Through Different Eyes

by Karen Charleson

  Garry Thomas Morse, Editor

  © 2017, Karen Charleson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, for any reason, by any means, without the permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by Doowah Design.

  Carved paddle design on cover used with the kind permission of Robin Rorick Haida Art. More of Robin Rorick’s artwork can be seen at

  www.robinrorick.com

  Photo of Karen Charleson by UVic Photo Services.

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Manitoba Arts Council for our publishing program.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Charleson, Karen, 1957-, author

  Through different eyes / Karen Charleson.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77324-006-0 (softcover).

  --ISBN 978-1-77324-007-7 (EPUB)

  I. Title.

  PS8605.H3697T47 2017 C813’.6C2017-904690-X

  C2017-904691-8

  Signature Editions

  P.O. Box 206, RPO Corydon, Winnipeg, Manitoba, R3M 3S7

  www.signature-editions.com

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For my children:

  Lelaina, Layla, Steve, Estella, Mariah, and Joshua

  ONE

  It was those stupid white girls in Port Hope. They had started the whole thing with their whispering, their giggling, and their never-ending streams of innuendo. They were like hungry seagulls ever vigilant for a handout. They had spotted Michael immediately when he returned to Kitsum that spring. It was not that they cared or even noticed that he was there for his mother’s funeral. They did not really know anything about him. They just saw another new guy to ogle and speculate over. Brenda Joe knew all that but she chose to overlook their behaviour. She supposed that there was nothing better for girls to do in Port Hope than to fantasize.

  In 1985, Brenda was in the last months of Grade 10. Weekdays, she bused to Port Hope Secondary, and then back to what was legally known as Kitsum Indian Reserve Number One. Sarah was her constant companion. They were the same age and in the same grade, and that seemed to matter a lot at the Port Hope high school. The two girls had been in the same class ever since they had both started kindergarten in the old trailer that served as the preschool at Kitsum Elementary. They had never been especially good friends. All through the elementary grades, Sarah had mostly stuck close to her older sister and a couple of other kids Brenda did not know that well. Their families were what people in Kitsum called “Holy Rollers.” They talked a lot about going to church events and Bible study meetings. Summertimes, a bunch of the Kitsum kids went to the Bible camps that they organized. Brenda’s dad, however, had always been adamant. He called the camps “brainwashing.” One year she had begged for weeks to be allowed to attend because her best friend Marcie was going but her father never let her go. He took her and her brother out on his boat instead. It was a nine- or ten-day fishing trip, that one. By the time the Pacific Queen was tied up again in Kitsum Harbour, Bible camp was long over.

  Brenda always sat with Sarah on the school bus because they were the only two girls left from the group that had started off in the old trailer. During lunch hour, she sat with Sarah and the Kitsum students who remained in the classroom that was partly used as a cafeteria. They ate the fish, egg, or meat sandwiches made with homemade bread that their mothers invariably sent with them. Their moms did not think they should eat junk food from the corner store. Nor did they believe their daughters when they told them what the other kids did. The girls discussed community events in Kitsum and the current gossip of the day. Sometimes, they even talked about what they imagined was going on in Port Hope.

  When her best friend had still been attending school, lunchtimes had been different. There were no awkward lulls in the conversation, then. There was no quiet staring out the windows at Port Hope students who always seemed to have more to do and more places to go. The time had sped by because there were endless things to talk and laugh over. Brenda had not needed to hunt for extra excitement. If Marcie had been there in Grade 10, Brenda would not have even considered hanging out with those Port Hope girls.

  By the early spring, Brenda had begun to earn her own money from babysitting. After finishing her food from home, she would often head over to K & M’s Convenience for a cup of hot chocolate or a handful of penny candy. Brenda felt more important, being able to buy what she wanted like the Hope students.

  The Port Hope girls hung around in three very distinct groups. One group consisted of the cool girls. They were the ones who played school volleyball and basketball and somehow were also selected to cheerlead for the boys’ teams. They possessed large stockpiles of stylish new clothes and their parents owned the newest trucks and biggest houses. Brenda saw little point to even talking to them. The second group of girls was made up entirely of the ones who partied a lot. They smoked in the downstairs washroom and outside in the student parking lot. They bragged loudly about going out with older guys and getting into bars. Naturally, they could not get into the beer parlour at the Port Hope Hotel because everyone there knew everyone else and exactly how old they were, but the hotels in Campbell River and Port Hardy were fair game.

  The third group of girls was not as tight-knit as the other two groups; it was a group made up by default. Hope girls who did not fit into the other two groups ended up there. If Brenda had to give that group a name, she would have called them something like the “In-betweens.” The Kitsum students were not part of any of these groups. The Hope kids treated them as though they were their own group. Oddly, the teachers did, too.

