The Moon of Letting Go

by Richard Van Camp

  Man, this town is full of decomposers—and Larry—I got no fuckin’ use for Larry. He only goes to the college so he can do panty raids in the women’s residence. Um, grow up?

  “All right Lay-deeeees and Gentlemen,” I said clearly again as I track the players, “Welcome to Moccasin Square Gardens. Tonight I, Kevin Garner, am your play-by-play M.C. as Fort Simmer tries to down Yellowknife for the territorial championships...”

  I followed the game and cracked the best jokes I know. This hangover meant nothing. It was all resting on tonight. God, I felt it. I was speaking to the communities, but I was really speaking to Lona, Tower and Constable Morris.

  Gerald was sitting with Donna and they were holding hands sharing a coffee. It was about time those two hooked up. Gerald actually had a smile on his face and Donna looked proud. Thank God Gerald called Social Services on the principal. I talked with the crowd between periods and asked Sandy what he thought of the game.

  “Simmer blew a two goal lead!” he yelled. It wasn’t what I was looking for so I asked, “What’s your greatest joy these days in our little community?”

  The little champ looked right into the camera and said, “You, Mister Garner! You’re the best tutor I’ve ever had!”

  Bingo. The money shot. I swear to God everyone around me clapped. Man, I hope the college president caught that, and that’s when I knew: it was time to rewrite history.

  Back at the techy’s desk at the Fort Simmer Cable office. The phone rang. My palms started burning, just like my Grandma’s when she knew something huge was going to happen.

  “You’re amazing, Kevin,” Lona said. “Keep up the great work. This is a great hockey game. I’m sorry for what I said Friday night.” My little Shania Twain. Brothers of the world, there is a God and His name is love! Maybe in heaven the guitar solos never end and you get the chick you’ve always wanted.

  “Lona,” I said. I was feeling so high and so cocky from the game, but I knew it had to be asked. “Thanks for calling. Hey, did you listen to that tape I made you? That first song, it’s called Smothered Hope by Skinny Puppy. Beautiful, hey? That’s the remix, off their Dystemper album. It’s rare and precious, is what I’m trying to say. Like you. I put the Ministry’s remix of it on Side B, but I like this one the best—”

  “Kevin, we shouldn’t be talking.”

  I took a puff. “Why?”

  “You and Dean are cousins. I don’t want to cause friction.”

  My heart had a G-spot right then and there. I had to sit down. There was hope. I blew my nose. “Are you two still going out?”

  “He’s trying, Kevin.”

  “Trying?” I stood up. “He’s on the road for Tower. That’s not trying. We just have to dance once, you and me. I got some new moves that’ll make you blush.”

  “Kevin—”

  “Lona,” I took a sip and took another puff. “I’m gonna be a teacher, you know, and I’m out of the dealing business as of tonight. Lona, you’re the one for me. I swear to God. I’m sorry I scared you at the party. I’m dying to taste you—”

  “I should get going.”

  “What? What’d I say? Look. I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

  “What did Dean do to my back?” she asks, and I can tell she’s wanted to ask me this since Friday.

  “I don’t want to scare you. I got a plan anyways, so don’t worry about it.”

  “You’re stoned,” she said. “Good-bye.”

  What! The phone rang again. “Lona?”

  Someone was laughing. Music was playing. I could hear the hockey game from the Cable office’s cheap little speakers here in the editing suite. My hockey game. My hockey game was in Surround Sound from the monitor and the phone. “Kevin?” a voice giggled. “Kevin, this is Aleaha Apples. Come over. We’re in room 304. Women’s residence. Bring all your dope.”

  I sat up. “Who is this?”

  “Aleaha Apples. We heard you’re selling your stash and we’ll buy you out.”

  Shit. “Who told you that?”

  “Black Fonzy.”

  The word was out now. “Who’s all there?”

  “Us. Come soon.” She burst out laughing and hung up.

  Hmmm. If I sell out, I’m free. Maybe pay what I make to Tower … maybe.

  On the last tape now at Cable TV. Soon the footage will come. Soon. The twenty that Mister Chang gave me turned out handy. Ordered pizza. She’s on the way. Forget the student residence fees for a while. I’m celebrating.

