Squaw Girl: A Boxer's Battle for Love

by Abby Winter Flower

  “We’ll get back to that but now we need to talk about you,” says Mason. “This is an informal session of the administrative staff with the exception of Mr. Olson who’s away on a business trip for a few days. We’ve invited two volunteer representatives and Constable Clarence. To be blunt, we need to decide what to do with you.”

  “I paid my way and volunteered same as everyone else. I came here to teach math and help with the construction. You can let me do that and stop accusing me of shooting my friends. That’s what you can do with me.”

  “Mr. Olson said that you were guilty of assaulting an immigration official in Lagos and would be deported back to the U.S.”

  “It’s a complicated story, but that didn’t happen. What did happen is that she—I stand and take a step toward Mia—and her sick friend Levi, stole my passport and ID. That started this whole mess.

  “Sit down, we’re not done!”

  Arnie pushes me back to my chair and I don’t resist. “Okay,” I say, to demonstrate I’ve picked up his language.

  “Let’s hear your report Constable,” says Mrs. Selby.

  Clarence stands and pulls out a notebook. “We’ve examined the spot on the road where she claims the shooting took place and didn’t find any shell casings or evidence of another vehicle.”

  “That’s because they came back and cleaned up, picked up their brass and got the truck out of the bean field—”

  “I’ve looked at the jeep and there are bullet marks consistent with a .30 caliber rifle. We pulled a fragment from a headlight that also appears to be from a .30 caliber. She must have left the jeep and shot them from about fifty yards—”

  “Don’t you Indians use 30-30 rifles when you poach deer?” says Mia.

  I jump up and slam the palm of my hand on the table so hard it hurts. “I didn’t shoot them. I don’t poach deer. Keep your pampered East Side mouth shut before I come over there and shut it for you.”

  Arnie pushes me again. This time I push back. “Not okay,” I yell.

  “Miss Peterson, this temper tantrum doesn’t help your case, it makes it worse. Please sit down. And, Miss Olson, your taunt is disrespectful and disruptive. Be quiet,” says Rita. Her tone is calm but firm and powerful. I can see why she’s headmistress.

  My fists are clenched and my chest is tight but I force myself back in the chair. “Sorry,” I say.

  Rita glares at Mia. She looks at the floor and mutters, “Me too.”

  “You, too what?”

  “Am sorry,” she says, still looking at the floor.

  “Dad, I’ve got a suggestion,” says Andy, moving across the floor and looking down at Mason. “This Nigerian, the one she calls Tim, her new boyfriend,” he pauses and gives me a look that’s somewhere between hurt and furious, “why don’t we ask him what happened?”

  “It’s worth a try. We’re getting him ready to go to the hospital so he’s probably awake. If I do bring him in I don’t want any more arguing and shouting he’s been through enough. Got that Layla?’

  “Okay,” I say, looking at Arnie.

  No one talks while he’s gone. I can tell that Mia wants to say more but Rita gives her a hard look and she returns to studying the floor. After five awkward minutes, Dr. Mason pushes Tim in. He’s in an old fashioned wicker wheelchair. His arm is in a sling and I can see a bandage on his neck, just above his robe. His face is pale, his hair isn’t combed, but he still looks great.

  Mason tries to wheel Tim across the table from me but he grabs a wheel with his good hand. “Over there, I want to see Layla first.” His voice is quiet but everyone hears.

  Mason pushes the chair next to me. “Bend down,” Tim orders. When I do, he kisses my cheek. “Thanks for getting me here alive.”

  “Wow,” I whisper.

  Across the room Andy’s lips are frozen in a tight line. He grips the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles are white. He’s taking long, hard, breaths.

  Mason wheels Tim back across the table and says, “What made her shoot you Tim, why—”

  “Where did she get the rifle? Any idea where she hid it?” interrupts Constable Clarence.

  Tim looks at them both like they’re crazy. “Shoot me? She saved me. Saved Happy Zack, too.”

  “Clarence, Dr. Mason, stop jumping to conclusions and listen,” orders Rita. “Timothy, don’t let them rattle you. Just tell us what happened.”

  “Not much to tell. A truck was blocking the road, waiting for us, and a guy started shooting. I got hit and Layla wrapped me up and got us away from him. I don’t remember much else except for the pain.”

