“Do you think they will?”
My mom sighed heavily, looking troubled. “I don’t know, Floyd. I hope so. We can’t just ignore what’s going on. We’ve had twenty-four suicide attempts in the past couple of months.”
“What? No. No way. That can’t be right.”
“It is,” my mom insisted.
I felt like I was going to pass out. That many people had tried to kill themselves? That couldn’t be true. How could it be? Wouldn’t someone have come in and done something? Wouldn’t we be on the news?
“No. That’s impossible.” I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. There was just no way it could be right.
“I know. But it’s true.”
“Why aren’t we on the news? I mean . . . why isn’t anyone doing anything to help us?” I’m not sure who I thought could swoop in and rescue us. But twenty-four suicide attempts in just a few weeks sounded like a national crisis to me!
“I don’t know, Floyd. Your father tried to get the media to pay attention. But they had just covered suicide among young people on another reserve. They told him that the story had already been done.”
“‘Already been done’?” I nearly gagged. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. “Did they do anything to help the other reserve?” I asked.
My mom shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
“And that was it?” I demanded. “They did the story and then just left without trying to help them?”
My mom sighed. “They also did a follow-up story.”
“About what?”
“After the news story aired, there was an increase in the number of suicide attempts on that reserve.”
“An increase? Why?”
“Something about suicide being contagious.”
“Contagious how?” I asked. This was so mind-blowing.
“They said that seeing stories on the news about suicide can give people the idea that it’s a way out for them too.”
“Then why would they do another story?”
She sighed and rubbed at her temples. I didn’t blame her.
My own head was ready to combust thanks to all the new
information hitting it. “I don’t know, Maskosis. I don’t understand any of this either.”
“But how could it be twenty-four? Here on this reserve?”
“I really don’t know, son. But more people are trying. Not just kids either. We’ve been trying to keep it from most people, but Mr. Fortier’s death a couple of weeks ago was a suicide. Some don’t really want to die. Some do and don’t succeed. Some try more than once.”
“That’s awful.”
“It is.”
“But still . . . twenty-four. That’s a lot.”
“Yes. Too many.” She took my hand and stroked it.
I hadn’t realized so many people had wanted to die enough to actually try killing themselves. Or that they would try more than once if they failed. I wondered briefly if Aaron had tried before he succeeded.
“Someone needs to do something,” I said. I thought of all of the ideas the guys and I had talked about.
“I know you want to help, Floyd. You care so much. For our people and our home. That’s what will make you a great Chief someday.”
I thought about my mother’s words as I headed to my room. I had to meet my friends soon but first I needed to write. It was the only thing I could do to try and get my head around all of this. I don’t know why I was shocked that it wasn’t just young people who were looking for a way out. What kind of future did the rez have if there weren’t any kids my age and younger left?
Would I make a good Chief? Not if I didn’t start standing up to my dad and talk to him about my ideas. I vowed to myself to find a way to make him listen.
Lights up.
All is quiet on the rez.
The smells of fry bread, dry leaves, and dying fires permeate the autumn air.
Old Mr. Fortier rocks on his front porch, looking down at a well-worn photo album.
His wedding album.
Photos of his wife, who he lost.
Mr. Fortier: So beautiful.
He runs his fingers over a photo of his wife, beaming on their wedding day.
Mr. Fortier: I never thought you’d be the one to leave.
I figured I’d be the first to go. I knew you’d be sad. But you’d carry on with your church group and your flower garden. Your friends would come around and visit every day. Their husbands would come and help take care of the house and the yard after I was gone. You’d be fine. Maybe you’d even get married again. But me? I don’t know what to do without you.
He turns one page, then another. He sighs.
Mr. Fortier: I’ve tried. I really have. I lie awake in our bed and try to ignore the cold, empty spot beside me where you used to dream. I sit at our table and try not to look at the empty chair across from me. I wake up. I go to bed. And I try not to feel like I’m completely alone.
He closes the photo album and picks up a handgun, running his fingers over the cold metal the same way he caressed the photos of his wife.
Mr. Fortier: I miss you. Every single minute I’m here without you is painful. I could live without you . . . sadly. Unhappily. Desperately. Without any hope. My life is as empty as this house is without you. So I choose this.
He holds up the gun.
Mr. Fortier: Because this is easier than trying to live this
life here.
Lights go down until we are left in complete darkness.
The silence is broken by the cracking sound of a gunshot.
Chapter 13
Selling Our Past
It was a perfect day for walking. A light breeze kept the late August heat from settling too heavily. The soft sounds of the rez were comforting, even though I could hear everything I’d eaten for breakfast churning around in my stomach. I had no idea what my father was up to. But I knew that the ideas I had were good ones and worth my dad’s time to listen to.
I picked the guys up on my way past. I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I just needed my friends with me. Or at least I thought I did. Then Charlie and Jasper started one of their crazy debates.
They kept pace beside me, step for step. They were
chattering like a couple of blackbirds. The sound of their
voices was raucous and grated in my ears as I tried to tune them out. It didn’t work.