  Nineteen minutes left on the last tape and Yellowknife, Hay River, Smith, and Fort Simpson are watching. Tomorrow, when I go for a coffee uptown, everyone’s gonna know my name.

  Last Friday. After the party. With Lona. Lying down with her on my bed. Without warning, I started to cry about my grandmother being gone. Lona wiped my tears away and kissed my neck. She was the first person I ever told about holding my grandmother’s hand for five days before she died. I slid my hands up Lona’s shirt but stayed away from her breasteges. No way. Slow down, I thought. Earn her. I caressed her back. Her strong, smooth back. She unbuttoned my shirt and ran her hands over me. We were flush faced and shivering, and I was starting to breathe heavy, heavier than her. I told her how I was at the crossroads, anything could happen. I wasn’t so far gone that I couldn’t turn it all around. I told her about a teacher I had, Mrs. Stellan. I was thinking about how she always believed in me and, man, when you have that, anything’s possible. I was telling her I’d like to be that somebody for those without, and I can empathize.

  I then told her about my ability of echolocation.

  “What?”

  “I lie on my bed, turn the music off, and send my psychic lasso your way. I know where you were Tuesday night.”

  She smiled. “Okay. Where?”

  “The café. You had a coffee and fries with gravy on the side. You then ordered Iced Tea with a twist of lemon for dessert.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Where was I Wednesday?”

  “Your house helping your mom bake bread. You thought about me all day.”

  Her jaw dropped. “How did you—”

  I smiled. “Echolocation. Like bats. I send out my psychic feelers. When I was a kid, I used to walk on the top of the trees outside the house when I dreamed. Now I just send the signals out there, like a slow spell, and I reel it in. My grandma had medicine. Maybe she passed it on to me.”

  She kissed my forehead. “You’re crazy.”

  “Maybe.”

  • • •

  I put the mix on that I made for her. Whitesnake sang Still of the Night and it got to the solo where the violins play together, like bees dancing, and I always get the shivers when I hear it. As more violins escalate, I feel like I’m climbing the northern lights with a peace stronger than Prozac, and I want to lick something and put my fist through glass at the same time.

  I never should have told her about my dream.

  “Lona,” I said. “You know how you want to be a model?”

  She nodded and ran her fingers through my hair.

  “Well, I had a dream. It was a little freaky but I want to tell it to you. Grandma said if you have a nightmare, you know, see something horrible about a person, you should tell as many people as you can so it won’t come true.”

  I could feel her pull away, but I held her. “What did you see?”

  “Lona,” I said. “Give me a stack of Bibles ’cause what I saw was your future.”

  She sat up. I couldn’t stop now. “I saw that you and Dean were still together. You were older, maybe eight years from now.”

  “And—”

  “And you’ve only gotten more beautiful but the thing is—”

  “What?”

  “The thing is I saw you getting up to say goodbye to him as he went to work and he looked at you with hate in his eyes and said, ‘You got ugli
er today.’”

  Lona made a sound in her throat.

  “And you believed it.”

  She looked around for her jacket. “I’m going now.”

  “No wait. And the thing is I could see something else too. I saw your arms.”

  Lona stopped buttoning up her shirt. “What was wrong with them?”

  “He gave you horrible tattoos so you couldn’t model in anything other than long sleeve shirts. It’s like he’d stained you, and he—”

  “He what?”

  “He also knocked out half of your teeth on your right side, so you could never model close-ups, and your back,” I stopped. “He—”

  She pulled her shirt up over her face and peeked at me through her bangs. “I’m going now. You’re scaring me.”

  I rose with her. “But you can change this. It doesn’t have to happen. I’ve told you: tell everyone. We can break the dream, so it won’t come true.”

  “You mean if I screw you and leave him, it’ll be okay.”

  “No. It’s not that. I’m telling you the truth. And your back,” I tried, “He—”

  “Kevin, don’t ever speak to me again.”

  She left without tying her shoes or pulling her jacket on. At least she took the mix. She left and nothing I could say stopped her from leaving.

