Fire Song

by Adam Garnet Jones

  “You’re back.”

  Shane spins around at the sound of Janice’s voice. One glance tells him this isn’t going to be a friendly visit. “Yeah. I thought I’d put a couple hours in.”

  Janice takes a pull on the cigarette that never seems to leave her lips. “Got something that you want to tell me?”

  Shane figures it’s safest to play dumb. Who knows what this is about. “Not really. Same shit different day. You know.”

  “Nothing?”

  Shane wipes sweat from his lip and shakes his head.

  Janice frowns. “You take some sheet metal from over there?

  Ah—there it is. Shane looks down at the ground, trying to remember the last time he was in genuine shit with anyone other than his uncle.

  “You can’t do that, Shane.”

  “It was by the garbage. I didn’t think you would care.” Shane yanks hard at the snaking ribbon of plastic in his hands. The other end pops out of the ground and gooses Janice from behind. Janice yelps and jumps about a foot in the air, which, for a woman who exercises about as often as she eats a green salad, is really something. Shane stifles a smile as Janice reaches out to retrieve her smoke from the dirt. When she rises up again, her face is redder than normal. This can’t be good.

  “Sorry, Janice.”

  Janice plugs the cigarette back into her mouth. “You bet you’re sorry. I’m gonna have to let you go.”

  “Why? For some scrap that was just rusting to shit back here? I can pay you back if you really want.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Feels like the point to me.”

  Janice takes a long drag on her smoke. It’s almost down to the filter. Shane doesn’t have long to change her mind.

  “I have nothing else, Janice. I need the money.”

  Janice takes an envelope out of her inside pocket and passes it to Shane. “The ladies at the church took up a collection for you and your mom.”

  Shane looks. Small bills are crowded into a wad. It looks like a couple hundred bucks, three if he’s lucky. “Thanks. This doesn’t really get me anywhere but …”

  Ashley opens up the side door and pokes her head out. “Janice, the till’s stuck again.”

  “Just give it a smack.”

  “I already did.”

  Janice shakes her head and flicks the butt of her cigarette into the yard. She tosses Shane a “Good luck,” and turns her back, looking more than a little relieved to be going back inside.

  Shane kicks the dirty snake of black plastic and shoves the money into his pocket. Before he goes, he grabs a few more pieces of sheet metal. He doesn’t need them, but it’ll piss Janice off and that’s good enough for now. As he drags the sheets away, his phone buzzes with a text message from Debbie: Come by if you wanna work.

  chapter sixteen

  Roberta is the smartest, kindest, best person, but she doesn’t have a clue. I asked her once about what kind of school I would have to do to help kids like she does. Eight more years of school, she told me. Eight! And she still doesn’t have any idea how to help us. Me neither, but I didn’t go to school. She handed out these cheesy sheets today that were written like legal contracts where we promised to call Roberta or our “buddy” if we’re ever thinking about killing ourselves. Right. Nice idea but I don’t think a little sheet of paper is going to do much if somebody wants to go through with it. Shane had taken off by then so creepy Kyle jumped in to be my “suicide buddy.” Ugh. No thanks.

  I love that Roberta is here though. Even if she doesn’t solve anything, I like to imagine her going to school down south year after year, dreaming of doing good and caring enough to come back and try. It helps to know that. It really does. It makes me wish I was strong enough to do something someone could look up to. But I don’t think people get very much out of poems. You can’t eat a poem. It won’t keep you warm. It’s not going to filter the water or keep kids from being taken into care. But I keep thinking that a really good one—the right magic combination of words—might save your life.

  Roberta asked us to make a list of ten things that, no matter what happens, make life worth living. I only came up with four.

  1. Books.

  2. Writing.

  3. Shane.

  4. The possibility of seeing my mom again.

  chapter seventeen

  A crow hops along the ditch in front of Shane, calling out to no one in particular, like a kid yelling at a video game. He scans the low clouds that hang like damp laundry, warning of a storm that won’t come until tonight.

  David’s voice calls out from behind him. “Shane!”

  Shane glances back, but doesn’t slow his pace.

  “Just tell me you’re okay and I’ll leave you alone,” David calls.

  Shane stops. All the possible responses arrive simultaneously in a hopeless jumble. Saying nothing is better than saying the wrong thing. Shane starts to walk again.

  “Where are you going?”

  Shane raises the cup of coffee in his hand. “Debbie’s.”

  “Uh … why? It’s daytime.”

  “I might do some work for her.” Shane can’t muster the courage to meet David’s eyes. He never talks about it, but everyone knows the reason David’s parents aren’t on the rez anymore is because Debbie got them hooked on opiates and they wound up on the street down in Thunder Bay.

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Do you really not get how fucked I am right now? I’m still registered for my dad’s band, and they won’t fund me because I live here. Our band won’t fund me until I officially switch over, and they’ve already spent the money for this September. There might have been a way to make it work, at least to get started in Toronto if I spent my inheritance from my dad. But our roof is rotten and mold is everywhere. The band won’t pay to fix it, and my uncle expects me to blow my inheritance on roofing supplies because school is useless for Indians anyways.”

