shutting up.”
“Did she shut up?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“Did you like that story? Kind of a shitty ending, huh?” He sounded tired. I touched his arm. “That’s okay. I liked it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Dad puts sound effects in his stories but Ma-ma-oo says you shouldn’t put them in just to make it exciting. But if you got guns in your story, and you got shot, maybe you can go
bam! bam!
And go like this—” I clutched my side and hollered, then fell to the floor and rolled around in mock agony.
Mick’s bewildered expression stopped me. “I guess that was too exciting,” I said meekly. “Mom says I should learn when to be quiet. I’ll check on Jimmy now.”
I shook Mick awake a half-hour before Dad and Mom came back. He was finishing his first coffee when they walked in. Dad tried to pay Mick for baby-sitting us, but he wouldn’t take any money. The next day, Dad bought him a mattress and bedframe. Mick told him to take it back. Dad set it up in the bedroom while his brother stood in the doorway and I told him how many teeth I had left. I counted them for him, and Mick patted my head. “Good, good. Al, come on, man. I have a mattress.”
“Now you have a better one,” Dad said.
“I don’t even know how long I’m going to stay here. Why should I get good furniture if I—”
“Bank of Al, remember?”
One of Dad’s cousins had died a year earlier and we were invited to the settlement feast. The day before the event, all the women in the family had had to help do the cooking. We went over to Aunt Kate’s because she had the biggest kitchen. I’d peeled carrots while Erica had peeled potatoes because she could peel vegetables better.
The day of the feast, Dad and Jimmy went to Terrace for one of Jimmy’s first swim meets. I complained about this while I was being physically forced into a pink dress that was too tight around my chest and fluffed out like a duster around my legs. As Mom scraped my hair back into a bun and secured it at the top of my neck, she said that they wouldn’t be getting out of it either, they’d join us as soon as they got back. Then she muttered under her breath that she’d kill Dad if she caught him watching hockey. I had to wear black patents that pinched. I snuck my Pac-Man game into my knapsack because anything you had to dress up for couldn’t be fun.
The rec centre was decorated with cedar boughs. The tables were lined up in rows across the gym. We sat with Aunt Trudy in the corner, near the basketball hoops. The invitation said the feast would start at 6 p.m., but everyone knows that these things always start about a half-hour later than the time specified. That gives everyone time to mingle and check out what everyone else is wearing or talk about the people whodidn’t show up. Or, if they’re far enough out of hearing range, the people who did show up.
“Lordy,” Mom said.
I turned in my seat in time to catch Mick swaggering through the front doors.
Mom and Aunt Trudy exchanged glances and Trudy said, “All he needs is a black hat with a feather.”
For work, Uncle Mick wore his plaid shirt and rubber boots. On hot days, he wore his message T-shirts: Free Leonard Peltier! or Columbus: 500 Years of Genocide and Counting. Usually, he wore a Levi jacket with Trail of Broken Treaties embroidered in bright red thread on the back. For this feast, he’d changed into his buckskin jacket with fringe, his A.I.M. Higher—Join the American Indian Movement! T-shirt and his least ratty pair of jeans. He spotted us and let out a moose call. Mom cringed. Conversations stopped and people turned to watch my uncle as he came over to our table. When I sat in his lap, he let me play with the claw that dangled from his bone choker. He wore it all the time, along with an earring of a silver feather.
Mom had her everyday earrings—the ones with two delicate gold coins, the tiny carved ravens, or the gold nuggets—and her special jewellery that was kept in a
“Did she shut up?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“Did you like that story? Kind of a shitty ending, huh?” He sounded tired. I touched his arm. “That’s okay. I liked it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Dad puts sound effects in his stories but Ma-ma-oo says you shouldn’t put them in just to make it exciting. But if you got guns in your story, and you got shot, maybe you can go
bam! bam!
And go like this—” I clutched my side and hollered, then fell to the floor and rolled around in mock agony.
Mick’s bewildered expression stopped me. “I guess that was too exciting,” I said meekly. “Mom says I should learn when to be quiet. I’ll check on Jimmy now.”
I shook Mick awake a half-hour before Dad and Mom came back. He was finishing his first coffee when they walked in. Dad tried to pay Mick for baby-sitting us, but he wouldn’t take any money. The next day, Dad bought him a mattress and bedframe. Mick told him to take it back. Dad set it up in the bedroom while his brother stood in the doorway and I told him how many teeth I had left. I counted them for him, and Mick patted my head. “Good, good. Al, come on, man. I have a mattress.”
“Now you have a better one,” Dad said.
“I don’t even know how long I’m going to stay here. Why should I get good furniture if I—”
“Bank of Al, remember?”
One of Dad’s cousins had died a year earlier and we were invited to the settlement feast. The day before the event, all the women in the family had had to help do the cooking. We went over to Aunt Kate’s because she had the biggest kitchen. I’d peeled carrots while Erica had peeled potatoes because she could peel vegetables better.
The day of the feast, Dad and Jimmy went to Terrace for one of Jimmy’s first swim meets. I complained about this while I was being physically forced into a pink dress that was too tight around my chest and fluffed out like a duster around my legs. As Mom scraped my hair back into a bun and secured it at the top of my neck, she said that they wouldn’t be getting out of it either, they’d join us as soon as they got back. Then she muttered under her breath that she’d kill Dad if she caught him watching hockey. I had to wear black patents that pinched. I snuck my Pac-Man game into my knapsack because anything you had to dress up for couldn’t be fun.
The rec centre was decorated with cedar boughs. The tables were lined up in rows across the gym. We sat with Aunt Trudy in the corner, near the basketball hoops. The invitation said the feast would start at 6 p.m., but everyone knows that these things always start about a half-hour later than the time specified. That gives everyone time to mingle and check out what everyone else is wearing or talk about the people whodidn’t show up. Or, if they’re far enough out of hearing range, the people who did show up.
“Lordy,” Mom said.
I turned in my seat in time to catch Mick swaggering through the front doors.
Mom and Aunt Trudy exchanged glances and Trudy said, “All he needs is a black hat with a feather.”
For work, Uncle Mick wore his plaid shirt and rubber boots. On hot days, he wore his message T-shirts: Free Leonard Peltier! or Columbus: 500 Years of Genocide and Counting. Usually, he wore a Levi jacket with Trail of Broken Treaties embroidered in bright red thread on the back. For this feast, he’d changed into his buckskin jacket with fringe, his A.I.M. Higher—Join the American Indian Movement! T-shirt and his least ratty pair of jeans. He spotted us and let out a moose call. Mom cringed. Conversations stopped and people turned to watch my uncle as he came over to our table. When I sat in his lap, he let me play with the claw that dangled from his bone choker. He wore it all the time, along with an earring of a silver feather.
Mom had her everyday earrings—the ones with two delicate gold coins, the tiny carved ravens, or the gold nuggets—and her special jewellery that was kept in a
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