Messenger 93

by Barbara Radecki

  “No!”

  “You actually believe it?”

  I didn’t want to rush an answer. But also, the answer was flickering around me like a trapped bird. “Something happened this week that I can’t explain. The messages showed me things I never would’ve known. Things I’m still trying to understand. Were they real crows with real messages? Or was it all in my head — making up crows so I would help myself? I don’t know … But it felt so … It feels so … true.”

  Gray’s voice, his expression, mellowed. “I get it. Sometimes things happen that I can’t explain.” His face brightened slowly. “Or something will work out when it shouldn’t. I get that too. Synchronicity. Signs. All that —” He was measuring something invisible. “I don’t have answers. I thought I did — Or that I would — But — I don’t know either …” He stopped to scrutinize me. Then he said, “We have to be there for each other.”

  “Yes.” I tried a smile. A small one.

  We considered each other in silence. The best thing to be caught in his gaze, even like this, so close to the end.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you, Gray.”

  “I guess I know.” This would be the last time he’d look at me like that — already his gaze was orbiting away. “You tried to do something. And I respect that.”

  He stepped closer, to the side of the bed. I held my breath as he reached out his hand and curved it over mine.

  He kept it there forever.

  Like when one second feels like eons and eras.

  We shared one last soft thread of air. Then he said, “Have a good one,” and he turned and left. The pink curtains drifted after him, caught his elbow, let go, then fluttered to stillness in his wake.

  3

  THEY DECIDED I NEEDED rest and observation, so I spent the next week at home. I got my mom to buy me a stack of those eight-inch paper squares you need for origami, a packet of sparkles, and a few packages of white sequins like the one from Vivvie’s vest. I practiced with the paper a bunch of times until I managed to fold a pretty good supporting cast into existence. Obviously Vivvie’s origami person was going to star as Infinity Girl.

  Filming the stop-action animation took a long time, especially with my left arm still in a sling, but it was exactly the distraction I needed.

  Establishing shot: After falling into a heap at City Hall Square, Infinity Girl rises from despair. She is surrounded by the ruins of her superhero mirrors. Props: White sequins cut into strips. Only one — Vivvie’s — remains whole.

  Passersby see Infinity Girl for the first time. They are shocked and repulsed by her. Cast: Twenty origami people, various colored papers, filmed to look like a bunch more.

  Infinity Girl slowly gathers all the broken pieces of her superhero costume.

  Narrator (Trevor): “She accepts the hatred, pity, and anger of the people. But she is tired of being their mirror.” (Yes, Trevor’s voice is exactly as dorky as you think it is.)

  Infinity Girl makes her way home. Location: Camera-pan past my favorite album-covers. Arrive at bedroom window with shelves of air-plants in glass jars.

  Infinity Girl works tirelessly to restore her mirrors. Props: the diamond-glinting pebble is her easel. Camera zooms in on Infinity Girl’s reflection in a jagged shard.

  Narrator: “Her mirrors will have a different power now. She doesn’t know yet what it will be. But she made herself who she is, and she will do it again. Breaking and remaking herself, over and over, for however long it takes.”

  Infinity Girl clutches the reassembled mirrors. They absorb and channel all her light. Soon she is well enough to venture out into the world again. Location: Camera-pan of Infinity Girl walking. She wears Vivvie’s perfect sequin on her head.

  Infinity Girl passes Double Kross, who doesn’t see her. Double Kross wields her saber. Seething with anger and frustration, she snaps her saber in half. She cuts herself on the shattered edge. Cast: Origami female with a double-cross painted on her chest, plastic stir-stick glued to her hand, watered-down red paint as blood.

  Infinity Girl practices her slow-motion skills. When time slows down, she sees that there are others like her. Others who’ve also pieced together bright reflective parts. Cast: All the origami people, also wearing sequins, also casting light. Props: Sparkles filmed upside-down against the black feather. Applied as slow-motion effect over each person.

