By Dusk

by T Thorn Coyle

  It was exactly what the river had told Moss.

  The usual cohort of anarchists, socialists, and environmentalists were threaded through with the St. John’s Neighborhood Project, the Interfaith Community for Justice, and members of the American Indian Movement. A small cadre of Brown Berets stood in the back of the room, talking with members of Families for Black Lives.

  The radical left wasn’t always good at getting along, but when a group made up largely of First Nations activists called a meeting, folks showed. The events at Standing Rock had galvanized a lot of people, and made the connections between environmental injustice, racism, and the class divide crystal clear. The consistent polluting of the Willamette, despite decades of effort to clean it up, was a direct threat to poor people, and to the Black and indigenous peoples of Portland and beyond.

  A bunch of people were still researching their target—they needed solid evidence since they couldn’t go on Moss’s hearsay. A series of actions was likely in their future, but for now, the insult to the river wouldn’t stand. Whoever it was, was going to pay, if not in dollars, at least in public embarrassment and with a lot of harassment.

  So far, most of the research had thrown shade on a huge waste disposal company based in Washington state, called GranCo. Alejandro would neither confirm nor deny, but a press conference was coming up with the company, and Moss intended to be on site, just in case.

  Kiyiya stood next to a wooden podium on the stage at the front of the big hall, microphone in hand, bottle of water at the ready. An older man with short, salt-and pepper hair and soft dark eyes, he wore a Pendleton plaid shirt, jeans, and boots. A long-time fixture in AIM since its inception in the 1960s, he’d also been a union member when he was young, if Moss recalled right. These days he devoted all of his time to his grandchildren and activism.

  “Thank you all for coming,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his cadence as fluid as a song. “As Henrietta said in her beautiful prayer, we are here because water is life, and the Great Creator has blessed us with these two beautiful rivers that are the lifeblood of our people.”

  He took a sip of water from his bottle, and cleared his throat.

  “You know that we have a celebration of the waters planned for Saturday. The blessing ceremony will continue, but the friends and allies of the river, and the creatures of the river, of the salmon, and the cormorants, and all of those who rely upon the waters, will gather to fight.”

  The elder’s soft, dark eyes swept over the crowd gathered in the union hall. How a man could be so soft and yet so powerful? It was something Moss could barely fathom, but he felt the truth of it in his bones. Brenda and Raquel both had those qualities, too. He hoped he might become that way someday. Maybe he could soften to what was real, and fight for what was true. Whether that ended up being the land, a child of his own, or the children of his friends and comrades, it didn’t matter. All of it was sacred. All of it mattered.

  “The great John Trudell said, ‘They pollute the air, they pollute the water, they pollute our food, they pollute our minds.’ He also told us we must resist. Fight back. Well, a lot of us have been fighting back for a long time, and we’re not going to stop. The EPA says it will not pay to clean our river anymore, that the polluters must pay. It is our job to remind the government and these polluters that just because they have money and guns, doesn’t mean we don’t have power.”

  Kiyiya’s gaze held Moss’s just for a moment, before moving on. “We have the power given to us by the land, the sky, and the waters. We are one with the salmon and the cormorant who rely on clean water. Our children rely on clean water. Water is life. I say these words to remind us all that no matter what we do this Saturday, we do it to honor the water. We are part of this land and that is the truth we must constantly reveal. Our job is not to just expose the corruption of these filthy corporations. If that is all we do, we fail. Our job is to remind the people that we are of this earth and water, and that without this connection, life itself will cease to be.”

  Kiyiya stopped speaking, but no one stepped up to fill the void. Moss felt the energy of the room, and the spirit of the people, as that spirit soaked in the elder’s words.

  Saturday was the equinox. The balance of night and day, dark and light. Moss could feel that, too. If he centered himself deeply enough, and stilled the clamoring inside, he could almost feel the axial tilt, the inexorable lengthening of the earth’s shadow meeting the light of the sun.

