Rez Rebel

by Melanie Florence

  He holds out his hand. She takes it and steps around the food table. Victor wraps an arm around her and pulls her in close.

  It’s cheesy, I know. But I was trying my hand at writing romantic comedy at the time.

  Since my dad had no use for me, I headed back home. Maybe my mom would want me to take her to visit Auntie Martha that night. I jumped out of the truck and took the front steps two at a time. If I hurried, I’d still be able to meet the guys and get some work done on the car we had all chipped in to buy. It was a piece-of-crap beater, probably bright red once but now faded to kind of a rusty orange. We had been working on it for months and finally had it running. But there were still some tweaks we had to make before we could really drive it.

  I figured today we’d be able to finish tuning it up.

  The phone rang while I was busy looking for a snack in the fridge. I heard my mom answer in the other room. After a few minutes, she walked into the kitchen and put a hand on my shoulder. I was washing an apple at the sink and barely looked up.

  “Floyd?”

  Her voice sounded odd. I turned and looked at her. Her face was white as paper.

  “Mom? Are you okay?” I led her to the kitchen table and eased her into one of the chairs. “Tea?” It was the only thing

  I could think to say or do.

  She shook her head.

  “No. Sit down, son.” She held my hands as I sat down in front of her.

  “Mom? What is it?” I had never seen her like this. Her hands shook in mine. Her eyes were swimming with tears. “Mom? You’re scaring me.”

  “Five girls made some kind of a pact. They tried to kill

  themselves last night,” she said. Her voice was shaking almost as badly as her hands.

  “What? What do you mean, a pact?” Had I heard that right?

  “A suicide pact. Three are dead. They’re only twelve and

  thirteen years old.” She drew a breath that caught in her throat. “Two of them are still alive. One is Theresa’s granddaughter.”

  Theresa was our next door neighbour. I had known her my entire life. Her granddaughter, Summer, was five years younger than me. But on the same rez everyone knew everyone else, no matter what age. Summer always had a smile on her face as she spent time with her grandmother, helping with housework and gardening.

  I couldn’t match that smiling little girl with a kid who wanted to end her life.

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going over to Theresa’s now to take her to the hospital.” She looked at me, pushing the hair off my face. “Those poor girls,” she murmured, shaking her head.

  Five of them? No doubt I knew them all. Why would kids so young want to end their lives?

  “If you ever . . . if you felt like that, Floyd . . . you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” she asked.

  “I’d never do anything like try to kill myself, Mom.” I stood up and gave her a hug that nearly lifted her off the floor. “Go and take care of Theresa.”

  She nodded and gathered up some things. She had grabbed her purse and gone out the door by the time I realized I hadn’t even asked her who the other girls were. I’d find out soon enough. If it happened last night, then everyone would already be talking about it.

  Chapter 4

  The Pact

  I pushed my braid back over my shoulder out of habit. A suicide pact? I shook my head. I’d never be able to understand how

  anyone could feel that desperate and hopeless. How bad did it have to be that they couldn’t imagine things ever getting

  better? My life might not be perfect but it always got better in time. Always. I’d never once considered taking a gun out to the woods and ending things.

  But Aaron did.

  I shook my head, trying to get rid of the mental image. The guys would be waiting for me, already talking about the suicides, I was sure. We lived in a community where nothing much ever happened or changed. A suicide pact would have everyone buzzing.

  I thought about it and realized that mom had been getting more and more calls like this one. Not suicide pact calls, thank god. But calls from families grieving for their children. Calls about kids who had taken a way out that I couldn’t begin to wrap my mind around.

  I wondered if any of my friends had thought about it. Other than Aaron, I mean. I hadn’t even known he was depressed.

  I had a sudden need to talk to every one of my friends and ask how they were.

  I grabbed my phone and sent a text to Jasper and Charlie, asking what was up. I could have just met up with them and asked in person, but I didn’t want to wait that long. To be

  honest, I didn’t really feel like hanging out anymore.

  As I waited for the familiar ding to alert me to an incoming text, I logged in to my Instagram account. I noticed I was tagged in a bunch of photos. I clicked idly through. A couple looked the same. Photos of a laptop screen with text. I stopped and read what it said, losing my breath as I scanned the words. I clicked through a couple more of the photos I had been tagged in.

  When it hit me what I was seeing, I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. Each of the girls who had been part of the suicide pact had posted the photo of their note

  on Instagram.

  They sit in a circle around the laptop, staring intently at the screen. The eerie glow lights their faces in the darkened room. There are five of them, all girls with dark hair and eyes that are too haunted for ones so young. They read the words together. Some move their lips. Some look at the screen without blinking.

  “To Whom It May Concern,

  Hell is being a teenaged girl with no future, no life outside of a tiny place that has nothing to offer. All we can expect is teen pregnancy and, if we’re lucky, a minimum wage job as a cashier.