  As Infinity Girl walks on, she reflects her light to the others. They reflect their light to her. Location: Infinity Girl walks into the distance of the fake-painting of a highway.

  Narrator: “She knows they are never going to see her the way she wants to be seen. She has to see and know herself. She knows she will never see the others the way they want to be seen. They will see and know themselves. She wants to be there because now she knows what it feels like to love a stranger.”

  Soundtrack: Tandem Acorns and Last Sunny Day.

  Narrator: “She will never save the world.”

  Because in all the history of time, who has ever saved the world? I mean, actually.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book was written while on the traditional territory of the Huron-Wendat, Petun First Nations, Seneca, and Mississaugas of the Credit. This territory is covered by the Dish with One Spoon Wampum Belt Covenant, an agreement between the Haudeno-saunee Confederacy and the Anishnaabe (Ojibwe) and allied nations to peaceably share and care for the lands and the resources around the Great Lakes.

  I am a white, able-bodied, middle-class, cisgender woman, which gives me many positions of unearned privilege, in particular those created by settler colonialism. I am trying to understand and resist our systems of inequality, and to assist those working for change.

  In Messenger 93, M appropriates something that is not hers, and uses it to advance her position. As the author, I wrote several Indigenous characters into this story, which involved appropriating their cultural identity and possibly benefiting from their inclusion in my work. I recognize that I was and continue to be at risk of making the same mistakes as M. Conversation and critique about this work are welcome and will be received with an open heart and mind.

  I acknowledge my Indigenous educators with immense gratitude. A process of compensated consultation has taken place over several years, during which I gained invaluable gifts through their expertise, direction, counsel, and feedback on all aspects of the manuscript. Each consultant reminded me they do not speak for everyone. Any mistakes or missteps I’ve made on these pages are my own.

  I asked permission to acknowledge my Indigenous guides here. They come from various First Nations, including nehiyaw (Cree), Anishinaabe, Mohawk, and Oji-Cree. Thank you with all my heart. Theresa Cutknife: you are a most extraordinary human, and I am so grateful we met. Your positive, gracious spirit is in everything you do. Your gifts are many, your voice authentic and powerful. Thank you for being my mentor and friend. Waubgeshig Rice: thank you for answering my call four years ago, for your kindness and patience and thoughtful consideration. Thanks for bringing your wisdom to all of us through your compassionate journalism and your incandescent fiction. Myles Thurston: thank you for being the first to sit down with me when Messenger 93 was just kindling. Thanks for your perspective and your honesty. The energy you bring to others is bright with your thoughtful kindness. Johl Ringuette: thank you for turning around that day and inviting me to come listen. Thanks for creating such a nurturing space for all of us with NishDish Marketeria, for nourishing us with delicious feasts and steaming cups of sweetgrass tea. Audrey Maracle: Thank you for your sensitivity and your considered reflections. Thanks for sharing with me, and for your willingness to go there. Every time I’m in my garden, I think of you. Thanks to Janis McKenna for introducing us, and to Brian for opening the door to that first conversation, and for sharing his perspective. Thanks to Maria Montejo at Dodem Kanonhsa, for the access to so many educative sessions, and for the time and i
ntellectual generosity of your invited elders and speakers.

  There are many people doing the heavy labor of educating us through their books, talks, and social media. I am particularly indebted to the public work of writers, musicians, and filmmakers, Carleigh Baker, Gwen Benaway, Leanne Betasamosake, Cherie Dimaline, Alicia Elliott, Martin Heavy Head, Harold Johnson, Tracey Lindberg, Dawn Maracle, Lee Maracle, Alanis Obomsawin, Waubgeshig Rice, Chelsea Vowel, Joshua Whitehead, and many others. It is imperative that we learn about Indigenous issues from Indigenous voices. If you would like to join me in supporting their exhaustive efforts, please buy their books, talks, music, see their plays, watch their films, and/or donate to their platforms.

