Rez Runaway

by Melanie Florence

  “But that’s what family is for! If your aunt wanted to be there for you, I can’t understand why you’d choose this instead,” she said, gesturing around us at the theatre.

  I shrugged. “She didn’t offer, Sid. No one did.”

  She shook her head. “Joe, if even one of my parents had accepted me, I never would have left. I’d never choose to live here when I could have had a real home,” she told me. “Do you know what my parents did when I told them I was transgender and wanted to transition?”

  I shook my head.

  “My father put me in the hospital. My own father broke my arm and a couple of ribs. He broke my nose and blackened both my eyes and then dumped me in the driveway of the hospital. He left me lying on the concrete in the rain and didn’t even honk the horn to let anyone know I was there.”

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Sid.” I was crying now. Not even my mother would be that hateful.

  “I had nothing but the clothes on my back. I didn’t even have change for the bus. When they let me out of the hospital, I had to walk home. It took me two hours.” I reached over and took her hand as she continued. “When I got back to our apartment, I found out that my parents had packed everything up and moved away. They didn’t even tell me where. I called my mom’s cell phone and she told me that her son was dead and to never call her again.”

  Sid took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing as I stroked her hand. “Her son. Because it didn’t matter to them that I had known I wasn’t a boy since I was five years old. They’d rather I was dead than have me become who I was supposed to be.”

  “What did you do?” I silently cursed her parents for abandoning her.

  “I knocked on my neighbour’s door. We had known him for years and I thought maybe he’d help me.”

  “Did he?” I whispered. I was almost afraid to hope that this gentle, beautiful girl had finally caught a break.

  “He let me come in and use his shower. He fed me dinner and let me sleep on his couch. And in the middle of the night, he woke me up and told me it was time to pay him back for his generosity.”

  “No,” I breathed.

  Sid nodded. “Yeah. I was still recovering from what my father did to me. I couldn’t even begin to fight him off with a broken arm and broken ribs. He held me down and raped me, cracking another rib in the process.”

  “No. Oh, Sid. I’m so sorry,” I wished desperately that there was something I could say to make her past disappear. I hugged her tightly. She hugged me back, to make me feel better, I think.

  “I got up in the middle of the night and stole his wallet while he was asleep and left. I came to Toronto and never looked back.”

  I spent the rest of the night, watching Sid while she slept, rubbing her back and covering her up every time she kicked off her blankets. She was right. She had reasons to be on the street that I never even imagined. I couldn’t begin to understand anyone treating her so horribly. I wished desperately that I had been there to protect her.

  I was struggling with how I was feeling about her as I watched her dreaming beside me. I had never had a friend like Sid. I could tell her anything and she’d never judge me or think less of me. What I felt for Sid made me realize that the crush I had on Benjy wasn’t really love. I had never been in love. I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what this feeling that I was having for Sid was.

  But loving Sid brought up a lot of questions about me. Would that mean I wasn’t actually gay? Or more gay? I was more confused than I had ever been.

  Chapter 16

  John’s Story

  Despite his cough and the colder nights, John still refused to come and stay at the theatre with Sid and me. We had brought him some fresh bread and chicken noodle soup for a picnic dinner. It wasn’t fry bread and venison stew but I had walked all the way to Yonge and Bloor for his favourite soup, so he was happy.

  John always liked to sit around after dinner and talk late into the night. “All we’re missing is the fire,” he’d tell me. Tonight was no exception. He ate one last piece of bread, using it to sop up the last of his soup.

  He patted his belly. “That hit the spot,” he smiled. He lit a hand-rolled cigarette and leaned back in his camp chair. He had downed a few beers with his dinner so he was feeling chatty.

  “Did I ever tell you about my home?” he asked.

  “No,” Sid answered, crossing her legs and settling in for a story.

  “I lived in a little mining town right near Joe’s home,” he gestured toward me. “Up near Sault Ste. Marie.” I nodded at him. “When I got out of school, I got a job on a road crew. It was hard work. Manual labour. But it paid well. I met a nice girl and settled down. Never stopped drinking though. My wife hated that. I drank more back then. And I had a temper.” He looked ashamed. “We got married. Had a couple of kids. I should have been happy. Bought a little house that we both loved and my wife planted a garden. It was everything I ever wanted. But I was drinking too much. Drinking up my paycheque. Staying out with the boys. I started showing up at work drunk or hungover. Lost my job.”

  I was listening intently while Sid held his hand.

  “I picked up odd jobs here and there but mostly drank that money away too. I started avoiding going home because my wife would look at me with such sadness in her eyes. So I stayed away. Stayed drunk.” He took a breath before continuing. “Went home one night, falling down drunk. She told me to be quiet or I’d wake the kids. I got mad and yelled at her. She cried and told me I had to change, get sober, or she’d leave and take the kids. Told me what a disappointment I was. For the first time in my life, I hit a woman. The only one I had ever loved. Hit her and hit her until I heard the kids crying.”

  John was crying now, too. Sid was crying. But I wasn’t. It sounded so much like my own family. Like so many wasted lives on the rez.