  “So you won’t be pressing charges?” asks Constable Clarence.

  “Press charges? She saved my life. I love her—”

  “Love her?” Andy blurts out, jumping from his chair, shaking his head and glaring at me.

  “All right Miss Peterson. We want you to leave the room while we have a private discussion. Arnie will go with you,” says Mrs. Selby.

  * * *

  We go out the front door and sit on rockers on the porch. The jeep is still parked where I left it. “I’m going to see if I left anything,” I say to Arnie.”

  “Okay,” he answers.

  The key is in the ignition and I put it in my pocket. My back is turned so he doesn’t see. “Nothing there. By the way, the key is gone. You’ll have to push it to clear the driveway.”

  “Okay.”

  Mia comes and gets us. “Looks like you weaseled your way out of another one, half-breed. But don’t get too excited, your time is coming soon.”

  “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

  Back inside, they sit me at the table facing the group. Tim is gone. Mrs. Selby speaks, “For now, you’re in the clear on the attempted murder charge. Constable Clarence agrees that without a complaint there is no case.”

  “We’ll get a statement from your driver—this so called, Happy Zack. If he says the same thing as Mr. Tim, we’ll temporarily back off, but I’ve got the feeling I’ll be back,” says Constable Clarence.

  “That’s not to say, we don’t have grave concerns,” continues Mrs. Selby. “We don’t know what happened at the Lagos airport or why in the world anyone would want to assassinate you. We’ll meet again when Mr. Olson returns. Until then, assuming you can control your hot head and sarcastic mouth, there’s no reason you can’t join the other volunteers. Rita is particularly interested in you helping the kids with math.”

  Dr. Mason’s face turns red. He leaps to his feet so quickly, his chair tips over. He moves across the table and gets in my face. He’s so close I can smell his breath, feel the shower of spit coming from his mouth, and see the wildness in his eyes. “This love in is only temporary,” he shouts. “You may be smart but you’ve got bad blood. I took care of your mother when your drunken father tried to kill her. I know your no-good brother and your shyster lawyer uncle. You’re all the same. One more thing. Stay away from Andy. He’s too good for your kind.”

  Andy stands. “Don’t worry dad. She’ll never be part of us, never fit in. No matter how hard she tries, she’ll always be a half-breed Squaw Girl—trailer court trash from Desperation Hollow.”

  * * *

  I can’t eat lunch, I’d never keep anything down. They won’t move me into the women’s dorm for two more hours so I go back to my room. First I pull the shade and turn off the light, then I smash my right fist into the door. I lay down, shut my eyes and replay the scene. When I see Andy stand up and hear what he says, I spring from the bed and bash the door with my left fist. There are now three dents in the door and both my hands hurt. I don’t care about the door and the pain doesn’t make the real hurt go away.

  I’m flat on my back fighting a battle with tears when someone knocks. At first I think I’m in trouble for bashing the door and it’s Rita or Arnie. When I open it, it’s Sammy and he’s carrying a tray with a burger, fries, and a bottle of water.

  “I tried to get Pepsi, but there was none left,” he says. “Missed you
at lunch, thought you might be hungry.”

  We look at each other, each take a small step and pause. He puts the tray down on the bed, moves forward and hugs me. My breath comes in short gasps, my nose starts to drip and the tears I’ve been fighting flow.

  “It’s not fair. I’m not my dad, I’m not my brother. Can’t they see that?”

  “Trust me. Life’s not fair.” He hands me some tissues. “Eat your hamburger before it gets cold.”

  I want to throw it across the room, but I blow my nose and take a bite. “Now Andy’s joined them—Andy. Calls me half-breed—trailer court trash.” The sobs come back and I put the burger down.

  “He’s jealous of that Nigerian guy you brought with you. That wasn’t the real Andy talking. It was his hurt and anger.” He hands me another wad of tissue.

  “I just want to help with construction, teach math, be part of the group, and be a normal woman. Why won’t they let me do that?”

  “If you can control your temper, you’re clearly still not normal. You’re better than any of them. Show your class. Don’t let them win.”

