NIGHT MOVES
NIGHT
MOVES
STORIES
RICHARD VAN CAMP
Copyright ©2015 Richard Van Camp
Enfield & Wizenty
(an imprint of Great Plains Publications)
233 Garfield Street
Winnipeg, MB R3G 2M1
www.greatplains.mb.ca
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or in any means, or stored in a database and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Great Plains Publications, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from Access Copyright (Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency), 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M5E 1E5.
Great Plains Publications gratefully acknowledges the financial support provided for its publishing program by the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund; the Canada Council for the Arts; the Province of Manitoba through the Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Book Publisher Marketing Assistance Program; and the Manitoba Arts Council.
Design & Typography by Relish New Brand Experience
Printed in Canada by Friesens
Ebook conversion by Human Powered Design
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Van Camp, Richard, 1971-, author Night moves / Richard Van Camp.
Short stories.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-927855-23-2 (paperback).--ISBN 978-1-927855-24-9 (epub).--ISBN 978-1-927855-25-6 (mobi)
I. Title.
PS8593.A5376N44 2015 C813'.54 C2015-903702-6 C2015-903703-4
For Keavy and Edzazii: my everything…
bornagirl
Where are you tonight?
The Strongest Blood
I Double Dogrib Dare You
Blood Rides the Wind
Skull.Full.Of.Rust
Because of What I Did
Crow
If Only Tonight
The Rock Beat
Wheetago War
Prayers
Afterwords
Acknowledgements
bornagirl
Steve nods as Dougie lifts me off the ground. I smell scalp, tar, heat. Pelicans soar miles above us. That’s me, I think. That’s who I used to be. I huff, puff and push all my air out. I wish the sky would blow me in half as Dougie squeezes my ribs tight—so tight my face burns and balloons. I see three pelicans soaring above and wonder if they can see me back and—Why?
Heat from my skull explodes and there they are: sparks of day fire. Dougie bear hugs me and holds me high—I hear a rib pop—and the next thing I know my ears are roarin’ and I rise from the whoosh, and I have a two-by-four. I’m all chased out as my head roars as everyone cheers, “Zombie!”
I see all the grade eights and nines flee, spilling over the fence and road in terror against me. Clarence has climbed to the top of a tree and Dougie is crying, holding his leg going, “Fuck you, Ronny!” and I drop the two-by-four and collapse sore-throated and body ringing. My body spills of everything. Why? Why did we do it? Why did I do it?
After, Steve drags me, holds me, walks me home and grins, “That was the best Zombie yet.”
My eyes puff out of their sockets and everybody looks so much younger with short hair, even the teachers, even the principal and now the mayor and the chief of the Salt River First Nations and the president of the Métis Association and now the chief of the Fitz Smith Band and now our MLA, and we are waiting to hear about our MP, but his wife—I know for sure his wife cut hers. What happened here was on CBC and it’s spreading. Everyone’s cut their hair because of what happened to Brian. And what we did to him. What I did to him. My face goes numb when I think about it, so I don’t.
We listen to Stars’ “Winter Bones” in the dark, and Steve lies behind me, and I wonder if we’re fags. I don’t care. I think I’m dying faster than everybody because of Zombie. I accept it. Steve’s a chronic shoplifter from the drugstore and today his underarms smell like mint. He reaches over me for a sip of water. “What do you think about?”
I shift my body closer as the mattress sinks. “When?”
I’m blushing with how close we are. I can also smell the detergent his mom uses: Lemon something.
“When you’re out,” he says. “When you’re a zombie. Where do you go?”
“I don’t know.” He brushes my hip as he shifts, but I know. I think I know. I think of the girl who does Brian’s makeup in the handicapped washroom. Kelsey. The redhead. Pretty, blue-eyed and Mayday princess Kelsey. She must know we can all see her glow-in-the-dark scars on her wrists. How she must wince when the shower hits. I remember her when we were in kindergarten, how she used to stand alone under the fort and shiver, even when it was hot out. I’m going to try and tell her to stop being so scared of herself the next time I see her. I want to do that. I hope I remember to do that.
Or I could fuck her for practice.
I also think about beating up Brian. I loved making him cry. I’d race after him when I saw him. “Makeup Warrior,” I called him, and then I’d ask, “Why?” (punch) “Why?” (shove) “Why?” (kick) “Why?” (knee). I’d Sally Cow him so he couldn’t use his arms and then Charlie Horse him so he’d push to the ground. “You fuckin’ fag. Why?” He’d start to cry and I’d grin. I kept trying to knock him out with a punch to the temple or a knee to the chin but he’d tuck his head away. Why?
I feel Steve’s breath against the back of my neck. I am the most dangerous zombie in Fort Smith history even though this town is the illusion of life. We Zombie every chance we get. Sometimes we use hockey socks or bandanas by ourselves, but mostly we just huff each other, and this is why I’m dying faster than anyone.
I feel like I’m running out of skin.
I can tell Dougie totally fakes when it’s his turn to Zombie, and Steve just sits there drooling through his hands. Nobody but me lifts the two-by-four to chase the crowd. The students wait for me to do it, and the teachers never catch on because they’re all smoking off school property and texting their old ladies now that Smith got cellphones.