“Venom is just another side of Spider-Man, right?” Charlie’s voice cut into my thoughts. Here we go again. This had been an ongoing argument since we’d binge-watched a bunch of superhero movies a few weeks ago. You should have heard them after we saw The Incredible Hulk. Charlie was completely obsessed with the fact that Bruce Banner’s shirts always got ripped to shreds when he hulked out, but not his pants. It was enough to make you want to drive a stick through your
eardrum, just so you could avoid listening to them go on and on.
“Nah, man. Venom is some kind of alien life form who attacks Spider-Man. Everyone knows that.”
“I’m telling you, Jas . . . it’s the same guy!”
“Did you even see the freakin’ movie, man? Wasn’t that you sitting right beside me? If Venom was Spider-Man, how the hell did he end up on that other guy, fighting Spider-Man? He wasn’t fighting himself, man!”
“Maybe! Maybe it was one of those good versus evil things, Jas! One of those, whatdoyoucallits? When something makes no sense?”
“An enigma, like E. Nygma, the Riddler,” I muttered. They even had me doing it! “For crying out loud, can you two stop arguing about this crap? Charlie, it’s not the same freakin’ guy, okay? Jeez.”
There was silence for almost a minute.
“I told you so.” Jasper always needed to have the last word. I caught his furtive glance in my direction and rolled my eyes. “Anyway, what are we doing today? C
harlie’s staying at my place tonight. You want to stay too, Floyd? My mom’s working so we have the place to ourselves.”
It was tempting. Pizza and a movie, maybe some PS4. “Yeah, maybe. We should invite Mouse too,” I said.
“But . . . then we can’t watch Deadpool! It’s restricted. He’s too young for that movie. I don’t want any part in corrupting our youth, man,” Jasper said, folding his arms across his chest. I stared at him, trying to decide if he was being serious.
He was.
I caught Charlie’s eye and we both burst out laughing.
“What?” Jasper asked. “He’s just a little kid!”
We were gasping for air at this point.
“Stop!” Charlie gasped, holding his stomach. “You’re killing me, man!”
“Oh, shut up.” Jasper pushed Charlie, sending him crashing to the ground. It didn’t help. Charlie was still laughing from where he lay.
“Hey, what are those?” I asked, nodding toward some
fluttering neon-coloured papers. They seemed to be attached to everything we passed. One blew past me. Charlie reached over and grabbed it. He frowned at it as he got to his feet.
“What’s it say?” Jasper demanded, trying to look over Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie elbowed him away. “Charlie! Let me see! Come on!”
Jasper snatched at the paper but Charlie held it above his head. I reached over and took it from him.
I read silently. It was something about an appearance by “film star Kevin Feldman” at the community centre. Oh, jeez. What the hell was my dad thinking? Was this his big plan?
I crumpled it up and stuffed it in my pocket before the guys could read it.
“What does it say, Floyd?” Jasper asked.
“Nothing. It’s garbage. Come on. Let’s go down to the lake.”
Me and my friends spent most summer days down by the lake. Teenagers were drawn there like ants to honey. Usually someone brought a bottle of cheap whiskey to pass around. Relationships started on the shores of the lake. Couples were just as likely to end things there as well. Fights broke out and accusations flew back and forth. He cheated. She cheated. He got into too many fist fights. She spent too much time gossiping with her friends.
He was a selfish asshole. She was a stuck-up bitch. There was always something to do or someone to watch down at the lake. The lake was better than TV to me and my friends.
It was also a good place to escape from home when things got too crazy. I had been going down there for years to find a place to be by myself. At sunset, the loons came out and put on a show, calling to each other and gliding back and forth on the water right in front of the shore. There was a spot down the beach from the bonfire pit where I could sit back against an old log by myself and just think. I thought about escaping a lot when I was younger — taking off and moving far, far away. But I had never known any home other than the rez and this was where my heart was. The forest, the lake, the houses, and the people . . . they were a part of me. It was hard to explain. But this place was in my blood.
The guys and I walked down toward the water. I was thinking of my dad and his “grand plan” with Kevin Feldman. The guys were embroiled in yet another superhero debate. Jasper was bouncing around Charlie excitedly.
“Dude! Dude! Listen. So if, like, Batman and Superman got into a fight, who do you think would win? Not like that lame movie. Like in real life.”
Oh, for crying out loud. Not this crap again.
I raised my hand to get their attention but Jasper was on a roll. “’Cause Superman can fly and he’s super strong, right? But Batman has the freakin’ Batmobile, man! He’s got that Bat Grappler hook thing! He’s got Batarangs!”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as I watched Charlie shove him away.
“Jasper, will you shut up, man? What is this psychotic
obsession with superheroes? Superman is the freakin’ Man of Steel, ya dick! How the hell is a Batarang supposed to stop Superman?”
So much for thinking Charlie might be the voice of reason. And there was another of those stupid flyers! Jasper grabbed one before I could distract him. His eyes darted across the page, widening slightly.
“Hey! You guys seen this?” Jasper held out the crumpled flyer.
