* * *
The police station was pretty close to the hospital. Just a couple blocks down University on Dundas Street. And it wasn’t nearly as sketchy as I was expecting it to be. It was actually pretty nice, the glass blocks and windows letting in lots of light. There weren’t even any convicts chained to a bench in the lobby.
An officer was sitting behind the desk, typing loudly on his laptop.
“Ummm . . . hi?” I interrupted. He looked up with a scowl. I stepped back from the desk nervously.
“Sorry. Stupid computer keeps freezing on me.”
I stepped forward again toward the desk. “Um, did you try rebooting it?”
“Yeah. The tech guys are going to have to deal with it.” He closed the computer. “Sorry about that. How can I help you?”
“I got a call to come and get my friend’s things. John Burnstick?”
“Which officer called you?”
“Officer Walker.”
The cop picked up the phone. “Walker? There’s a kid here to see you. Picking up effects.” He looked up at me. “What did you say the name was?”
“John Burnstick,” I repeated.
“Right. It’s Burnstick,” he said into the phone. He hung up. “He’ll be right down.”
“Thanks.” I looked at the posters on the walls while I waited. Mostly Stay in School and Don’t Do Drugs messages.
“Mr. Littlechief?” A huge guy walked in holding a cardboard box.
“Yes, sir.”
He handed the box to me. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he mumbled.
I nodded mutely. Everything that John owned was in my hands. His life had been reduced to the contents of a cardboard box. It made me incredibly sad. I missed him so much at that moment.
I took the box back to the theatre with me. I set it down on the chair John always sat in when he visited. I tried to prepare myself — it really felt like I was invading his privacy. But it was also all I had left of him.
I opened the box carefully. His cardigan was folded neatly on top. I took it out and touched the sleeve gently. There were more clothes underneath and some tattered photos stuffed into an envelope. There were photos of his wife and kids — old photos, nothing recent. There was even one of a young John with them. He looked so happy! They were sitting on the porch of what must be the house he had told us about.
I looked back in the box and saw an envelope addressed to me in John’s shaky handwriting. My eyes immediately filled with tears. He had left me a note. I opened it carefully and started reading, hearing John’s familiar growl in my head, as if he was right there with me.
Dear Joe,
If you’re reading this, then I’m not around anymore and I didn’t get a chance to tell you everything I needed to say before this illness finally ran its course. I know I’ve been sick for a while. But you made the last few months of my life worth it. You and Sid gave me a family again, and for that I am grateful beyond words.
I told you that I left my home behind when my family left. But what I didn’t tell you is that I never sold the house. It’s still mine, and I’m leaving it to you and Sid. You don’t have to stay here anymore. And you don’t have to go back to live with people who don’t love and respect you just the way you are. You deserve a home. You both do. Go and make my old place a home again.
I’m enclosing the paperwork but I’ve also filed it with a lawyer. You’ll also find my bank information here. I’ve added your name to the account. All the money I received as compensation from the school and any savings I had is in my safety deposit box. I’m giving you the key and everything in it.
Joe, I chose to run away because I was ashamed. Ashamed of who I was and what I had done to my family. But I’m not that person anymore. I have a family again. You and Sid have taken care of me, and let me redeem myself. And maybe that’s your gift, Joe. Maybe that’s why you were sent to me and not someone else. Now I want you and Sid to go home and live a good life. I would have been proud to have you for a son, Joe. And I have loved you like a father.
John
There were tears running down my face when I finished reading. They were tears of sadness for John and his self-imposed life on the street and tears of joy for this amazing gift he had given us. A home! I didn’t have to go back to my mother’s house unless I wanted to. Sid would have a place to heal. We both could have a new life.
Chapter 22
Going Home
Sid was doing well and healing nicely. Her bruises seemed to change colour almost daily. From black, to purple and blue and red, and finally to yellow and green, they were slowly starting to lighten a bit. The ribs would take a while to heal completely. But Sid was up and moving around now. The stab wound was healing nicely. All in all, the doctors considered her a bit of a miracle.
“You should still be flat on your back,” one doctor exclaimed when he saw her walking down the hallway with me. One of the nurses happened to be walking past and laughed at that.
“You clearly don’t know Sid,” she said over her shoulder, throwing a wink our way. Sid had fixed her nails and her hair. She made sure she put a little makeup on whenever she left her room. She actually looked pretty good, all things considered.
And she was eager to get out of the hospital. I had told her about John’s letter and that we now had a home to go to. We even had money to rent a car. She bounced between grieving for John and being excited about leaving the city. And she was becoming a pro at a little game we liked to call “when we get home.”
“When we get home,” she said, being careful not to breathe too deeply, “I’m going to plant a flower garden. NO! A vegetable garden! I’m going to grow the most amazing vegetables, just like John’s wife did.”
“When we get home, I’m going to find an old beater to replace the one that got stolen. I can fix it up and we can drive anywhere we like,” I told her.
“When we get home, I’m going to make spaghetti sauce from scratch with vegetables from my garden. And I’ll can it!” she said.
“You know how to can?” I asked her.
“Not yet. But I’m a good cook,” she assured me.
“When we get home, I’m going to come out. And I won’t care who knows. I’m going to be myself for once. And I’m not going to feel guilty about it anymore,” I added, thinking of John.
“Good for you!” Sid cheered. “And when we get home, I’m going to keep being my amazing self.”
I laughed. “Hear, hear.”
“When we get home I’m only going on dates with people I actually like. People who respect me,” she said quietly.
“Me too,” I agreed. “Me too.”