  Neither one of us talks. I think about what he said and finish the burger and polish off the fries. He’s right. I’ve got to suck it up, focus on helping the kids and let the chips fall where they may.

  “As long as I’m giving advice, there’s one more thing,” he says before he leaves. “You’ve got to decide between Andy and the Nigerian. You can’t string them along for too long. You run the risk of losing them both.”

  After he goes I lay back on the bed. I feel like a fool. I didn’t want to hurt Andy—I think I love him—he’s perfect for me—so normal, so clear—so honest. I didn’t plan on Tim. He’s much different—takes risks—ruthless about meeting his needs—may only be using me to get to America—but I can’t help myself. I think I love him too. Then there’s Levi. I don’t love him, don’t really understand him, and don’t really even like him. He’s done some bad things—like helping Mia steal my passport—but I have to admit an attraction. I keep seeing his undulating that perfect body across the pool that night. Three men—three choices. Then, there’s the small issue of finding out who’s trying to kill me. How did a simple spring break volunteer trip get so fucked up?

  Chapter 30

  It’s a hot afternoon and I’m on the roof of the new building, nailing shingles. I’m down to a halter top, shorts and running shoes. It feels good to do mindless routine work, sweat and let the sun bake out the kinks in my body and the confusion in my brain.

  It’s been only five days since I moved to the women’s dorm and rejoined the group but it feels like a month. I like the routine. I get up early and run five miles—around the campus, past the jeep that they’ve towed behind the main building, down the road to a jumble of shacks—a gas station-general store and a farm house—and back again. Mornings I help Rita teach catch-up math to kids who would be in eighth or ninth grade in the U.S. Afternoons, I lay shingles on the roof. Nights are lonely but I keep occupied by working out in the school’s small weight room and getting ready for the morning’s teaching. It’s almost enough to make me forget that someone is trying to kill me.

  “Let’s quit early. I know you’re a curve raiser, but no sense doing it here. Besides, it’s Friday and there’s a bonfire tonight,” says Joe Catelli. Joe is working with me on the roof. There are only four volunteers who aren’t afraid of heights and willing to work in the hot sun: Me, Joe, Mia, and Levi. Mrs. Selby knows that I’d probably throw Mia off the roof, and she knows how strange Levi is at times, so it’s just me and Joe.

  On the way back to the dorm Joe says, “Should be a good one tonight. Nate scored some grass from one of the locals. Got a case of rum too. Ever had rum and Coke and smoke?”

  “No, can’t say I have.” I don’t tell him that I probably never will. “Tell me, what’s a bonfire? Guess you had one before I got here.”

  “We had one the third night. It’s a tradition for the boarding students. They get together in the field behind the main building, close to the woods, past where they moved your jeep. It was kind of like a kid’s summer camp, we had hot dogs, sang some songs. Noah brought his guitar. This time, after the kids leave, we can make it a real party.”

  * * *

  There’s two hours before dinner so I go back to my cubicle. North Star Girls wants to set an example for the kids so there are separate dorms for men and women. The women’s dorm is made up two person enclosures built against the outer wall with sides that only go halfway to the ceiling and a wide, half door leading to a common area. They didn’t give me a roommate. The men’s dorm is identical, on the other side of the long, rectangular building. There’s a passage at either end and the rule of no crossing over is pretty much ignored by the volunteers. I want to talk to Sammy about our adventure tomorrow. He shares the end cube with his randomly assigned roommate—improbable though it may be—gay bashing Levi. I hope Sammy’s there and Levi’s not.

  The door is shut and I hear rustling sounds inside. “Sammy, you in there?”

  “. . . Just a minute . . . . Give me some time.”

  There’s something in Sammy’s voice that doesn’t sound right. He might be in trouble. The half door is low enough to look over and I move up and look inside. “Good god, Sammy! You and Levi?”

  “Step back and give us a minute to get dressed, damn it,” orders Levi.

  I not only step back, I run back to the woman’s side. I can’t erase the image of Sammy and Levi, naked and intertwined on Sammy’s bed.

  * * *

  I spend ten minutes trying to get that picture out of my mind, then give up, strip and head for the shower. Halfway there I run into Levi. The hallway’s narrow and he stands in the middle, blocking my way.