  “I ran out and left her bleeding on the floor of our little house. True to her word, she packed up the kids and was gone the next day. Wouldn’t take my calls. Wouldn’t see me. Wouldn’t let me see my kids. Not that I blamed her. But without them, the house wasn’t a home anymore. No one would hire a drunk who beat his wife half to death. I packed a few things and I left. I couldn’t stay there anymore. Every time I walked into the kitchen I’d see the spot she was lying when I stormed out.”

  “You’ve never been back?” Sid asked.

  “Nope. Nothing to go back for anymore. My folks are long dead. My wife married a nice guy who treated my kids like his own. And the house has been empty since.”

  He and Sid kept talking but I couldn’t help but think of what had sent me away. Would I stay away forever too? Out of guilt? I took a gulp of water. John was drowning in guilt because of something he did a lifetime ago. I felt guilty because I was gay. For the first time I wondered if I should have stayed on the rez.

  * * *

  The next few days were awkward and weird. I didn’t know how to act around Sid. I couldn’t help but wonder what my growing feelings for her meant. I wasn’t sure I was attracted to her. It wasn’t about sex, the way it was with Benjy. But I wanted to be around her as much as possible. The only time I really felt good was when I was around her.

  But it made things incredibly confusing for me. I stopped wanting to lie together with her, or to sleep or get changed around her. I stopped hugging her like I used to. Soon I found myself avoiding any contact with her.

  Sid noticed.

  “What is wrong with you?” she asked me one afternoon. She had tried to curl up beside me in one of the bigger chairs in the theatre. I had moved away as soon as she sat down.

  “Nothing,” I answered, not meeting her eyes.

  “Seriously, Joe. You’re acting really weird lately. Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

  “No!” I was horrified “Of course not.”

  “Then what is it? Every time I come near you, you move away
from me. Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asked.

  “No! It’s not that,” I told her.

  “Then what?”

  I sighed. “I can’t tell you.”

  Sid knelt down in front of me and put her hands on my knees. When I tried to avoid her eyes, she forced me to look at her. “You’re my best friend, Joe. You can tell me anything.”

  Sid had all but saved my life. She had given me a place to stay that felt almost like home. I couldn’t keep something from her that was driving a wedge between us.

  “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.” I paused. But as soon as I opened my mouth again, the words started pouring out of me. “I’ve been kind of having feelings for you . . . some kind of feelings. I don’t even know what I’m feeling, you know? And I don’t know what it even means. Does it mean I’m not gay? Because you’re a girl? Or does it still make me gay because you used to be a boy? I just know that I like being around you. I don’t worry so much about things when I’m with you. You know? But what does that make me?”

  I stopped talking and threw my hands in the air. Sid caught them and held them in hers.

  “Joe, it makes you my best friend. You think too much. Not everything needs a label, you know.”

  I hugged her. Hard.

  “I kinda wondered . . .” I began.

  “Yes?”

  “Well I wondered if maybe I’m not gay. Exactly,” I finished lamely.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, genuinely interested.

  “It’s just that . . . I wondered if maybe it’s not so cut and dry, you know? I think I’m two-spirited.” I pulled up a website on my phone and handed it to her before continuing. “In Aboriginal cultures, two-spirited people are highly valued. They embody both male and female characteristics. And . . . I think that might be me. I mean, it explains a lot I think.”

  I watched Sid’s face as she finished reading. She looked up at me and nodded.

  “Yeah,” she said. “This is really interesting. And the way Aboriginal people accepted and even celebrated two-spirited people? It’s amazing!” She kept scrolling through pages of info and flopped down beside me, pointing out bits of info here and there. And this time, I didn’t move away from her.

  Chapter 17

  Making Plans

  I wandered down to the park to visit with John, expecting to see him feeding the pigeons or talking to his favourite squirrel — a grey rodent he called Gregory for some reason. He said it reminded him of a friend he had at school. But John wasn’t there. I wandered down toward the conservatory. John loved walking around in there and looking at the flowers and plants. He said it reminded him of home. He wasn’t there either. I made my way through the park and was about to head back to the theatre when I spotted him sprawled beside a flowerbed wrapped in a blanket.

  I made a beeline for him. I watched as a woman in a navy business suit cut a wide path around him, her face twisted in disgust.

  “John!” I called out, dropping to my knees beside him and ignoring the strong smell of alcohol coming off him in waves.

  A deep cough tore through him, shaking his whole body.

  “Hey Joe.” He tried to sit up but he had clearly been drinking all day.

  I helped steady him. “Are you okay?” I asked, pushing his hair off his face. I pulled out the elastic holding my own hair back and tied his into a ponytail. “There. That’s better.”

  “Thanks, son,” he slurred, patting my arm awkwardly. He coughed again.

  “Maybe we should take you to the walk-in clinic,” I suggested.

  John shook his head violently. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

  “Did you take the medicine I got for you?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Just need to sleep it off,” he told me, coughing into his blanket.

  “John, maybe you should be sleeping at the theatre with me and Sid.”