  “Can’t Roberta do anything?” David asks.

  “She’s doing it but it sounds like she’s planning for next year now. Which means I’m stuck for a year and who knows what other shit is going to happen between now and then?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you want me to stay. Even if I’m miserable.”

  David doesn’t argue. Shane starts walking again. Leaving David behind feels like a cloud has passed over the sun. It’s cooler without him. After a few moments, Shane hears footsteps behind him.

  “I’m coming with you,” David says.

  “Fine. Just don’t screw this up for me.” He glances at David and smiles in spite of himself.

  *

  When they step onto Debbie’s property, Shane’s mouth goes dry and his chest tightens like a drum held over a fire. He’s been here plenty of times, but only just to hang out or grab a bottle of something. The ramshackle buildings look different in the daylight, spread out over the property like a disease. He doesn’t see Debbie at first. She would be perfectly camouflaged if her garish red lips weren’t there to draw attention to the round gray stone of her face floating in the middle of the silver-planked porch.

  “That coffee for me?”

  Shane nods.

  “Good boy.” Debbie cocks her head at David. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” David opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again.

  Shane jumps in. “You wanted to see me?”

  Debbie leans back in her chair. “I heard you and your mom aren’t doing so good.”

  “We’re fine.”

  “Still, I bet you could use some cash.”

  Shane shrugs. “Maybe.” Debbie narrows her eyes like she’s trying to make up her mind about something. He feels it like a shiver along his back.

  Debbie smiles, apparently satisfied. “If you get caught selling,
that’s it for you, you know. No more school.”

  “How much could I make?”

  “Up to you. If you’re smart and you work hard, anything’s possible.”

  Shane nods. “Why me though?”

  “Fishing for compliments?” Debbie grins. “People say you’re quick. I could use some brains around here, simple as that.”

  Shane catches this kid Robbie out of the corner of his eye. He moves along the edge of the clearing that borders the compound, pausing like a deer that’s sniffing the air for danger.

  Debbie calls out to him. “Get your ass over here! Your mom told me you would be here half an hour ago!” Robbie clambers up the porch steps.

  “Gimme a sec.” Debbie slides off her stool and walks toward the corner, her gumball-pink sandals flapping wetly on the undersides of her feet. She crouches down and opens the safe behind the counter. Debbie’s collage of the dead rises up on the wall behind her. It features Debbie’s brother Ross, who hung himself; Andrea, the funny big-nosed girl who disappeared after a bush party; Annie-Mae and all her friends who were in the back of the pickup when it rolled one night; Grace, the girl with Down’s who mysteriously got pregnant and then even more mysteriously fell through the ice; Makwa, the one everybody called “it” because the doctors called her a boy when she was born but she fought it until the day they found her strangled in an alley; Greg, the young guy who people said was born angry, who got shot by police in Toronto; and Destiny. The sweet-and-sour little bundle that he loved more than anything in the world, found at the end of a rope. Stolen.

  Debbie flip-flops back to Robbie, who passes her a bill and a fistful of change in exchange for a little baggie. “All right now, get outta here before your mom calls me looking for you.” Robbie skitters over the scattered gravel in the yard and disappears into the trees. Debbie pulls a package out from under her arm and holds it out for Shane.

  “I did this up for you.”

  Shane glances from the package to David. “How old is Robbie now?” Shane asks.

  “I don’t know … twelve, thirteen …”

  Shane shakes his head. Debbie rolls her eyes.

  “Don’t be like that,” Debbie says. “If I wasn’t selling to these kids, somebody else would. At least with me people know what they’re getting. Nothing’s cut with scary shit, the pills are all brand-name. None of that knock-off garbage from China or Mexico.”

  “I’m sure the elders are glad to know they’ve got you to look out for the youth,” David says.

  Debbie flaps her hands in the air like a couple of hand puppets. “Blah, blah, blah, I ain’t even hearing you.” Debbie slides the package across the counter toward Shane. “Price list is in the bag. You bring me the cash in under two weeks and I’ll hand over your cut.”

  Shane catches David’s eye. David points his lips to the clearing; they can still walk away. Shane eyes the package warily, then picks it up. It takes everything Shane has not to follow when David turns and walks down the driveway without a word.

  After a moment Debbie folds her arms. “We good?”

  Shane is planted in place; it feels like he’ll be trapped in this spot, held in this second forever. But time continues to tumble forward as always.

  “We’re good.” Shane wanders down the porch steps and into the clearing that surrounds the compound.

  Debbie calls after him, “Hey! Put that shit away.”

  Shane looks down at the bag from Debbie like he forgot he’s carrying a bomb. He scans the area for anyone watching, then shoves the bag into his backpack. Debbie chuckles to herself as he heads into the bush and down the hill.

  There is no sign of David when Shane gets to the main road. It might be better that he’s gone. Shane can think more clearly on his own. If David were here he would feel guilty about taking the bag from Debbie, but now alone, he can admit that the beating in his chest isn’t all fear. There’s excitement in him too. Maybe even the beginning of a kind of happiness. If this is what it takes to get him to Toronto—to a real education and freedom and options and a bit of anonymity for him and David for once in their lives—it’s worth it. David is against it now, but he’ll appreciate it once Shane has some money in his pocket. He’ll feel different when it’s happening for real.

