isn’t too kind to gay people.” It was the first time I had said it out loud.

  Zoey nodded. “Yeah. Small towns can be like that. My brother’s gay,” she admitted. “He came to Toronto about five years ago. Stayed at a youth centre nearby. They really helped him out. They can give you a room and help you land on your feet. If you want.”

  “Yeah! Thanks. That would be great,” I said.

  She nodded and wrote down the name and address. “Tell them Zoey sent you. They’re cool there.”

  I thanked her and headed out the door. I wanted to check the place out before it got too late. And Yonge and Dundas had kind of lost its appeal for me.

  Chapter 11

  Safe Haven

  I found the youth centre easily enough. It was straight down Yonge Street from the coffee shop. There were a bunch of kids hanging around outside and it was cleaner than I expected it to be. The friendly receptionist checked me in and nodded sympathetically when I said I didn’t have any ID because my wallet was stolen. I don’t know if she believed me or not, but she didn’t push. She said she could give me a change of clothes if I wanted to shower. I still had my backpack so I was all set. I just wanted to get settled in and try to figure out what I was going to do next.

  She walked me to my room and gave me a locker key for my backpack. A shower sounded pretty good by that time. So I left a change of clothes on my bed and locked up the rest of my stuff before heading off.

  The hot water felt good on my shoulders. As I let myself relax at little, I started to wonder if I’d finally caught a break. Maybe the youth centre would be able to help me find a job. Maybe I could start over in Toronto. I smiled thinking about it. This could be a new beginning for me.

  I stepped out of the shower. I wrapped a towel around my waist, humming as I gathered up my clothes.

  “Hey,” a voice called out from behind me. I had thought I was alone in the showers. I turned and saw a group of boys at the exit.

  “Hey,” I said back, wondering if I should just walk past them.

  “Got any cigarettes?” one of the other boys asked.

  “I don’t smoke. Sorry,” I told him, taking a step forward. They stepped closer together, blocking me from leaving. I looked around but there was no one else in the washroom.

  “How about money? You have any money?” the first boy asked.

  I shook my head. “Sorry. I got my wallet stolen earlier.”

  Enough was enough. I stepped forward, intending to just push past them and go back to my room. But as soon as I got close enough, they grabbed me. One of them pushed me back into the wall. My towel dropped from my waist in the process. There I was, naked as the day I was born, my bare butt pressed into the concrete wall. A tall, good-looking blond boy stood so close to me that I could feel his breath on my face and the heat from his body.

  He looked like a Calvin Klein model with chiselled cheekbones and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. Not even the scowl on his face could make him less attractive. Here I was, being threatened, but my body had its own agenda. I felt myself respond to him. I had never seen someone so perfect in my life. Not even Benjy. I tried to think of something else, anything else. But I couldn’t help it. I felt myself start to get hard.

  “Dude!” one of the boys shouted. “He’s got a hard-on!”

  The guy pressing himself against me took a step back. He looked down and disgust washed over his handsome face.

  “What the hell? Are you some kind of fag?”

  I couldn’t even answer. The evidence was right there in front of me.

  “Aww what’s wrong, Brady? Should we leave you and your new girlfriend alone? So you can get butt-naked too?” The boys were laughing now.

  Brady clearly wasn’t used to being the butt of the joke. So to speak.

  “Hey, I’m no fag,” he protested. “And I didn’t even touch the guy.”

  He looked at me, probably trying to decide how he was going to recover from this. And then he hauled off and punched me. Hard. In the stomach.

  I doubled over as the air went out of me. Brady elbowed me in the back of the head. I leaned back against the wall and stood up just in time for him to punch me in the face, breaking open my swollen lip. The wall was the only thing holding me up now. Another boy moved forward and punched me in the ribs. As I went down, someone kicked me in the back.

  “We don’t like fags around here,” Brady spit out.

  Just then, the bathroom door opened and someone walked in.

  “What are you doing?” I heard a voice say. “Brady, go to my office. I warned you about fighting. All of you, get downstairs now.”

  Brady turned to me and hissed. “You are so dead. I mean it, faggot. As soon as this guy turns his back, I’ll come find you. There won’t be anyone to stop me next time.”

  “Now!” the man yelled. He bent down to help me up and handed me a towel to cover myself.

  “I’m fine,” I gasped.

  “Go to your room. I’ll send someone up in a minute. I need to deal with those guys. You okay to get there yourself?” he asked.

  I nodded, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

  I limped back to my room and started pulling on my clothes. It wasn’t until I got to my socks that I realized they were the ones I had put my money in. My fifty dollars, my last bit of cash, was gone.

  The youth centre wasn’t going to be the beacon of hope I had thought it was. I didn’t know if Brady was going to hang around and jump me again. I didn’t think I’d make out so well next time. I grabbed my backpack and headed back out onto the street.

  Chapter 12

  A Proposition

  I found myself in downtown Toronto with no money, no food, no friends, and no place to stay. I considered turning my phone back on and calling my mom. The desire to beg her to come and get me was overwhelming. But I couldn’t do it. She had made it crystal clear that she didn’t want me in her house.

  I ended up walking around aimlessly. I got off Yonge Street and wandered the side streets a bit. It wasn’t as busy here. The stores were more weather-beaten and seemed to sell a lot of off-brand products or electronics off the back of a truck.

  “Excuse me,” a man’s voice called out. I hadn’t noticed the car idling beside me. I leaned down a bi
t and looked at the guy driving.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Do you want to make some money?” he asked.

  There was no way this was a legit offer. I kept walking. “No thanks,” I said firmly. I looked straight ahead as I walked but the car kept pace.

  “You sure? I’ll give you fifty bucks and you don’t even have to do anything.”

  I stopped. “What do you mean I don’t have to do anything?” I asked suspiciously.

  “I just want you to let me touch you. You can just sit there. You don’t even have to touch me back,” he said.

  I shook my head. “No thanks,” I repeated. I started walking again as the man called out from his car. I ignored him and turned the corner, finding myself at the entrance to a huge park. Allan Gardens according to the sign at the entrance.

  There was a landscape of flowerbeds and trees. Paths cut throughout the park and I chose one at random and started walking. A couple walked past, holding hands and smiling happily at each other. A woman jogged toward me with a giggling toddler in a stroller. Everyone seemed so happy!

  I thought about the guy who had propositioned me. What was it about me that made him think I’d take money from him? For that? Was there something about me that screamed “desperation”? Or maybe “homosexual”? Was I some kind of desperate homosexual who would sell himself to a middle-aged man driving a Prius? I shook my head.

  I found an unoccupied spot and sat down with my backpack, leaned against a tree and wished I had a book. Or something to eat. I looked around at some of the other people hanging out nearby. A few kids. An old guy clutching a bottle. A lady with a shopping cart and what looked like a pet rat.

  “Hey,” I heard a rough voice. “Hey!”

  I turned. It was the old man with the bottle. Bourbon from what I could see.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “Eagle Creek First Nation,” I told him.