  Then Terra took the mic. “Thank you, Kiyiya. Your words honor us. As we plan tonight, I hope we all keep them in mind. Okay. The Clean Rivers Coalition and the Yakama and Chinook elders have asked us to do a series of actions centered around Saturday’s ceremony, but first, I’d like you all to power down your phones and computers. And don’t speak of any but the most strictly legal actions in this room. If your affinity group wants to bend the rules? Discuss that in a safe space, and make sure that you know everyone in the room with you.”

  There was a rustling and creaking as people moved to comply. Moss powered his own phone all the way down. It wasn’t enough. There were probably agents in the crowd, as there always were, but security protocol was security protocol. Hence Terra’s warning. That was as much of a reminder as Kiyiya’s words.

  “Thank you,” Terra said. “We’re taping up time sheets on the walls in the back. If your affinity group has something particular in mind, please sign up for a time slot. If you don’t have an affinity group, don’t worry. Some groups have space for people to join in on some pretty fun, effective projects. Some only require the ability to make a sign with targeted messaging, others, I hear, may require costumes.”

  Terra smiled at that, and there were chuckles throughout the room.

  Moss knew what he would be doing, and it wasn’t something that could be discussed in an open forum.

  It was just the sort of risk he lived for. And maybe Brenda was right. Maybe this was what being an adult looked like. And maybe it was part of his destiny.

  18

  Shaggy

  Shaggy had spent the evening working on clothing designs while waiting for Moss to show up. She’d finally texted him after her doctor’s appointment, apologizing and asking if he still wanted to talk. He said he would be late because of some sort of activist meeting, but that he would show up.

  Well, Moss was here now, and her sewing sat abandoned, the small dining table off the kitchen strewn with fabrics and the trusty sewing machine.

  Moss and Shaggy sat on opposite ends of the rust velvet sofa, two bookends staring at the low gas flames flickering in the white-tiled fireplace. It wasn’t really cool enough outside for a fire, but Shaggy wanted the comfort of it. Moss ate his way through the chocolate cookies she’d set out. She’d had a few herself because they seemed to settle her stomach. She just wished the ginger mint tea would do its thing and settle her nerves.

  “The doctor said there’s still time to take the pills.”

  “And what does that look like?”

  Shaggy shrugged, discomfort crawling over her skin. “It means the thing is just a mass of tissue at this point and I can self-abort. It sounds pretty unpleasant—painful even—but then it’ll be done.”

  “Like a miscarriage?”

  She nodded, then stared at the flames. The conversation was the right thing, she’d decided, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be having it.

  “She said a D&C would be faster and easier on the body. So, there’s that, too.”

  “So, what are you going to do? What do you think you want now?” he asked, face screwed up with concern, cookie in one hand and tea mug in the other.

  Tonight, Moss wore a big gray knitted cowl over a long-sleeved T-shirt and looked pretty enough to eat, if she was so inclined. Part of her wanted to crawl across the couch, lay her head in his lap, and let him stroke her short hair. The other part wanted him out of her space so she could curl up in bed with the stack of novels loaded onto her e-reader.

  That impulse t
o escape was still there, too. To take the damn abortion pills, buy an RV, and either join a circus for real, or hit the festival circuit. She’d looked into it and there were still plenty of shows in the warmer states to keep her occupied for the next couple of months, at least. And that might buy her enough time to figure out what she wanted from life.

  “Do you want a kid?” he was saying. “Because if you do, we’ll figure it out. I mean, you can figure out how much you want me around, what kind of parenting arrangements we need to make…”

  “Moss.” Shaggy set her mug down on the coffee table and waved her hands. “Stop. You’re not responsible for this. I only let you know because…”

  Why had she told him? This one-weekend-stand, festival guy who clearly didn’t have two nickels to rub together?

