A Quality of Light (21 page)

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mary Ellen asked, suspiciously.

“Page eighty-eight, Sears Catalogue. That’s a compliment,” Johnny replied.

She smiled. “I’ve never heard it put that way before. Thank you.”

We headed into the school and Mary Ellen again laid her gloved hand on my arm. Johnny’s eyebrows shot up and he mouthed a slow “ooh-la-la” at me behind her back, shaking one hand for emphasis.

T
he gym was packed. Party lights criss-crossed the room in low-slung arches and a huge Walkerton Wolverines banner was strung across one end of the room. A line of tables with placards denoting the various clubs attracted a large crowd. A bright orange Welcome Freshmen sign hung above the stage, and just inside the main doors a buffet table laden with sandwiches and salads stretched along the wall. As we walked through the doors we heard a long wolf whistle and a sea of faces turned to watch. Mary Ellen gave a small smile of satisfaction and nodded in the direction of a few friends. Johnny and I cringed a little at the sudden attention while we followed along beside her. We were headed towards Ralphie Wendt and Connie Shaus by the front of the stage when Mary Ellen gave a sharp tug on my sleeve.

“Joshua, I’m going to see a couple friends at the drama table, okay? I’ll catch up to you later.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, uncertain of the right protocol. “That’s great. See you later.”

As she approached the crowd a space opened up in front of her. Friends streamed over from everywhere to greet her and marvel at her outfit. Johnny and I watched her departure and then joined our Mildmay friends at the front of the room. All of us were somewhat humbled by the display. We gawked at all the people, light and motion until the sound system gave a sudden squawk and Principal Holmes began to speak. Spike, as he was dubbed in the hallways, droned on and on, followed by another dull speech by the class president, Neil Metzger. Finally, the curtain was drawn back on the stage to reveal a five-piece music combo who swung into a rambunctious pop song that had couples on the dance floor immediately.

Our little group moved together between the club tables, stopping to load up at the buffet table. We seemed to be lost in the crowd and no one paid any particular attention to us. Johnny
signed up for the Drama Club and Ralphie penned his name on the growing list for hockey while Connie and I looked on. Clubs were a luxury neither of us would likely be able to afford since we both helped out on our farms. When we reached the end of the row of tables, we returned to the edge of the dance floor to watch.

Mary Ellen was jitterbugging wildly with Allen Begg, laughing while her friends, mostly seniors from the window ledge, stood in a group clapping and hooting encouragement. She was an entirely different person from the demure girl I’d arrived with. My three friends looked at me inquisitively but I just shrugged. As the music changed, Chris swept up Mary Ellen as she tried to leave the floor and she allowed herself to be propelled back into motion. Allen caught my eye from across the floor, grinning and nudging the boy next to him. They snickered into their hands. Song after song, Mary Ellen danced with her group.

“You should go over and ask her to dance, Kane,” Ralphie said after about an hour.

“Yes, Joshua,” Connie said angrily. “I think it’s really rude what she’s doing. Go over and ask for a dance. Townies. No offense, Ralphie, Johnny.”

“None taken,” Johnny said. “She’s right, Josh. Mary Ellen’s nothing like us. We wouldn’t do what she’s done. I say, if she wants to hang with Neanderthals like Begg and Hollingshead and the rest of those rednecks, screw her!”

As I was mulling it over the song ended. We watched Mary Ellen and her group head out the back door of the gym and to the football field. I felt a lump rise in my throat as I watched her disappear. It felt suddenly like the entire room knew I’d been dumped. I wanted to slink away home. The laughter on the faces of everyone around me seemed directed at me, my humiliation a public thing. Still, the part of me that was willing to grant the benefit of the doubt overrode everything else, and I told Johnny that I would confront Mary Ellen.

“Are you nuts? Or are you just a glutton for punishment? She dumped you! She embarrassed you in front of everybody. She’s making like you don’t even exist and you
still
want to talk to her? You’re crazy!”

“I guess I just need to hear it from her, that’s all,” I said. “It’s your life.”

“Might as well do it now,” I said. “It’s quieter out back.

“What about Hollingshead and Begg?”

“It’ll be okay. They haven’t said or done a thing since the football game. I’ll be fine.”

“Want me to come along?”

“Nah. I won’t be long.”

“Okay. But, Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep your head up, okay?”

“I will.”

I made my way through the crowd to the back door, noticing vaguely that people were aware of my movement. When I stepped out back, the cool evening air refreshed me and gave me hope. A small group of students stood smoking by the picnic tables and beyond them I heard the laughter of another group behind the bleachers. As I moved closer I recognized Mary Ellen by the shine of her gown against the darkness. I saw her and her friends passing a bottle back and forth. She was in the middle of taking a gulp from it when I walked up to them.

“Hey, looky looky,” Chris Hollingshead said. “Mr. Dressup’s here.”

“Hey, hey, it’s the farm guy. John Deere, isn’t it?” another voice said.

“Nah, it ain’t John Deere. It’s Running Deer,” Allen said sharply, stepping to the front of the group.

“Joshua, what do you want?” Mary Ellen asked, worry in her voice.

“Well, I, uh … you know … I, uh …” I stammered.

“Yeah, well, like, uh, but,
geez!”
one of the seniors mimicked. “Speak English, Injun! You can do that, can’t you?”

“No,” Allen Begg said. “No speakum. Injun dumb.”

“Look,” I said, “I just wanted to know if I could have a dance later. If not, then maybe I’ll just leave early.”

“Hey, who invited this Injun to our party anyway?” a girl slurred loudly.