  An important theme in this book is the tragedy of North America’s Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, and 2 Spirit. This is our problem as a society, and it is important that settlers understand our place in this tragedy. I encourage readers to learn more through Indigenous-authored articles and reports, including the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, and investigative books like Seven Fallen Feathers by Tanya Talaga and Stolen Sisters by Emmanuelle Walter. I pledge to donate a portion of my earnings from Messenger 93 to Anduhyaun Inc. and to Nimkii Aazhibikong.

  Messages of thanks to the many others who’ve been integral to this journey: Olga: thank you for being my first messenger, for taking me on a journey of messages, and for teaching me how to listen for them. I’ll never forget the lucid dream I had while you worked to heal me, when I saw your iridescent wings. Murry Peeters: Thank you for your questions, your insights, your keen writer’s eye. Thank you for going deep deep down with me. Stephanie Nixon: Thank you for your extraordinary work in deconstructing allyship, and for your unflagging commitment to helping me refine the words. Diane Terrana: Thank you for always honing in on the problems, but also the good stuff. Thanks especially for not losing faith in this one, which gave me the courage to keep going. You are a brilliant writer, and I’m so fortunate to have you as my TRF editor. Thom Vernon and Ken Murray: Thank you for inviting me into The Group. What a joy and a privilege to hash it all out with you. You have brought me countless writers’ gifts, both through your astute and meticulous notes, and through your breathtaking, mind-blowing prose. Sam Hiyate: Your heart is huge, and I’m so grateful to have you as my agent. Thanks also to all your hard-working crew at The Rights Factory. Charlotte Sheasby-Coleman: Thank you for reading every draft, for catching mistakes and balancing perspectives. I don’t know if I would have been able to keep on this writer’s journey if not for your continued support, encouragement, and insights. Barry Jowett: Thank you for always understanding, with no preamble, no text of explanation, what I am trying to do. Thanks for zeroing in on exactly the right key to the right vehicle, which will send the story on its rightful journey. The Cormorant/DCB team: thank you for getting on board with such enthusiasm and encouragement, for all your hard work making sure our books get out there, and for consistently pushing harder for more for your writers.

  Thank you to Hannah Baron and her peers in Heather Evans’ creative writing class, to Debra McGrath, Kinley Mochrie, Nicole Radecki, Catrina Radecki, Josée Caron, Vickie Lavoie, Lori Landau, Kate Ashby and the WOWs and Broads, Sarah Perry, Carolyn Scott and Bennet, Jo Vannicola, Sean Roberts, and to so many more of you, for your countless gifts to me.

  Thank you to my extended family, and to my parents and sisters — for always always being there. Thank you to Michele Ayoub: my muse, messenger, the bellwether I carry with me everywhere. Curious seeker, creative explorer, bountiful heart. Thank you to Stefanie Ayoub: my muse, messenger, the bellwether I carry with me everywhere. Delicate architect of beauty, nurturer of love. Thank you to Philippe Ayoub: my rock and my superhero. Without you, none of this is possible.

  Before transitioning to writing, Barbara Radecki was an established actor with many film and television roles and hundreds of commercials to her credit. In recent years, several of her screenplays have been optioned or sold. As a screenwriter, her most recent film, Modern Persuasion, will be out in 2020. Born in Vancouver and now based in Toronto, Radecki was nominated for the Kobo Emerging Writers’ Prize for her first YA novel, The Darkhouse.

  We acknowledge the sacred land on which Cormorant Books operates. It has been a site of human activity for 15,000 years. This land is the territory of the Huron-Wendat and Petun First Nations, the Seneca, and most recently, the Mississaugas of the Credit River. The territory was the subject of the Dish With One Spoon Wampum Belt Covenant, an agreement between the Iroquois Confederacy and Confederacy of the Ojibway and allied nations to peaceably share and steward the resources around the Great Lakes. Today, the meeting place of Toronto is still home to many Indigenous people from across Turtle Island. We are grateful to have the opportunity to work in the community, on this territory.

  We are also mindful of broken covenants and the need to strive to make right with all our relations.