Sometimes, when Steve holds me in the dark, he’ll reach for a sip of water or to fiddle with the remote, but it’s only really to buck into me slowly. I bet if we were ever naked he’d go for it and maybe I’d let him. We never talk about this, but we do it every time now after Zombie.
Our town is Fort Smith, NWT. Métis capital of the north. Our dance hall is the Roaring Rapids Hall but it’s also known as Moccasin Square Gardens because of all the fights. They say Fort Smith is home to the rough and ruthless and the tough and toothless. I’ve tried to figure out why we Zombie, and I know it’s about being held. I lean into Steve. I love it when he holds me. My body sings with his muscles and the smell of his hot scalp and dad’s cologne: a quiet fire, something pretty, something burning. I sniff it every time we’re over at his house in the bathroom watching pornos.
“Why?” I yelled at Brian as mascara ran down his face. “Why do you dress like a girl when you’re a boy? Why?” I loved how his body twisted and gave under my punches. I’d drive his body with each upper cut, and I loved the sounds he made as he slumped into me. He was wearing a skirt and heels. “Why? Why the fuck are you like this?”
But this is not the worst I’ve done to him.
Last night, me and Steve were walking by the college. I flushed the toilet downstairs and snuck out while the sound was loud and there was Steve with his bike and mine. He knows my combo. We rode out together and the town was ours.
There, we passed by a volleyball team. Girls. Diamond Jenness hoodies. Hay River girls.
“Heyyyyyyyyyy,” one with huge glasses on said as we drove by.
Steve hit the brakes. “Helloooooooooooo.”
I wanted to keep going but they surrounded us.
“Got a mickey?” one of them asked.
“No,” Steve said.
“Well, we do.” Big Glasses said and the rest laughed. “Wanna party with us?”
“Sure,” Steve said. He gave me a look like we’d struck gold. I wanted to go home.
Before I knew it, we stashed our bikes and snuck in through the ground floor windows at the college residence.
“Shhh,” Big Glasses said. “Our coach has a black belt. We can’t wake him.”
Next thing you know we’re sitting on a bed and we’re surrounded by seven girls. Five of which are considerable; two are mugwumps. They’re older than us and Steve passed me a bottle as we made introductions. I wrinkled my nose and forgot everyone’s names. Steve took two swigs in a row. I hate alcohol. Don’t need it.
“So what do you two do for fun in Fart Sniff?” one of the girls asks. She has a big nose and braces.
Steve looks to me. “We play Zombie.”
“Zombie?” Big Glasses asks. She has a nice body.
“Zombie,” Steve says. “Here, we’ll show you” and he stands. I know he wants to do it to me, but I say no. I flick my wrist and that’s our sign for no, this is ours. Why share it? He glances at me and looks back to the girls.
“We’re waiting,” one says. “Don’t be cheap. You two are ambassadors for Fort Smurf.”
They girls killed themselves laughing and rolling around on their beds. I wanted the one with cinnamon eyes. She must have been Gwichi’in. She had the same body as the one I saw in my first porno, so I know what she’d look like taking it hard. I’d like to stand close to her naked and feel her heat all over my face. I bet she’d look great under the red heat lamp in Steve’s dad’s sauna. I think I could tell her the truth as I finger her slowly as her eyes change colour: I broke something. I did. I fucking hate myself for what I did to Brian. I do. Fuckin’ forgive me, okay? Maybe I could do this with Kelsey.
“Take it easy,” Steve says. “You’re from Gay River.”
“At least we don’t half kill transsexuals,” Big Glasses says. The girls all go, “Ooooooh” and Steve looks at me and I blush and look down. I am suddenly ashamed. We went too far. Why?
“Why didn’t you cut your hair?” one girl asks. “All the guys in Hay River did.”
“And half the girls,” another joins.
“I’m thinking about it,” Steve says and this surprises me. Really? My eyes ask him but he’s not looking at me anymore.
“Let’s play truth or dare,” one girl says. A brunette with a sharp nose.
“Uh oh,” Big Glasses says. “Here comes the Sexpert.”
Steve and I glance at each other.
“How do you jack off?” she asks and points at me. “You first. Then we’ll all go.”
Two of the girls bury their hands in their faces and start kicking the bed giggling and the others go, “Shh. Shh. Don’t wake the coach.” I suddenly love being here. I can smell perfume wafting from them and I see all their suitcases. And then I see her. There’s a girl standing in the corner of a large closet with her nose in the corner. She is wearing her bra backwards—
pink and small—on the outside of her shirt. She has two Band-Aids on the back of the heels of her bare feet.
“Never mind her,” Big Nose says. “Rebecca’s being punished.”
“Twat!” one of the girls hisses and they all laugh.
Steve gives me a look like we’re in over our heads.
“I want to know,” she says. “Sorry. We all want to know.”
“Yeah,” the girls all say. “How? How? Tell us.”
Steve looks at me absolutely horrified. “Take it fuckin’ easy. I’m not going to tell you.”
“Okay, loser,” one of the girls says. “I have a question about the gay boy.”
Steve and I look at her.