  A couple of the “In-between” girls who occasionally acknowledged Brenda’s existence liked to hang around K & M’s. One noon hour, Brenda ventured there, and they called her over to sit with them on one of the benches that was pushed up against the store’s stucco-covered outer wall. She had sat tentatively on the edge of the painted wooden plank, but the girls had not appeared to notice her nervousness. Beth told her that she liked her jacket and offered her potato chips from the bag she had just opened. They seemed genuinely friendly. Brenda could not help but feel flattered by the attention.

  Tracy and Beth were not big-time partiers and they were not quite as cool as the cool girls. Their fathers, like many Port Hope men, worked in the woods. Yet these were not the daughters of fallers or foremen. Tracy and Beth’s dads almost certainly performed less glamorous tasks such as bucking or cutting up the fallen trees and loading the huge trucks. For Brenda, this knowledge was next to hereditary. Life in Port Hope was reflected in similar logging towns and camps on the North Island.

  Brenda discovered very quickly that Tracy and Beth’s favourite topic o
f conversation was guys. Which guy was the best looking? Which guy had the nicest hair, the coolest truck, or the most stylish clothes? Which guy had they spotted watching them? Which guy was just waiting to ask one of them out? Obviously, they had noticed Michael Clydesdale when he turned up in Hope. He was a good-looking guy, no doubt about it. Beth and Tracy soon bombarded Brenda with questions: Did he have a girlfriend? How long was he staying around? Where did he hang out? Other than his name, Brenda did not know much. She could point out some of his relatives, but Tracy and Beth were not interested in looking at them.

  Tracy was the first one to suggest that Brenda should “try” for Michael. Actually, she voiced an idea that was already taking shape in Brenda’s mind. Tracy and Beth told all kinds of stories about their own experiences with older men. Sometimes it sounded like they were in a race with one another to see who could pile up the most. Their parents did not seem to care how much they ran around. Brenda knew that if she had even attempted any of the stuff that Beth and Tracy bragged about, her parents would have grounded her for months, and lectured her until her head exploded. Brenda could not admit to Tracy and Beth that she had never had a real boyfriend. She had fooled around some at a couple of basketball tournaments at home and in Campbell River. She was far too embarrassed to tell her new friends about the one time she had actually had sex with a boy. The only soul she had ever told was Marcie. Only a fool would have done what she had done: lose her virginity to a basketball player from the Mainland who was only visiting Kitsum for a weekend of ball. A couple of strained phone calls, and that was that — she never heard from him again.

  Full up with Tracy and Beth’s talk, Brenda felt that she needed to make the effort to flirt with guys again. The more she thought about it, the more she agreed that Michael really was not such a bad choice. He was not related to her, which in Kitsum was an important consideration. He looked like he took care of himself. He was not a friend of her brother’s, or worse still, her parents. He was not a teenage boy. He was older, and compared to guys her own age, he seemed solid. Yes, he was already a man. Also, she wanted to impress her new friends, and not with the short story that was really hers. She needed something better, something that was more grown-up.

  Word soon reached her that Michael worked on the construction crew in the new subdivision. A road looping around the top of the village had been pushed through a couple of years earlier. It overlooked the entire span of Kitsum Harbour and opened up areas for building along the upper middle section of mountainside. The first eight houses were close to being completed, and four more homes were in the early stages of construction. New home owners were counting down the weeks until they could move in. The loop road was open, but it was often blocked by the builders’ trucks and supplies. The only people stirring in the new subdivision were the construction workers, and many of them were not even from Kitsum.

  Instead of walking straight home when the school bus dropped her and her brother off beside the Kitsum Band Office, Brenda began taking a longer route home. She needed the extra exercise after sitting around all day, or so she had told her brother. Junior had only shrugged; he preferred walking home with his friends anyway. Brenda would walk by the building sites extra slowly and find excuses to linger nearby. She did dumb things like stop to retie her shoelaces or straighten her books. She also pretended to be astonished by the progress of each new house.

  Brenda guessed that she was one of a handful of people who Michael saw go by all day. Maybe that was the reason he had noticed her right away. At sixteen years of age, Brenda chose to believe that Michael was enchanted by how pretty she looked, and by the way her chestnut hair caught the sunlight and shimmered like ocean waves on a bright, calm day. She thought that he was impressed by her animated gestures and feigned desire to learn everything she could about the new houses. His fascination was easy for her to imagine. Brenda carried every crumb back to Beth and Tracy at lunch hour. The way Michael stared at her, smiled at her, spoke to her.