  To our families: we love you. But maybe our absence

  will make your own lives a little easier. Don’t blame

  yourselves. You couldn’t have stopped us and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  They each take a turn at the keyboard, signing their names with no hesitation.

  Katie

  Sara

  Nicole

  Anna

  Summer

  I chewed on the end of my pen and frowned. I had been trying to imagine what had gone through their heads last night. But I didn’t want think about Summer as being

  hopeless. I didn’t want to think about any of the other girls like that.

  I turned the page and tried again.

  THE FIVE PRINCESSES — by Floyd Twofeathers

  Once upon a time there were five princesses. They lived in the tower of a castle; a fortress where nothing and no one could ever get in or out.

  For a long time, the girls were happy in their tower. They had everything they were used to and the stories they told one another. And they had each other. But as they got older, it was no longer enough for them. They started wondering what they were missing. What was outside the walls of their castle?

  “I wish we could play outside,” one of them said.

  “I wish we had more friends,” said another.

  “I wish there were other people who could listen to our

  stories,” sighed another.

  “I wish we could do whatever we wanted to do,” one of the girls said.

  The girls looked at each other. They began arguing about all of the things they felt sure they were missing out on. They forgot about their beautiful home. They didn’t know how dangerous the world outside the tower could be.

  Finally, they decided to venture out of their home and explore. They would look for whatever would make them the happiest in the world.

  The five princesses searched desperately for a way out of their tower. But the only door was locked tightly. It didn’t move even a little when they put all their weight against it. No matter how they pushed or pulled, the
door didn’t budge.

  The only way out of the tower was through the window set in the wall. It looked over endless forests and streams.

  They walked together to the window and looked down.

  “It’s so high,” one of the princesses said. She gulped

  nervously.

  “Too high,” said another. She shook her head.

  “We’ll die if we jump out,” said one princess. She clutched the beaded necklace around her throat.

  “We’ll die if we don’t,” said the fourth princess. “I can’t stay in this tower another minute. I can’t breathe in here.” She climbed slowly onto the window ledge, shrugging off the fifth girl’s hand. She stood there, looking down. “It’s not that high,” she said. She took a deep breath and jumped.

  The other princesses leaned out the window in a tangle of gowns and limbs. They watched as their sister fell to the ground and landed heavily. They watched as she lay still, not moving. They called out to her but there was no reply.

  “She may not have made it,” the princess who had been

  holding her sister’s hand said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t.” And with that, she threw herself out the window. She landed beside her sister. There she lay, still as a shadow.

  “Wait for me!” cried the princess with the necklace. She held out her arms as if she could fly and jumped. Instead of soaring, she fell to the ground.

  Three princesses lay motionless on the stones surrounding the tower. The other two looked down at them.

  “I don’t want to stay here,” one of them said. “But I’m afraid of falling.”

  “Me too,” the other girl replied, gripping her hand tightly.

  “Perhaps we should jump together.” The princess looked down sadly at her sisters who had escaped the tower.

  “Or maybe we should stay,” the other remaining girl said.

  “I’m afraid to jump. But I’m afraid to stay too.”

  The other nodded. Neither option seemed right at that moment. But there was no third choice.

  The girls held hands tightly. They stepped up onto the

  windowsill. They looked far below where their sisters lay. They looked back into the tower.

  They took a deep breath and jumped. Together. Hands clasped.

  Chapter 5

  Dinner at Home

  I closed my notebook slowly. I slid my hand over it, feeling

  the well-worn cover under my fingers. I couldn’t really find the words to talk about so many things, but I could always write it down. I was grateful for that. Writing helped me work out a lot of things. Getting my thoughts down on paper — even when

  it was just a story I made up — somehow made it a little easier to deal with.

  I walked into the kitchen and noticed the sink full of dishes from breakfast. They had been left soaking but my mom had to leave before she could get to them.

  As I emptied the sink and then refilled it with soapy water, I thought about how tired my mom and dad had been lately. Neither of them was getting much sleep. I knew that their jobs as medicine woman and chief were exhausting in the best of times. And this wasn’t the best of times. Not even close. How could they heal and lead a community that couldn’t find the will to get better or move forward?

  I knew the guys were expecting me to come by. And I really wanted to hang out with them; get some work done on the beater. But I figured maybe there was something I could do to make life a little easier for my parents. Even if it was just for one night.

  I spent the next hour chopping and sautéing. I made a huge mess of the kitchen. My mom had taught me how to cook when I was a kid. I usually griped a bit when I was asked to whip something up, but she knew as much as I did that I enjoyed it. It reminded me of helping her collect the right plants and roots and combining them to make something to cure colds or fever or whatever. Cooking was to make something to feed and nourish. For both healing and cooking, getting the ingredients just right was a science.

  I scrubbed the last of the breakfast dishes while the pasta and sauce bubbled on the stove. My parents walked in together, looking drained.

  “Something smells good,” my mom called out. She dropped her bag onto a chair and walked into the kitchen.