  “Because why?” He clutched his mug in both hands now, cookies gone. She could see the hurt in his eyes and wasn’t sure if she cared. It was her life, after all. And she was the one who was going to have to deal with the consequences either way. Moss? Sure, he was talking like he was a stand-up guy, but the reality was, she didn’t know him. Not one bit.

  “Because I ran into you, I guess.”

  His head snapped as if she’d struck him and she wished she could take the words back, snatch them from the air and shove them back into her mouth. But she couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry, Moss. I’m just confused. I’ve spent the past six years planning my life around the fact that I can’t have kids and now, to be pregnant? I feel like I should want a kid, but I can’t really say that I do.”

  He exhaled with what might have been relief, might have been something else.

  “If you want to have an abortion, I’ll support you, of course. And look, I get that I’m just some hookup, but I also really clicked with you, Shaggy. I like you. And I’d like to get to know you, kid or no.”

  He still looked stricken, and so vulnerable. Open. She couldn’t bear to look at his face, afraid of what might happen if she stared at him one more second.

  Shaggy picked up her mug and padded into the kitchen to fill the kettle. The kitchen space was only a couple of dozen feet from the sofa, but at least it was a separation. She clicked the kettle on, the little handle glowing blue to indicate it was working. But she still didn’t turn around.

  “Do you want kids?” she asked softly. Waiting.

  He was silent, and she finally looked over at him, to see if he had heard. He was leaning over the back of the velvet sofa, chin on his forearms, staring out the big windows at her favorite view. The lights on the bridges, reflecting on the Willamette. The red and white car lights, going and coming.

  “I don’t know if I want them or not,” he finally replied, still staring outside. “I mean, I’m not exactly set up for it. And don’t know if I want to raise a kid in this world. It feels too hard. Harsh.”

  The kettle binged softly, telling Shaggy the water had boiled.

  “More tea?”

  “Sure.” Moss sighed, picked up his cup, and joined her in the small kitchen. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “You didn’t ask me a question.” An evasion, that was for sure. Something she had learned from dealing with Bianca.

  “You know what I mean. Do you want me around? Kid or no?”

  She finally looked him in the eyes, for the first time that night. She liked his eyes. Liked his whole face, as a matter of fact.

  “I don’t know anything right now, Moss. I barely know who I am, which sucks, because I felt like I finally had a chance to figure that out, and then, this, you know?” She fished two teabags from the canister on the counter and poured more water into both mugs. “Can we talk about something else for a while? I just…my head isn’t clear.”

  “Sure,” he replied. “My head isn’t exactly clear, either.”

  Huh. That was interesting. She really didn’t know what to do with someone who actually listened to her. Who didn’t push, or grow impatient and angry, or run away. Or die.

  “So,” she said, once they were settled on the couch again, sipping at their tea, “what was your meeting about tonight?”

  “The river,” he said, gesturing toward the windows. “The Willamette.”

  “What about it?”

  He exhaled sharply, then took a sip of tea. “Where to start? It’s been polluted for a century, with all sorts of shit dumped in it. Runoff from mines. Oil. Sewage. Chemicals.”

  “And no one’s ever tried to clean it up?”

  “Oh yeah. Parts of the river have been superfund sites for a couple of decades now. Problem is, that’s really expensive, the river’s still polluted, and they don’t want to pay anymore. Also, there’s a new polluter out there….” He looked down at his mug, brow creased, then back at her. His face, so open before, looked hard now. Determined. “And whoever they are, I really want to take them down. And if I can’t take them down, I at least want to make their lives really fucking uncomfortable. And even if it isn’t someone new, the companies who’ve been profiting from dumping, and runoff, and burning shit in the air that ends up sinking into the water? They need to pay.”

  His voice grew louder the more he talked, the hand not holding his tea mug waving in animated arcs. Moss looked fierce. Determined. Passionate. She could see why he was an activist, with passion like that.