  Shane reaches into his backpack and fingers the bag from Debbie. There are the hard little lumps of pills, crunchy larger pieces of weed, and something else that feels like tiny pebbles, each in their separate baggies. This stuff may not be good for anyone, but it is powerful. It vibrates beneath his fingertips. And even though its darkness gets under people’s skin and eats away at them, even though it turns them against one another, even though it starves and it kills, Shane can’t help enjoying the shiver of pleasure that comes from having that kind of power in his hands.

  He tries to remember if Debbie said anything about how much he would make from a bag like this. It’s going to be more than he would ever make cleaning up at the store, that’s for sure. He can go through the price list and count it up when he gets home. Shane hefts the bag in his hand to feel its weight. It isn’t heavy, but it’s almost as good as money. And money … right now money is the only thing standing between him and the rest of his life. This bag of poison is the closest thing to a real answer that Shane has had in a long time. So fuck it. David will understand eventually.

  Lyndahl waves at Shane from down the street. He’s all long legs and elbows, impossible to mistake for anyone else at any distance. Sweat springs from Shane’s forehead without warning. He wasn’t even hot until a second ago. Lyndahl is walking in the direction of Debbie’s place, but there’s no way to be sure where he’s going without asking him directly. Shane thinks back to the times they’ve hung out. Did he ever have a joint in his mouth? Did he talk about getting high on other stuff? How do you even bring that up? Shane waves back at Lyndahl and decides that, no matter what happens, he’s going to try to make a sale. Lyndahl is a nice guy; he’ll be good about it even if he doesn’t want anything.

  “Hey, College,” Lyndahl says. He grins at Shane in that sweet, lazy way he has. “Where you headed?” he asks.

  Shane looks at Lyndahl’s eyes. They might be a little bit red, but he could just as easily be imagining it. “Headed home. You?”

  Lyndahl glances up the street. “Just walking, you know.”

  “Going to Debbie’s?”

  Lyndahl shrugs. “Maybe.”

  This is it. This is the moment. He should say, You don’t need to go that far. I’m selling for her now. He should open his bag and show him what his options are. Tell him it’s all good—none of it’s cut with anything—that’s what Debbie said. Shane stands there bobbing his head like an idiot, trying to get the words out.

  “Later, College.” Lyndahl’s sleepy eyes slide past Shane. The cuffs of Lyndahl’s jeans rasp along the road as he saunters away.

  *

  Shane sneaks quietly into the house. There is almost no chance that Jackie will notice or care what he’s up to, but the habit of softening his footsteps and muffling the click of the door when he’s doing something wrong is hard to break. One night about six months after he and David first started fooling around, Shane told David that he wanted to tell his family that he might be gay. If you do that, David said, I’ll never talk to you again. That stopped the conversation for a long time, but since Destiny died, coming out has felt inevitable.

  Shane came home late that night. Through the window, he could see that Jackie was waiting up for him. She was bent over her beading with her lips pressed together so hard the edges of her mouth were white. She looked up when he opened the door, and he broke down. Couldn’t even keep it together long enough to get his shoes off. His mother held his hot face in her hands and kissed his wet cheeks. She only asked once what had happened, but that only made him cry harder. Because he couldn’t say. That was the whole point. If he said anything, he would lo
se David. But if he didn’t say anything, he was afraid that this love he had never felt before would choke and die of neglect. Or worse, turn into something bitter.

  That night when Jackie held him and let him cry without saying a word, without asking or demanding anything of him, that night it felt like her love was forever. But he needs his mom tonight just as much as he ever did, and where is she? Here and not here. Lost.

  Shane snaps the desk lamp on and tosses the bag from Debbie on top of a sheaf of papers. Time to think strategy. He can’t deal out of his house. Even if his mom doesn’t catch on, he can’t imagine selling here. Some things are just wrong. The community center would figure it out in no time, so that place is out too. People are used to going straight to Debbie’s if they want something, so if he’s going to be successful, he has to go to them. He should probably have something on him at all times so he can sell when people see him too. But how much should he carry? Does he need cash so he can make change? And what about security? Does he need to carry a knife or something in case someone tries to jump him for it? He doesn’t usually lock the door at home; should he start doing that too? What if someone breaks in and they can’t find what they’re looking for? Would they go after his mom? It isn’t right. Nothing about this is right. Shane’s breath comes faster. A prickling starts in his fingers and moves up his arms.

  The chainsaw buzz of Shane’s phone cuts through the room. He picks it up without checking who it is. “Hello?”

  “Hey.”

  “Hey. Who’s this?” Shane asks.

  “What? It’s me. Tara. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just figuring some stuff out. Did Ashley tell you I saw Debbie today?”

  “No, I didn’t hear. Like, you’re working for her now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s great. I mean it sucks, but it’s money, right?”

  “You don’t think I should feel bad?” It was surprising how pragmatic she could be sometimes.