  I wrap the towel around me so fast I drop my shampoo and soap. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to talk, alone without Sammy. He doesn’t know about that episode in Sharon’s pool. I want to keep it that way.”

  “He already knows. I don’t keep secrets from him. From what I saw, neither do you.”

  “He’s trying to help me be okay with who I am. It’s hard.”

  “Not as hard as living a lie.”

  “I need your understanding.”

  “You asshole. That’s hard, too. You try to seduce me, turn me on, and then call me a lesbian. There’s nothing wrong with being a lesbian, but you know damn well it’s not true for me. You never lose an opportunity to call Sammy a faggot or queer, then you sleep with him. You publicly mock me in the ring. You help Mia steal my ID and passport. Now you ask me to understand. What I do understand is that you’re a self-absorbed phony.”

  “Sammy tells me that I’m overcompensating—using the need for pain and my macho persona to mask who I am. What do you think?”

  “I think if there were a parade of assholes, you would be the flag bearer! I’m going to take a shower and you should get your self-pitying, warped ass out of here.”

  He bends down, picks up my soap and shampoo and hands them to me, then slowly walks away.

  * * *

  The dining hall operates cafeteria style. There’s a food line in the middle with tables on both sides. One is for the twenty-five school girls who live on campus. The other is for us. I go through the line and look for a place to sit and see Mia holding court with Noah, Nate, and Sophie, her new disciples.

  I move toward an empty table in the corner. On the way, I pass a table where Andy is sitting with Zoe and Emma. They both nod at me but Andy doesn’t even look up.

  “Hi, Zoe, Hi, Emma, and . . . hi to that other guy at your table, too.”

  Emma and Zoe smile. Andy sits frozen. I move on.

  Sammy, Joe, and Levi come through the line. Joe goes to Andy’s table because Zoe’s there. Sammy and Levi take an empty table. The story of my life—par for the course—I’m the only one eating alone. I’m almost done when Tim comes in. His arm is still in a sling and I watch Mrs. Selby help him through the line and carry h
is tray. It’s the first time he’s come to the dining hall. He’s made a lot of friends in a short time and all but one person stand and clap. Andy sits.

  Tim scans the room. I gesture to him but he ignores me and points to Mia’s table. Mrs. Selby looks at me, shrugs her shoulders and puts Tim’s tray next to Mia. I’ve had enough. On the way out I pass Sammy and Levi’s table and don’t make eye contact. I do stop at Mia’s table.

  “Tim, we need to talk.”

  “Tim’s having a private conversation, butt out Squaw Girl,” says Mia.

  “His name’s Timothy. He only lets his friends call him Tim.”

  “She can call me Tim.” He looks away from me.

  My heart pumps faster and I get a queasy feeling in my gut. For a minute I’m paralyzed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I eventually say.

  “It means he’s figured out who his real friends are,” says Mia.

  I’m not frozen anymore. I want to wipe that smirk off her face. I start toward her.

  Tim grabs my arm before I get there. I bend down and he whispers, “The bonfire, we’ll talk there. Just walk away, don’t cause any more trouble for yourself.”

  * * *

  I go back to my little cubicle but I’m too worked up to stay. I pry up the loose tile in the floor where I’ve hollowed out a space to hide my emergency supplies, pull out the key, and replace the tile. It’s going to be chilly after the sun goes down so I take my jacket before leaving.

  I take a long walk to calm down, making sure I stay inside the boundaries of the campus. They still don’t trust me and have me on a short leash. Arnie and his two assistant security guards take turns watching me. One of them is always waiting at the gas station in the morning to make sure I turn around. They try to be sly about their surveillance but they’re not very good. They don’t know I’m on to them and I like it that way.

  I end up sitting in the jeep, watching them set up the Friday bonfire across the field. The security guys are hauling logs and moving benches and tables so I know I’m in the clear. It’s an old jeep and the starter is on the floor. I turn the key and press it with my foot. The engine slowly turns over but doesn’t start and I take my foot off the starter. The battery is low and I’ve only got a couple more chances before it goes dead. I try again and it kicks in. I press the gas pedal down a quarter of the way. I’ll need to hold it there for ten minutes to give that old battery enough juice so it works when I need it.