  She didn’t feel passionate about anything. For so long, she didn’t have the time, and now that she had the time…

  Shaggy cared about the environment, but only in some abstract, recycling-is-good kind of way. She’d been to festivals that raised money for various causes, but frankly there’d been too much on her plate dealing with her dad to pay attention. He hadn’t been gone long enough for her to get used to having any choices at all.

  “How are you going to do that? Hold them accountable, I mean?”

  He shrugged, and drank some more tea. “We’re planning some actions, like we always do. It won’t be enough, because it never is, at least at first. But we’ve had some victories, you know. It’s just, we never seem to get time to celebrate because there’s always something new trying to keep the people down.”

  Shaggy shook her head. “Do you really think that’s true?”

  “Look, I said I like you, Shaggy, and I mean that. I want to get to know you better. I’d love to roll around in bed with you again if you’re up for it. I wouldn’t even mind having a kid with you, maybe, even though that scares the shit out of me….”

  Her lips compressed, trying to hold back words. The longer he spoke, the more she wanted to lash out.

  “But you think I’m just some spoiled rich girl who doesn’t care about anything outside herself.”

  Fuck him and everyone like him.

  “No. That’s not what I said. I just…”

  “You just what?”

  He smacked his mug onto the coffee table and stood up in a rush, running his hands through his black hair.

  “Look,” he said, pacing between the sofa and the kitchen, “I just have a hard time talking to non-activists about this stuff sometimes. It isn’t you. It’s that,” he threw his hands up in frustration, “most people don’t take it seriously. Not unless they’re already involved.”

  “So involve me, then.” The words were a challenge, hanging in the air. Moss stopped and turned.

  Shaggy wondered which of them looked more surprised.

  Him? Or her?

  19

  Moss

  The streets of the Pearl were thinning out by the time Moss left Shaggy’s place. The night was chilly, and he was glad for his hand-knit cowl and long sleeves. He walked past shuttered cafés and specialty shops, skirting past people exiting a couple of bars.

  It wasn’t closing time yet, but, being a weeknight and all, people with regular day jobs were trundling off to bed, leaving the service workers to close out and clean up. He knew some of them might not get to bed until the office drones were getting out of bed again.

  After the little flare-up, Moss
and Shaggy had talked for two more hours, about environmentalism, the river, and a little bit about the action coming up. She had actually seemed interested, which was cool.

  The thing they didn’t talk about again was the two of them, or the pregnancy, even when she’d broken out a bottle of wine. He’d bit his tongue about that one. Her body, her choice, right? Though it did point toward the whole “getting rid of the zygote” thing. Regardless, the fact that she wouldn’t talk about it ate at him a little. He’d been all prepared to do the right thing, to be the strong, supportive guy, but she’d shut the conversation down.

  He supposed he couldn’t blame her, but had to admit he felt pretty confused about it all. First of all, despite the fact that she was a bit of a rich princess, he liked her. Second of all, weren’t women supposed to be the ones wanting to discuss everything?

  “Where’d that bit of sexist bullshit come from, dickhead?” he said to the night air.

  “Excuse me?” said a man who had just stepped out from Lumberjacks, a bar that Moss had actually been to on occasion. The man outweighed Moss by at least fifty pounds, and had a scowl on his face.

  Shit. He hadn’t even realized he’d said the words aloud.

  “Sorry,” Moss replied, “just talking to myself.”

  The man paused, staring, then gave a curt nod and swung by Moss. Thankfully, he was heading the opposite direction.

  Moss exhaled, and kept walking.

  He knew he should be relieved about the whole “we’re not talking about the pregnancy now” thing, because it meant he could focus all of his attention on the equinox. To do an action like the one coming up, he needed to prepare inside. His affinity group was well trained, and had done this sort of thing several times, but every one of them was a cascade of adrenaline, righteous anger, and fear.

  But the stakes had never felt higher, which was a little messed up, if he thought about it. Why did it matter so much if it was his child, instead of someone else’s? It shouldn’t, and he knew it, but there it was.