  It was true, Lona. My cousin’s gonna take his time killing you. For years. And he’ll do it from the inside out. I never told you I could see your tummy. He’d mauled your stomach with huge bite marks, and I won’t tell you what I saw on your back—but we can stop it—or I can—in a few minutes.

  In the editing suite, the phone’s been ringing steady. I bide my time until the moment of truth. The callers were people laughing hard and thanking me for a great job. I sprinkled an eighth of a gram on tobacco and rolled it up. Voila Cocoa Puff! I love how coke makes a joint sweet. As always, my lips, tongue and gums go numb as a smoke that smells like vanilla surrounds me. It’s like watching ’70s porn. There were real women then: long hair, natural. And there’s kissing. Remember kissing? They kiss in ‘70s porn and they take their frickin’ time.

  “You’re gonna make a great teacher!” Mrs. Spencer said. “They say the worst students make the best teachers and I believe it!”

  What a sheep. Mrs. Spencer taught me kindergarten ages ago and she’s still teaching it today.

  “Thanks,” I said. “How’s Adrienne?”

  “Twins!” she beamed.

  “Glad to hear it!” I hung up. Good thing I banged her before she got knocked up. I hit Line 2.

  “Hey, Kev! It’s Patsy. You really were serious about being a teacher weren’t you? You’ll do it! You’ll do it!”

  The hell with Black Fonzy! I was flying. “Thanks, Skull Face! Two outta three ain’t bad!” I took a puff, a swig, a sip, a shot. I popped two little Effy’s just to keep things fine. Back on top, baby.

  I figured the town knew what a good job I’d done, so I took the phone off the hook. There could be no distractions for what was about to unfold. I lit a smoke. Maybe tobacco was the Devil’s hair. Did anyone ever think of that? Did anyone in this town know that the Chinese called TB The Steaming Bone Disease? Who knows? Who cares? Tomorrow, I will be requesting a number of reference letters from key individuals plus working on a five hundred-word essay on Why I Want To Be a Teacher. This I can write in my sleep as it seems my focus has never been clearer. Let the sheep talk amongst themselves. I am going to be a teacher!

  “No more Hash Wednesdays!” I jigged. “No more Spring Bakes!” I danced a Spruce King dance, stopping to slap my ass and go “Hoot hoot!”

  I did the last of my coke and looked out the window. Hey, it was sleeting and I was glowing—it’s wanting to snow! Thank God it was almost snowing in Fort Simmer! I watched it fall and remembered how Grandma always called snow the quietest mass.

  Now, for the real reason I agreed to tape the hockey game.

  The moment of truth:

  After Sandy finished telling the western NWT what a great tutor I am, I turned the camera around to me and said, “Hello party people. This is Kevin Garner. Yes, I know, the contraband kid. I just wanted to take this opportunity to say hi to Lona and my cousin Dean. Dean Meddows, if you don’t know, is my cousin. I love him. I really do. The only problem is I’m in love with Lona Saw. Yup, that’s right. I’m declaring this here and now.”

  I stop to wipe my nose with my sleeve. “You see, folks, a few nights ago I had this dream where I saw Lona and Dean together and they were miserable.” I wait. “I had this dream Dean was beating on her on a daily basis and he was taking his time killing her, and I had a dream that she was brainwashed into thinking she needed to stay. Well, Lona Saw, you don’t have to stay now. You can leave. I don’t want you to be beaten. I want you to be a model. Put Fort Simmer on the map. Make us proud. So that’s it. Tell everyone about this. Tell everyone that Kevin Garner had a dream in which he saw the future of Dean Meddows and Lona Saw, and it was horrible. It was a slow motion suicide for both of them, even me. So that’s it, folks. That’s all. I’d like to dedicate tonight’s game in memory of my grandma, Ava Snow, who always said, ‘Never let go of a dream.’ Thank you and mahsi cho.”

  I turned the camera around and got back to the game.

  I turned off the monitor and sound. The hockey game resumed, televised and broadcasting.

  It was done. Lona, I just rewrote your fucking history via the moccasin telegraph as each townie tells two friends and those two friends tell their two friends. You’re free, Lona. If you stay, well, it’s your fault now. I tried. When Dean starts in on you, you’ll remember me. Besides—and I don’t even mean this—I got Aleaha waiting for me in room 304.