“Rebecca’s cousin says that police are investigating his father for holding him down and cutting off his hair.”
Steve and I look at each other. “What?”
She nods. “Did his dad cut off his hair and then tie him up with his own clothes?”
“Where did you hear this?” I ask.
“It’s on the news. We heard it on the way in.”
“His dad didn’t cut off his hair,” Rebecca says softly.
“Shut it!” Big Nose says. “Speak ONLY when you are being spoken to or we’ll make you do a lot more than you’re already going to.”
Rebecca nods. I’d love to see her face. Steve and I look at each other. So that’s why he had short hair. His dad?
“Yeah,” Lip Ring says, “my cousin said his dad had just got a call from a parent saying, ‘Keep your It away from my kids.’ Apparently, his folks didn’t know he was leaving the house a boy and showing up to class a girl.”
“How could you not know that?” Steve asks.
“So what was with the honey?” The Boss asks. “His dad covered him with honey?”
“No,” Lip Ring says. “His Gran needed honey for some bannock and he had, like, four huge bottles.”
“So, his dad tied him to a tree and poured four bottles of honey all over him while he was upside down?”
Breath spins in my throat as my face goes numb. I see sparks without any help from anyone as my stomach sinks. So that’s why he didn’t run or fight back. It must have been the day after. On the way to his Grandma’s. Where we cut him off.
“Anyhow,” one of the girls says, “we’re thinking of ditching practice tomorrow to welcome him back to school.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s out of the hospital tonight,” the leader says. And she’s watching us. She’s onto us.
I glare at Steve. He’s looking at his fingers. My face is burning.
“I’m bored,” one of the girls says. “What is this Zombie?”
Steve gives me a dirty look and kicks off his dad’s cowboy boot and pulls off his hockey sock and wraps it around his neck and pulls as he starts to huff. “I’ll show you.”
“No, wait. Steve—” I say because this is getting good. I need to know more about Brian.
Steve wraps his hockey sock around his neck so tight his neck veins bulge like strangling earth worms. He holds it and pulls harder. He starts to buck and twitch and the girls all backed away from him before he shot back and flew off the bed smacking his skull on the heater. A jet of blood sprayed the wall and the girls screamed. Steve starts to seizure and I grab him when the girls run for help. I push him through the window as the girls yell for their black belt coach. Steve landed on his neck on the pavement under the window and I drag him around the corner and hide behind the dumpster as he drooled and sputtered all over himself, and there was his bare foot all dusty now and his big toe nail’s snapped up and blue. He came to and made the noises Johnny Knoxville made when Butterbean knocked him out with one punch in Jackass: “Gnnnhhh Gnnnuuuuhhhhhh.”
It’s the same sounds Brian made the last time I hurt him.
We cornered him in the bush. On his way home. He was carrying groceries from the Northern. It was honey. Four of the biggest bottles ever.
I was with Steve. “Cut your hair, hey, you little fag?”
It was true. Short hair only accentuated his features even more. His big eyes. He was gorgeous.
One look said it all. He looked down in complete surrender. He was dressed as a boy this time but I could see his earrings. We surrounded him. Star
ted pushing him. “Why?” I’d push him over and over. “Why?” He was wearing lipstick and eye shadow.
“Why?”
“Yeah,” Steve said and kicked him hard in the back. “Why?”
“Don’t,” I wanted to say. I’d never beaten Brian up with anyone else. I didn’t like it. With Brian, I was the cat and he was the mouse. I loved making him cry. He was so fucking unreal it gave me pleasure hitting him, downing him. I pulled his pants off and was tempted to pull off his gonch but thought no. Too much. Steve ripped his shirt off his body and stomped him into the earth. I winced.
We ended tying Brian up upside down with his clothes to a tree. It was Steve’s idea to pour the honey all over his legs, up his shorts, down his legs and leave him. I got so into it I didn’t know. I didn’t know the honey’d go into his mouth. I had no idea. He must have suffocated out there. Alone. In the bush. A mile from his home. But the thing is, next, he didn’t scream. He didn’t. Brian just looked away. As we beat him. As I punched him so hard I connected with bone. I heard a pop. I can still hear the breath leaving his body as Steve stomped him in the chest.
And that’s how we left him. I think I poured the honey all over him, but I want to say it was Steve. Upside down. Brian looking away, crying quietly but no tears, honey searching his body. He’d shaved his legs. I felt the stubble when I held him and we used his shirt and jacket as rope.
I had no fucking idea honey would pool towards his mouth.
An hour later at the landslide. That’s when I heard the ambulance. We were drinking, smoking, passing a mickey back and forth and I knew.
I knew it was for him.
I was secretly worried when we walked away. I thought he’d get down. Wiggle his way out. I had no idea the honey would hunt for his mouth and nose, that he’d drown that way. That no matter how much he panicked and shook his head back and forth, the honey would pool to find inside his nostrils, mouth and eyes.
So why the fuck didn’t he run? I wondered. Why didn’t he struggle?
We’d crucified him upside down with honey and that was the night after—when I dare myself to think about it—that was the night after his father held him down and cut off all his hair.
Night Moves Page 1