“It was Reid. It’s her good deed for the month. Take an Injun dancin’,” someone answered.

“Why? She think this was a B.Y.O.B. party?” the girl asked.

“Whaddaya mean, B.Y.O.B.?”

“You know … Bring Your Own
Buck!”

There was raucous laughter all around.

“Hey, that reminds me,” a tall guy said, putting an arm around Mary Ellen’s waist and pulling her towards him. “What does a faggot Injun do on Saturday night?”

“We don’t know, Hollingshead,” Allen Begg replied. “What
does
a faggot Injun do on Saturday night?”

“Not much,” said the boy, who I realized immediately was Chris’s older brother. “He just heads downtown to blow a couple
bucks!”

Everyone in the group laughed long and loudly and there was much slapping of palms and back-thumping. Mary Ellen stared at me blankly, offering neither support nor ridicule. I turned to leave.

“Hey, wait a minute, wait a minute,” the older Hollingshead said. “The Injun came here to ask for a dance. We should give him a dance!”

“Yeah, but I think he needs a drink first!” Chris said. “Firewater, Injun? Wantum firewater? Make you feelum horny? Do-um good dance with white woman?”

Allen advanced toward me. “Fuck that! No faggot Injun’s dancing with one of our women. He’s gonna show us a real Injun dance! Ain’tcha, Injun?”

“No, you guys,” Mary Ellen said sharply. “You said you were only going to scare him! That’s enough! Please!”

“Oooh. I believe Reid’s got a crush on Little Beaver here,” the older Hollingshead said, stepping quickly behind me. “Thinking of maybe getting a little beaver, Little Beaver? Think again, you fuckin’ wagon burner!”

Hands grabbed me and I was thrown to the ground, arms pinning my shoulders and knees. Someone grabbed my head roughly and pinned it back with their palm against my forehead. As I opened my mouth to protest, the thick burn of alcohol ripped a trench down my throat. I gagged. As my mouth opened, more of the fiery liquid was poured in and I heard laughing and swearing
all around me. I heard Mary Ellen crying, begging them to stop. My eyes burned with tears from the booze and the fear in my belly. More was poured, and just as the vomit was rising in me, I was yanked to my feet and shoved from behind. I reeled dizzily and as things spun into focus I saw Mary Ellen in front of me. I reached out to her for support but instead fell heavily against her and then to the ground. I grasped at her to halt my fall and one sleeve of her gown tore away in my hand.

“Hoo hoo! Little Beaver’s almost got the white woman undressed! Anybody know the Indian Love Call?”

“Yeah, it’s — Hey, you awake!”

They hollered. I was having trouble making sense of anything. Hands grabbed me again and spun me around in circles. As I reeled around fighting for balance I was punched in the face. A fantail of light exploded behind my eyes. I stumbled backwards and was punched again. I tasted the spongy warmth of blood and the bite of bile rising in my throat. Again and again I was punched and kicked, in the face, on the shoulders, in the belly, in the thighs.

“Dance, Injun! You wanted a fuckin’ dance? Dance!
Woo woo woo woo woo!”
I fell deeper into a roiling pit of darkness. I barely recognized a scream and the smash of a bottle. I fell heavily to the ground and as I opened one eye I saw bodies hurtling around. The world began to spin and I closed my eyes. There was the sound of fists landing, swearing and then, as I collapsed into a warm bed of white light, feet running hard in many directions, shouting and a girl sobbing. Soon, firm hands reached under my head and a cool palm was laid on my brow. I groaned, let my head slide downward into a white light, downward and downward.

M
y parent’s faced slid into my awareness like cattle in fog. I began to climb higher and higher on the same white light I had descended on and as I did, I became aware of noises. The bleep, bleep, bleep of a monitor, the soft squish of rubber soles
across linoleum, the clinks and rattles of metal, the rustle of whisperings arranged themselves slowly. I became aware of the thickness of my body — my face, joints and belly distended and sore. There was a dull throb that started in my temples and pulsated along the length of my upper body, nestling finally in paroxysms of pain in my legs. Gradually, I surfaced.

The harsh glare of fluorescent lighting stabbed my eyes and I narrowed them to slits to peer up at my parents, who spun in a lazy circle around me. I closed my eyes. When I screwed up the courage to open them again, the world had steadied itself on its axis. I looked at my mother and father. His face was set grimly, and there were tears on her face as she reached out to lay a hand on my forehead.

“Good to have you back, son. We were worried there for a minute or two,” my father said thinly.

“Are you in pain, Joshua?” my mother asked, searching my eyes.

“Some,” I mumbled.

“Doc Niedermayer’s examined you,” my father said. “You might have a slight concussion. You took a pretty good beating around the face but there’s nothing broken. Time and rest, he says.”

“What happened?” I asked thickly.

My mother said, “We’re not sure. There are two stories.”

“Two?”

“Yes, son,” my father said, leaning closer. “Three or four town kids and Mary Ellen are saying that you were drinking behind the school. When they came out for some fresh air you attacked Mary Ellen, ripped her dress trying to get her to go behind the bleachers with you. The boys tried to restrain you but you started swinging. The bigger Hollingshead boy admits to beating you up in defense of Mary Ellen and the rest of the kids.”

“But John says you went out to talk with Mary Ellen,” my mother added. “He and Ralphie found you being beaten by four of the boys.”

“There was a fight. John and Ralph put a pretty good thumping on them from what I hear,” my father said, with a weak grin.

“Johnny’s okay?” I whispered.

“Well, yes and no. Yes, he’s okay physically but he’s been arrested,” my father said.