Winter Counts(3)

“You still reading that Zuma book in class?”

“Zuya,” he said. “No, we’re done.”

“Oh right, Zuya.” The school had assigned a book about Lakota traditions—one of the few books on the topic written by an actual Lakota, not a white man. Nathan had hated it, said it was corny and stupid. But I’d seen him reading it on his bed at night, when he’d usually be playing video games or watching some horror movie for the twentieth time.

“What’re you reading now?”

“Some Shakespeare stuff. I can’t understand it.”

I hadn’t been able to understand it either, back in the day, but I knew he needed to keep trying.

“Maybe you can get the movie or something? Help you follow the story?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

I gave up and went looking for some Tylenols.

“Hey, I want to ask you,” Nathan said. “Can I use the car tomorrow night? Please?”

I could tell he really wanted my old Pinto; usually he’d call it the “rez bomb.” Not to mention asking nicely, which was rare. I’d taught him to drive a few years back, but still wouldn’t let him ride my battered Kawasaki motorcycle. South Dakota allowed kids to drive at age fourteen, but the tribal cops didn’t care much about enforcing the law. Plenty of younger kids drove around the rez.

“You snagging with Jimmy now? Chasin’ high school girls?”

He looked down, embarrassed. “Naw, there’s supposed to be a party at the center tomorrow. Some dudes I met are gonna be there.”

“All right, but you might need to put some gas in the tank. Barely enough to get to town and back.”

His face lit up like a slot machine paying out a jackpot.

“And no drinking beers, or I’ll kick your ass,” I said.

He started to go back to his little bedroom, but stopped and turned to me. “Hey, I forgot. Your friend Tommy came by, said he needs to talk to you. Said you’re not answering your phone. Told me to tell you he’ll be at the center till late, said you should go there if you can.”

Shit, what now?

I looked at my phone and saw that Tommy had called three times. I called back, but there was no answer. Not surprising. Cell phone service on the rez was hit-and-miss. I was tempted to let this wait, but I needed a smoke pretty bad, so I decided to run to town. Maybe someone would have an Excedrin they could spot me.

I took the motorcycle to save the gas in the Pinto for Nathan. As I rode, my mind kept drifting to my sister, Sybil. She’d had a hard life. Her scumbag husband had left her when Nathan was born and taken off for California. She’d worked for the tribe as an office assistant, barely bringing home enough money to buy food, but she’d made beaded necklaces and earrings to sell for extra cash. She’d even taken some classes to finish her high school degree. I hadn’t helped out as much as I should have, but I had my own problems. After a particularly bad night, I used to go over and hang out with Sybil and Nathan. She’d tell me I needed to eat, then make some hamburger soup and brew some coffee. I’d play with the baby while she studied and did her reading for school. On those nights, it was easy to imagine that I had a real family. I thought about a conversation we’d had, right before she died.

Brother, you remember when we were kids, and we used to draw winter counts, like they did in the old days?

Yeah, I guess so.

Winter counts were the calendar system used by the Lakota, but they weren’t like modern ones. I’d loved the little pictures in the calendars, each image showing the most significant event from the past year. Sybil and I used to make our own with paper and crayons when we were kids.

Do you remember what symbol we used for the year Mom died?

Why do you ask?

Because it’s important to remember.

It’s no big deal.

Yes, it is! I feel like I’m forgetting Mom.

You’re just getting older. It’s hard to remember stuff from back then.

I used to be able to remember everything. Now it seems like it’s all going away, getting fuzzy in my head. You know, I had a dream last week that I left the rez and never came back.

Yeah, where’d you go? Paris, France?

I don’t know, smart-ass, can’t remember . . . But this dream, it was so real. An eagle flew in the house and started to talk, and I knew what it was saying, even though its beak didn’t move. The eagle told me to get ready, that I had to leave soon, I was going on a journey. I asked how long I’d be gone, but it wouldn’t tell me, just looked at me with these strange eyes. I asked if Nathan was coming with me, but it flew away.

Hey, you know that weird shit will mess up your head.

I’d laughed then and tried to cheer her up, but she’d just looked away.

I PARKED MY BIKE by the entrance and stuck the keys in my pocket. The community center was a squat gray bunker, with cheap vinyl windows that were clouded up like an old man’s cataracts. The center served as the informal gathering spot for the rez. There was a pool table for the teens, and tables and chairs for the elders. During the day there were usually at least a dozen teenagers hanging around, gossiping and flirting with each other. The elders would be complaining about the youngsters and talking about the old days.

I headed to the basketball court, where I saw about twenty teens and ten adults. I made my way through the people, who were gathered in clusters and talking. Two of the younger kids were trying to freestyle rap, but their attempts sounded pretty lame, even to my rock-and-roll ears. I kept an eye out for anyone I might have had a conflict with in the past, anybody who might still hold a grudge. Didn’t need more problems tonight.