  Once Brenda started spending her entire lunch hours with Tracy and Beth, Sarah became a little colder towards her, a little less willing to chat on the bus. The distance from Kitsum to Port Hope was only about fifteen or twenty kilometres if you measured it in a straight line, but the gravel logging road that connected the two places consisted mainly of switchbacks that more than doubled the distance. Potholes and rough, rocky sections forced all vehicles to slow to crawling speed. When the forestry company had extended the road from Hope into Kitsum in 1975, the company representatives had promised to keep it maintained. As soon as the logging was finished, though, it was the men from Kitsum who were out after the big winter storms, unclogging drainage ditches and culverts, and cutting fallen trees off the road. There was no way to drive safely from Hope to Kitsum in under forty-five minutes. Brenda had all but abandoned Sarah at school, but to her credit, Sarah remained relatively friendly to her on those long daily bus rides.

  Brenda enjoyed the attention from Michael, and she enjoyed the admiration that earned her from Beth and Tracy. As a result, she felt attractive, popular, confident, and grown-up. By the time school let out in late June, she had invented an entire romantic relationship out of a bunch of waves and smiles. Of course, there had been a few short conversations, and the one occasion when Michael had happened to drive by her in Port Hope and had stopped to give her a ride home from school. The more she entertained Beth and Tracy with her exploits, the more a relationship between her and Michael became reality. Their grins and gasps only fed the fire. By the end of the school year, Brenda was determined to have him as her actual boyfriend. An older guy, a good-looking guy to boot, a man who drove a truck and worked hard and treated her decently. Yes, Michael was perfect. This would impress everyone. All of the Kitsum girls and even the cool girls from Hope; they would all have to show her some respect.

  By early July, Brenda had worked out a summertime routine. Mornings and early afternoons, she helped her mother around the house. There was always cleaning or laundry to do. In addition, there was often fish to be cut up or put into the smokehouse. Her mother was too grateful for the unexpected help to question Brenda too closely. Brenda felt vaguely guilty, recognizing that her helpfulness had put her mother off her guard. But the tactic to gain more leeway was working. Brenda kept it up.

  Later those afternoons, Brenda told her mother that she was going to the lake or to Marcie’s. More often than not, she would head straight for the construction sites. Most days, she timed her mountainside trips so that she had about half an hour to loiter before Michael got off work. That way she was readily available to walk along the new loop road with him at the end of his day or to catch a ride part of the way back in his truck. Once the new road met what people were beginning to call “Old Top Road,” Michael would continue along down toward the old village and she would bid him a dramatic farewell before heading home.

  Michael had never actually invited her, but he had told her where he lived when she had asked him. He had a room at his uncle’s house. Downstairs, he had added. He had no desire to go upstairs where his Uncles Fred and Murray and his Auntie Ethel lived. When the elder Clydesdales partied there, he just turned his radio on, locked his door with a latch, and stayed in his room. No one bothered him there. Brenda calculated that he had carefully told her these details for a reason. If he had not wanted her to visit, he would have simply said that he lived with his uncles and aunt. That would have been the perfect brush-off. Everyone in Kitsum knew that the Clydesdale house was a notorious party place. She would have been too afraid to look for him there.

  That summer, Brenda went to the community hall every evening. Basketball generally started around nine o’clock and lasted until the doors were locked at midnight. Junior was on the Kitsum Intermediate basketball team, and he played every night with his teammates and a variety of older players. This was the first summer since they were small that Brenda could remember her brother not going fishing with their fat
her. He had a job with the Kitsum Band that year as one of two youth recreation workers.

  Brenda had no trouble tagging along. Most of the teenagers and young adults went to the hall every evening anyway. This was more fun than just sitting at home. Given that the basketball games ran so late, their mother would not allow their younger brother and sisters to go with them. Her only rule was that Brenda and Junior had to be back home by midnight. She had initially tried to make it eleven o’clock but Junior had convinced her that he would still be in the middle of a game by then.

  For the first week or so, Brenda stuck around. Then one evening when Junior was playing ball, Brenda left early. It was normal for people to wander in and out of the hall. Even if Junior had noticed her gone, he would have assumed that she was just outside or hanging around on the beach below with other teenagers. The Clydesdale house was in the old part of the village, not too far away. Brenda walked quickly to Mo George’s store. Mo sold pop, chips, and candy out of a small addition he had built onto his house. His wife sold bread, and occasionally pies and cakes. Still not sure that she would not chicken out and turn back towards the hall, Brenda committed herself to a pop that she was too nervous to open and drink.

  There was a tangle of berry bushes and young alder trees next to Mo’s where an old shed had once housed a generator that was used before Kitsum got hydro. She struggled her way through the new growth, almost tripping a few times over garbage and junk discarded in the bushes. Then she emerged, intact, very close to the Clydesdale house. Only the thought of someone seeing her rummaging around so far away from her own home at this time of night kept her moving. Before she could change her mind, she was knocking softly on the basement door. If Murray or Fred or Ethel answered, she would tell them that she was looking for Junior. That sounded better than saying she was looking for her boyfriend.