* * *
It seemed like an eternity until we were finally on our way in the rental car. Instead of playing “when we get home,” Sid kept up a steady stream of questions while she sat sprawled with her bare feet pressing against the windshield.
“So what were you like when you were a kid?” she asked.
I spent the next twenty minutes or so prattling on about my childhood. I told her about my tree house. I made her laugh when I told her that I insisted on being Catwoman one Halloween. When my mother refused to buy me a costume and came home with a Batman costume instead, I told her how I had cut it up in my room and sewn it back together into a Catwoman outfit. My mother was furious and refused to leave the house with me, but my aunt proudly took me from house to house to collect candy. I made the story funny as I told it to Sid, but I remembered how awful my mother had made me feel.
I shifted position as Sid kept throwing out questions.
“How did you do in school?”
“Was there a mall nearby?”
“Do you go to church?”
“Do you have any other family?”
“Are your grandparents still alive?”
“Do you have any hobbies?”
/>
“Do you have pets?”
There really seemed to be no end to the questions that Sid came up with. And I answered every single one with patience and humour.
We left the city behind us. The tall buildings in the rear-view mirror gave way to trees and farms. I sat up and rolled down the window, deeply breathing in the fresh air.
“Smell that?” I interrupted.
“Smell what?” asked Sid, breaking off a monologue about her childhood pet cat Smokey.
“The fresh air! God, I missed that!”
Sid rolled down her window and stuck her head out like a dog, careful not to hurt her ribs or pull a stitch or anything.
“Are we almost there?” she asked.
“About ten more minutes,” I told her. A huge smile lit up Sid’s face. She leaned out the window and closed her eyes.
I pulled into the driveway and for the first time on the entire ride home, Sid was silent. She opened the door and stood up, staring at the house, speechless. I walked around and stood beside her.
“Welcome home, Sid,” I said, putting an arm around her.
“My family only ever lived in a crappy apartment,” she admitted breathlessly.
“I’m your family now,” I said. She nodded.
We didn’t live in a castle or even a mansion. But it was a nice enough place. And Sid would have her own room right beside mine.
“Do you like it?” I asked her.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed.
I turned to get our stuff out of the car and heard her whisper, “Thank you, John,” under her breath.
Epilogue
The road leading into the rez was as familiar to me as my own reflection in the mirror. I hadn’t been back since the night I ran away.
A lot had changed since then. I was living my own authentic life now, as they say. Sid had settled into our new life effortlessly. She had planted her garden and she and our next-door neighbour were elbow deep in tomatoes as I left. They promised to have a lasagna fresh out of the oven waiting for me when I got home. They had promised me apple pie too. It was enough to look forward to, so I drove onto the rez with a smile on my face. People had accepted us. As long as we didn’t cause any trouble they really didn’t care if I was gay. Sid kept busy doing hair for the ladies in our community and always had the latest gossip. She was thriving.
And me? Who was I now that I had a real home and a real family? I was exactly who my mother had hoped I’d be. I had helped John heal from a lifetime of pain and I’d saved Sid’s life. If that wasn’t being a leader and a role model, I don’t know what was. And I had decided my path was going to lead me to help other kids like me and Sid. I had started looking into taking night courses and I was volunteering at a youth centre. I thought, maybe, if my mom gave me a chance, she might actually be proud of me.
I parked my car and got out, walking toward the door without a hint of shame or embarrassment. This was me. Take it or leave it. I might not be welcomed. I might not even be let in the door. But this was my way of saying that I forgave my mother. If she wanted to get to know me again, I was open to it.
I stood before the door and stopped. I looked around. Everything looked the same. Mrs. Archambault across the road was watering her roses. I waved at her, not really expecting much of a response. She waved back at me. Her roses were doing well this year.
Mrs. Running Bear next door was making fry bread. It reminded me I had to make some for Sid so she could try it. The smell of it made my mouth water. I might have changed while I was away, but the rez sure hadn’t.
I knocked, waiting as I heard footsteps inside. The door swung open.
“Hi Mom,” I said, smiling at her.
If you or someone you know needs to talk or is looking for more information, there are some great places you can call or visit online. Here are just a few:
PFLAG Canada offers 24/7 support, education and resources for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and questioning people and their friends and families.
1-888-530-6777
www.pflagcanada.ca
Kids Help Phone also has 24/7 counselling and support available for anyone up to age 20 dealing with bullying, abuse, dating, family issues, LGBTQ and more. Live chat via computer or smartphone is also available.
1-800-668-6868
www.kidshelpphone.ca
Trans Lifeline is for transgender people in crisis and anyone struggling with their gender identity.
1-877-330-6366 in Canada
1-877-565-8860 in the USA
www.translifeline.org
Don’t be afraid to reach out and get help or ask questions. It really does get better.
Copyright © 2016 Melanie Florence
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts Council. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts which last year invested $24.3 million in writing and publishing throughout Canada. We acknowledge the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative.
We acknowledge the [financial] support of the Government of Canada.
Nous reconnaissons l’appui [financier] du gouvernement du Canada.
Cover design: Tyler Cleroux
Cover image: Shutterstock
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Florence, Melanie, author
Rez runaway / Melanie Florence.
(SideStreets)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4594-1162-3 (paperback).--ISBN 978-1-4594-1163-0 (epub)
I. Title. II. Series: SideStreets
PS8611.L668R49 2016 jC813’.6 C2016-902679-5
C2016-902680-9
This digital edition first published in 2016 as 978-1-4594-1163-0
Originally published in 2016 as 978-1-4594-1162-3
James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers
117 Peter St., Suite 304
Toronto, ON, Canada
M5V 0M3
www.lorimer.ca
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