Charlie reached out took it from him. He scowled as he read it.
I already knew what it said.
NATIVE YOUTH FOR A BETTER TOMORROW!
Come out and see how you can make a difference
in your community!
Saturday night – 7:00 p.m.
with special guest speaker, film star Kevin Feldman
“Some meeting of the elders trying to warn us about the dangers of booze, drugs, and sex?” Jasper laughed.
“Not like we’re getting much of any of that stuff.” Charlie rolled his eyes skyward. “Why are they bringing in Kevin Feldman to talk to us? I mean, what the hell would he know about native youth?”
“What do you mean?” Jasper asked.
“He’s a white guy, man! What the hell do they think a white guy is going to have to say? Does he live on a rez? No. Has he spent time on a rez? No. Does he actually know anyone who lives on a rez? No!”
“Maybe he saw one in a movie once,” Jasper shot back.
“It’s one thing for the elders to have something to say about our lives. But some white actor who happened to ride a horse in one movie? Because he spent some time with a bunch of Indians who were the extras on his lame-ass movie, he thinks he knows anything about us? I hate that crap, man! What a dick!”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Kevin Feldman was a dick. He was a no talent Hollywood hack. My dad actually liked his movies —
his early movies — from when he was a kid. I guess they were okay. Mostly because of the other kids in them. But Kevin Feldman had sold out and basically would do anything to keep himself in the spotlight. And this? That’s exactly what it felt like. That this was just another project for him to get his name in the media and try to regain the fame he had lost when he hit puberty and started
making really bad movies. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why my dad thought we would care about anything Kevin Feldman had to say.
It seemed like we had seen a hundred flyers by the time we made it down to the lake. There were already a bunch of kids there. I had to practically step over a couple sprawled out by the fire pit. They were so into each other . . . and wrapped around each other that they didn’t notice me anyway.
“Hey, Ben,” I called out as I passed. He waved a hand in my direction without disentangling himself from the girl.
I couldn’t tell who she was from this angle. But I figured I’d hear about it later. Secrets are pretty hard to keep on the rez.
Charlie and Jasper settled down beside a group of kids and started talking about Kevin Feldman. I nodded at a girl named Ingrid and sat down alone. I pulled the flyer out of my pocket
and smoothed it on my leg. What was my dad doing? I stared at it for a second, then shook my head and crumpled it up again, throwing the paper into the fire.
Normally I liked hanging out with my friends by the lake. But today . . . I just couldn’t do it. I thought maybe
I should go see what Mouse was doing. I had promised him I’d take him fishing and I didn’t want him to think I was just blowing smoke.
“I’m off to Mouse’s,” I called out to Charlie and Jasper. Jas was deep in conversation but Charlie looked up and cocked an eyebrow at me. I shrugged at him and he nodded back. Sometimes it’s good to have friends you don’t even have to explain yourself to. Or say anything at all.
This is the transcript of an actual scene from one of Kevin Feldman’s horrible B-movies:
Fade in on a couple, standing in the doorway of a house. Soft light shines from the room behind them and the sound of rain can be heard.
Kevin Feldman: I w
ish we had more time together.
Random blonde chick in bikini: You could spend the night.
KF: I wish I could, baby. I know you need me. But the United States Postal Service needs me more.
RBCIB: Stay. Please stay. You’re in danger out there.
KF: I know, baby. I know.
RBCIB: Then you’ll stay?
KF: I can’t. If I don’t risk my life out there, people don’t get their mail.
What the hell was my father thinking? True, I didn’t have any first-hand knowledge of their grand plan. But there was no way this wasn’t just another lame attempt by Kevin Feldman to be relevant. It was kind of his thing. He had been on a Save the Wild Horses kick for about a minute and the press actually showed up. But not for him. He had jumped on the bandwagon when Katy Perry had already started
raising awareness. Then it was global warming. But Leonardo DiCaprio already had the market cornered on that one. So no one bothered with Feldman or the godawful anthem he had written.
I wasn’t the only one who thought Kevin Feldman was a joke. There was a meme floating around for a while that said “Save the Wild Horses” with a picture of Feldman’s face pasted on a horse’s ass. It was pretty funny actually.
And my father had brought him here to “help”?
Chapter 14
Home from Away
Following the road away from the lake, I started back toward Mouse’s place. I took the shortcut through Mr. and Mrs. Maynard’s field. The dozen or so cows that the Maynards owned, looked up as I passed. One, a jersey named Dolly I knew well from prior shortcuts, followed me across the field and kept pace with me step for step. I reached out and touched her side. I patted her warm flank and listened to her chew her cud as she walked.
“You’re a good old cow, Dolly,” I said. Yes, I talked to the cow. She seemed to like it. She tilted her head and brushed her wet nose against me. We were coming to the gate at the end of the road . . . the end of the line for Dolly. I gave her one last pat and vaulted the fence smoothly.
Mouse lived about a five-minute walk down the road from the Maynards. I’d only gone half that distance when I could see
Rez Rebel Page 6