  “Taste,” I ordered, going to the stove and stirring the sauce.

  I held out the wooden spoon to her. She put her lips to it but I knew she wasn’t really tasting it. Exhaustion and sorrow were etched into her face.

  “It’s perfect,” she told me, trying to smile. She reached out and touched my face.

  I put the spoon down.

  “How’s Summer? Is she going to be okay?” I asked even though I was afraid to hear the answer.

  My mom pulled out a kitchen chair. She lowered herself into it carefully as though she was in pain. “I hope so. They flew her to another hospital. Her organs are badly damaged. They have to keep her in an induced coma. They won’t know more until she wakes up.”

  “And the other girl?” I asked.

  “Nicole.” My mom shook her head sadly. “She didn’t

  make it.”

  I slumped down beside her.

  “So Nicole, Katie, Sara, and Anna are dead?” I asked.

  I thought my mom might ask how I knew which girls signed the pact. But I worried that telling her about the girls posting their intentions on social media would make her feel worse. She knew as well as I did that those five girls were as tight a group as my own. You rarely saw one without seeing all five. My heart hurt suddenly as I realized I’d never see the five of them together again.

  Four of them gone and one in critical condition. Our children were dying one at a time.

  My mom reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’ll set the table,” she said as my father walked into the room, hair wet from the shower.

  Dad sat down and picked up the mail from the bowl in the centre of the table. He leafed through it, putting some envelopes in a pile and opening others. His reading glasses were perched on the end of his nose, threatening to slip off any second. I could tell he was going through the mail

  without really seeing it. He looked as drained as my mother.

  “Dad?” I hated to add to his stress. But I needed to talk. He glanced up over the rims of his glasses. He looked almost startled to see me sitting across from him. I wasn’t surprised. He barely noticed anything around him lately.

  He raised his eyebrows at me.

  “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind . . .” I swallowed before continuing. “But . . . I just wondered . . . is there anything I can do? To help you?” I saw him glance over at my mother before putting down his mail and taking his glasses off.

  “I wish there was, son. The council is trying to bring in more money and the right people. But there’s not much else you can do except this.” He gestured around the kitchen. “Help out your mom. That helps both of us.” He put his glasses back on and opened another envelope.

  I glanced over at my mom. “Yeah. I will. But . . . I thought . . . maybe you and I could talk?”

  “Talk?” My dad glanced down, dismissing me. “Umm, yeah. Sure. Or you could talk to your mom too, you know.” He stood up suddenly. “I need to get something,” he said. He left the room without looking back at me.

  Wow. It took him less than five seconds to shut me down and banish me from his mind.

  My mom’s voice broke through my thoughts. “I think the pasta is ready, Maskosis. Can you come and drain it?” she said gently.

  It was pretty clear that she was trying to distract me from the fact that my father wasn’t able to deal with me. Suddenly I felt a little guilty. My dad wasn’t big on talking about his feelings even when things were going well for him. Why would I think that he should take on my feelings too?

  I took the boiling pot of pasta off the stove and to the sink.

  I closed my eyes
as the steam washed over me.

  My mother leaned over my shoulder, tugging on my braid. “He’s got a lot on his mind, Floyd,” she whispered in my ear. “Your father feels responsible for what’s been happening . . . the suicides and everything.”

  “Why?” I asked, as I dumped the pasta into a serving bowl. “It’s not his fault.”

  “I know. But it’s the hereditary chief’s job to protect our people. He’s supposed to preserve our culture. But he’s watching it die bit by bit and that’s part of the problem.

  He’s trying to figure out how to help everyone. But he feels like nothing he is doing can turn this around.”

  “So what can we do to help?” I asked her.

  She shook her head sadly. “I honestly don’t know,” she said. Then she quickly pasted on a smile as my father walked back in and sat down.

  “Hey, Dad?” I began tentatively.

  “Is dinner ready?” he asked.

  Okay. He couldn’t make it any clearer than that. He didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe it just wasn’t the right time.

  I smiled faintly at my mom and turned to finish making dinner for my family.

  We steered clear of any touchy subjects as we ate. I cracked jokes and told stories about my friends. I talked about the beater and anything else I could think of. I did my best to keep them distracted from everything that was going on right outside our front door.

  I cleaned up after dinner, shooing my parents out of the kitchen and refusing my mother’s offer to help. They desperately needed an early night.

  We all did.

  Once upon a time

  It was a dark and stormy night

  The rez is dying.

  And no one is doing anything about it.

  Chapter 6

  Rez Beater

  My father was rinsing his coffee cup at the sink when

  I walked into the kitchen the next morning. He nodded his good morning to me then leaned down to kiss my mother and whispered something in her ear. She blushed. She grabbed the dishtowel and swatted him with it. They both looked much better today . . .

  like they had actually gotten some sleep. And they were acting like teenagers in love. I shuddered, trying to erase that thought from my head.