Carnival Lights

Chapter 6

West

In Ojibwe ways, the west direction is the direction of constant change, death, and loss.

In Ojibwe ways, the west direction is the direction of constant change, death, and loss.That night Sher, Kristin, and the boy found a place to sleep under a bridge just southwest of Loring Park. They did not stay in the stairwell of the church because the girls did not know if they could trust him and they wanted to be able to go back to the stairwell if they needed to. They huddled there in the tall grasses next to the cement ramp that slanted downhill under highway 94. Despite the gas fumes, the area smelled of the “happy grass” their grandmother used to braid and burn. She had a patch out back, in the northeast corner where the pasture met the government woods. She took special care in the fall, keeping the seeds and a few roots in the cellar.

“Smell that?” Kris asked, when an intense wave of sweet grass enveloped her.

“Yah,” Sher said. “Happy grass.”

“I got some,” Jacob said.

The girls laughed. Their spirits lifted. They were in the right place.

Jacob pulled out a small purple velour pouch filled with m*******a. He found an empty Tab can, pushed down one side with his thumbs, and poked holes in the dents using a safety pin that attached the pouch inside his shirt.

“m*******a?” Kris asked, wide-eyed.

Jacob laughed. “w**d. Mary Jane. Only squares say marijuana.” He carved a small hole near the bottom of the can and mounded m*******a over the pinholes. “Oh man,” he said. “I need a light.”

Kris lit the m*******a pile with the lighter Sher bought at the truck stop.

“Hey! You said you didn’t have a light,” Jacob said, as if he were a small child calling out injustice on an adult. “Why’dja do that?”

Sher shrugged.

He inhaled through the mouthpiece keeping his finger over the hole near the bottom that he had carved. He let his finger off and inhaled deeper until he could take in no more. Setting the can on the ground next to Kris, Jacob lay back holding his breath. The smoke drifted into the night air, disappearing as a spiral into the stars.

“Dig it, cat,” Kristin said, nervous. She’d never smoked m*******a before.

Smoke shot out of the boy’s mouth. He laughed, rolled over coughing and grabbing at his side. “Ow, s**t,” he said. “Dig it, cat. Where’d you hear that?”

“Mod…” She was about to say “squad” but realized he was making fun of her.

“Go’on, Indian girl. It won’t hurt you.”

Kris grabbed the can and lighter and sucked in the w**d. She burst out coughing.

“Can’t handle the happy grass, huh?”

Kris shook her head as she hacked. “Shut up.”

“You gonna try?” Jacob asked Sher.

“Nah,” Sher said.

“I don’t feel nothing,” Kris said, crinkling her eyes.

“Try it again, chickie.” Jacob laughed.

“You’re the chick,” she said, pushing the burnt m*******a around. Kristin smoked again.

She handed the can to Sher and lay on her back with her arm crooked behind her head. “Can’t barely see the stars here.”

“Yah,” Sher said, tossing the can into the weeds.

“Oooo la,” Jacob said.

“What day is it?” Kris laughed.

The boy rolled over. “Who cares?” Car lights streaked through the evening. “Got somewhere to go?”

“Do you need to go to a doctor or something?” Kristin asked as she stared into the sky. “They’re like eyes up there. Watching us.”

“Oh, yeah. The hospital. So they can call my mom and dad. Stick me in jail.”

“For what?” Kristin asked. “Who? The fuzz?”

“The fuzz?” Jacob snorted. “That’s what you hicks say up there? Wherever you’re from.”

“The fuzz!” Kris jumped up, and pretended to point a g*n. She sang the opening song of The Mod Squad. “Hey! I know! We could be the Minneapolis Mod Squad! Sher, you be Pete. I’m Linc. Jacob, you’re Julie.”

The Mod Squad“Pete?” Sher asked. “How am I Pete?”

“Julie!” Jacob protested, but secretly that was who he wanted to be.

“Yah! Julie. You’re Julie!” Kris yelled. “And what did you do that the fuzz would throw you in the slammer, man?” She stood over him as if she were Linc holding a g*n on a suspect.

The boy tapped his fingers on his thigh, still twitchy from the acid and beating. “Okay. I’ll be Julie.”

“Solid,” Kris said imitating what Linc said on the hippie TV cop show. “What did you do?” Kristin asked. The people she knew who’d been to jail had been tossed behind bars for fighting drunk in Antwatin, or when the sheriff tipped his whiskey jug at lunch, the people Kris knew had been tossed in jail just for being Indian in Antwatin.

“Hey,” Sher growled. “Cool it.”

“Having fun?” Two white boys walked up on them.

Kristin turned her pretend g*n on the boys.

“Looks like it,” the tall boy said.

“Smells like it,” the short one said. They laughed, their hair nearly the length of girls’.

The tall one stopped over Sher’s legs. “Hola.” He nodded. He handed a flyer to Kris. “It’s cool,” he said. “Don’t shoot. No dispares. Chido, muchachas. Catch you Saturday.”

HolaNo dispares. Chido, muchachasThe boys strode back where they came from, headed north toward downtown Minneapolis. Cars spun overhead and hummed down the road below them.