  He shook his head again. “I like it here. I like being able to see the sky.” He yawned, leaning his head on my shoulder.

  Sid would be wondering where I was. But John started snoring softly, so I leaned back and tried to get comfortable. There was no way I was leaving John alone tonight. I pulled my cell out of my pocket, careful not to wake John and texted Sid.

  John needs me. Staying in the park tonight.

  * * *

  Sid and I counted our money every night. We were working on getting bus fare out of the city. I knew I couldn’t go back home but I figured Sid and I could find somewhere to live. A city small enough that we could afford to rent a place and big enough that there would be jobs for us. I thought maybe we could head to Peterborough or Belleville. I figured we could rent a basement apartment or something and save up for a real home somewhere.

  I told her about the food we made back home, the food I would make for her: venison stew, fry bread, and my Aunt Ava’s famous pecan waffles smothered in maple syrup.

  “You’ve got my mouth watering!” Sid laughed. “The only waffles I’ve ever had came out of a box that says Eggo on it.”

  “You’ve never had homemade waffles?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. My mother was more of a Kraft Dinner, freezer pizza kind of mother. You know . . . until she ditched me.” She raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Well, I’d never ditch you. And as soon as we have a little more money, you can taste those waffles for yourself.”

  “I can’t wait. How much more do we need?” she asked.

  “Forty-eight dollars more and we have enough take us about one hundred kilometres in any direction we choose.”

  Sid nodded. “We can make that in one night. One of us just has to get a date and we’re ready to start over somewhere else.”

  “Maybe John can come too,” I mused. “I’m worried about him. He’s drinking a lot and his cough sounds like it’s getting worse.”

  Sid smiled.

  “Of course he’s coming with us! It wouldn’t be home without John.”

  * * *

  We walked around downtown together that night, knowing it could well be our last night in Toronto. Sid got into it, talking about getting a job in a clothing store. If there was a mall nearby.

  “I’d totally rock a job at Hot Topic!” she said confidently.

  “You could get me a discount on Pop Funko figures!” I said, smiling.

  “Only if you’re nice to me,” she laughed, sticking out her tongue.

  There was a cherry red Audi cruising along beside us. The man inside could have been anyone. Middle-aged and balding with a patchy beard covering his chin. He was staring at Sid with a greasy smile on his face. There was something about him that made my skin crawl.

  “What about him?” Sid asked. She nodded over at the guy driving at a snail’s pace beside us. The man smiled again and waved at us.

  Yeah. There was definitely something creepy about him. “No. He gives me the creeps. We’ll find someone else.”

  “We’ve been walking around for hours!” Sid complained. “My feet are killing me and I’m hungry. It’ll take twenty minutes and we’ll have enough money to get bus tickets.”

  “Not him, Sid. There’s something not quite right about him. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Joe.” She turned to the man and waved back at him. He pulled over and parked beside us. “It’ll be fine. He looks nice enough. Even drives a nice car. I can probably get at least seventy-five out of him. Twenty minutes and I’ll meet you back here. Okay?” She squeezed my hands and looked at me imploringly. It was that look . . . I could never say no when she gave me that look.

  “Fine,” I told her. “But right back here in twenty. No longer. I don’t trust him.” I glanced at him and tried to look threatening.

  “You coming?” he called out at Sid, completely ignoring me. Sid hugged me quickly, and then turned.

  “
You bet, handsome. Nice car.” She climbed into the passenger side and winked at me as the man pulled away from the curb.

  Chapter 18

  Finding Sid

  I wandered around, uneasy and checking my phone every few minutes to check the time. The twenty minutes Sid had promised me was taking an eternity. At the ten-minute mark, I wandered back to where Sid had been picked up. I paced back and forth, up and down the street and looked for the red Audi.

  At fifteen minutes, I was waiting impatiently for Sid to come back, wishing that she hadn’t had to hustle that awful man for money. I shouldn’t have let her go with him, I told myself. I should have found a date myself. But the truth was, Sid wasn’t one to let anyone tell her what she could or couldn’t do. If she wanted to get in the car with that guy, she would. Even if something about him made me incredibly uneasy.

  I sighed and looked at my watch. It had been twenty-one minutes since Sid had left with that guy. I looked up and down the street. No sign of her. I walked to the end of the street and looked around the corner. Nothing. I walked back to the other end of the street. No sign of the red Audi. It had now been twenty-seven minutes. Going on half an hour.

  Where is Sid?

  I called her cell phone. It rang and rang until her chirpy voice rang out.

  “Sid! Oh my God . . . where the hell are you?” I said, before realizing that I was talking to her voicemail. I ended the call and looked down the street again. Nothing.

  I walked back to the other end of the street and dialled her number again, then stared up in shock as I heard her phone ringing from somewhere nearby. I started walking toward the sound. Then running.

  I saw her bag sticking out from behind a dumpster. It was inside an alleyway that neither of us would ever venture into under normal circumstances. But this was far from normal.

  I rushed to her bag, hearing her ringtone getting louder. I saw what looked like a broken mannequin stuffed behind the dumpster as I reached down to snag what I knew was purse.