  As for your back, Lona, this was what I saw: Dean had you convinced you needed to learn about Reaction Time. Every afternoon, you’d sit on the bed and he’d sit behind you. He’d hold a lit cigarette behind you as you stared at the wall. The game was the closer you felt the heat, the quicker you were supposed to move. Would it be today? Tomorrow? Friday? Next week? You never really caught on, Lona, that he could burn you whenever the fuck he felt like it, and you were too slow and too beat to move away anymore.

  Now, Lona. How could I think of something that cruel all by myself if I hadn’t seen it? And something else: you’ve got to get away from Dean, Lona. He loves you like two dogs stuck. If you don’t, baby, I saw your exit plan. Your suicide note’s going to be three pages long. I was shaking. I stood and made a toast.

  “One for the road and two for the ditch. Either way, I just rewrote history. Get outta town, Lona. Make us proud.”

  I cranked Wasp on the ghetto blaster. Blacky Lawless is blaring, “I WANNA BE SOMEBODY! BE SOMEBODY NOW!!” What the—I looked out the window: pitch black, snowing. The sleet has turned to snow! It is officially snowing!

  Grandma said when it snows nothing can touch you. No bad medicine. Nothing. Look at the flakes! As thick as tufts of goose down. Wendy, wherever you are. I pray this snow protects you. Lona, baby. You could’a had me. My truck. We’d cruise, shack-up, make love all night. We could watch the snow fall together for the rest of our lives. I’ve never made love all night with someone. I’ve never wanted to hold someone so close to me and to whisper their name with love. To feel your hair, to move inside you. Such a beautiful face. I wanted to feel my skin under your nails. You blew it, baby. You’re going out with the wrong cousin. With your atrocious perfume and your beautiful brown Metis eyes.

  Now Aleaha at the college residence. I didn’t know. To be determined….

  Look at that snow. Is it the first or last snowfall of the year that the elders call the Snow of the Virgin Mary because Mary called it for the world? Anyhow, whichever it is, if you collect it, melt it and bottle it, drink it or rub it on a wound, it can cure anything. I think it’s the first snow, so Grandma’s telling me everything’ll be okay.

 
; What am I gonna do about Tower? He took me in after Gran passed, gave me the low down in the deadliest house in Simmer. We sat down, had some tea. Stan the Man was there in his flashy suit. I had always seen these guys around town when I was growing up. They were so cool. We listened to some Neil Young, passed a thick fatty around and sipped African tea.

  “Sorry about your grandmother,” Tower said. “Anything you need?”

  I sat up. “A job would be nice.”

  “Check this out,” Tower broke the science of dealing down to me and finished with a simple question. “You in?”

  The language they used, the codes, the poetry of it all. I never felt so alive in my whole life. I nodded: “I’m in.”

  Tower smiled. “This is your Freedom 35 plan, Kevin. I’m going to start you moving quarters. That all right? Stan here will teach you how to use the scales and eye it up. Remember: although the customer is never right, never underestimate one. Most frequent flyers have scales at home and will hunt you down if you screw ‘em, so don’t. Do it right. Take pride in your work and watch your ass.” He and Stan pointed in unison to a sign on the wall that read WATCH THY ASS! before continuing: “If a customer has a great experience with a company they’ll tell four to six people. If they’re screwed over by a company, they’ll tell fourteen to twenty people. Prevention is the key. You keep ‘em satisfied, they’ll always come back. You got that?”

  I never felt so good in my whole life. “I got it, Tower. Thank you for this.”

  Tower stood up. “We take care of our own. Dogribs are outnumbered in Fort Simmer, and I have great respect for your grandmother. She and my mom were like sisters. We’ll work together, right? It’s about getting paid.”

  “And laid,” Stan smiled. “Welcome to the club.”

  Tower shook my hand like a man. Stan, too. That week I made three grand cash. Cash. You’re damn rights I felt great. I got my truck within three months and this trailer is already all mine.

  Whoah. Two Summits blasted by the building kicking up mud and snow. They were just the first of hundreds of skidoos that would tear this town up for the next seven months. Soon, half this town would be flying through the fields and ditches. Hoo-yah.