Crazy Horse's Girlfriend (9781940430447) (24 page)

It took a couple turns of the ignition for it to catch, and I let it warm up a bit before we took off.

“Will, where did you get the idea to go to Paris?” I asked.

“Well, it's where all the cool people are.”

“Sure. OK. But what's up with you wanting to go there?”

Will looked out the window and I thought he wasn't going to answer me. But after a bit he looked over at me and pursed his long, purple lips moodily at me.

“Girl, you think I'm not cool enough to know about Paris?”

“You're very cool.”

“Don't cop an attitude with me, woman.”

I laughed despite myself. “You're a fucking nut, Will. You really are.”

“I'm not the only nut in the car, hey,” he said and I agreed. I was a nut.

We pulled into the liquor store and I handed my little nutty accomplice some money.

“Cheap beer,” I said. “I want to class this night up.”

“Right,” he said. He got out of the car and walked into the store behind an old, sad-looking white guy in overalls. Will reappeared a few minutes later, cradling a case of Bud in his arms.

“Mission accomplished,” he said, pulling his belt over his lap and buckling it.

“You mean
classy
mission accomplished.”

“Yeah. Bud's gonna class this night up good,” he said.

I put the car in drive and took off.

“You know the only baguette I've ever had is from the grocery store. Something tells me that's not what they taste like in France.”

“Fuck no. They bake that shit fresh every day,” Will said, pulling a smoke from my pack and lighting up.

“The only thing I have that's baked and fresh is weed,” I said. “That's fucking sad.”

Will looked at me thoughtfully. “You got any weed on you?”

“Sure. Though I'm not in the mood to smoke.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“You could say that,” I said, pulling into the parking lot. We got out and Will pulled the case of beer out of the back seat and we made our way back up the stairs and into the apartment.

Megan was watching some crazy horror film, the sound of a woman, probably blonde, screaming her crappy guts out echoing throughout the place.

“Good God, what is this?” I asked. Will had put the case of beer in the fridge and grabbed one for me and Megan. He handed me one and then Megan.

“Dunno.
Rocky
finished and this came on and I thought, why not? Don't you like scary movies?”

“Sure,” I said, sitting down.

“Do you guys want to smoke some weed?” I asked.

Megan looked at me. “Well, the baby's asleep for the night. And I haven't in a long time.” She looked at Will. “And I really do need to chill. Are you?”

“Nah. But you and Will should. Really.”

“OK,” she said, shrugging.

I had forgotten my pipe at home, so we had to dig out some old zigzags of Will's. He had gone through this phase of rolling his own cigarettes. I rolled a fatty and handed it to Megan, who took a deep hit and coughed hard after.

“Good one,” I said, and she handed it to Will and pounded on her chest.

Will took a hit, a big hit, and then held the joint a distance in front of him, between two long, brown fingers, and leaned against the couch, this faraway look in his eyes. “Shit,” he said.

I laughed. He passed it back to Megan but she shook her head and Will took it back, hitting it again, hard.

“Cool it, tiger,” I said and he shrugged, held it in, exhaled and took another hit, blowing it out in a long, smoky stream.

We were quiet, watching TV, when Will said, “You know Margaritte, you're alright.”

“Gee, thanks Will,” I said, which cracked him up.

“No really, you're cool. You have a Mexican name and you kind of look like a Mexican but you're OK.”

“Uh, sure Will,” I said and looked over at Megan. She rolled her eyes and gestured for the joint. I handed it to her.

“Idn't she a little tall for a Mexican?” Megan said.

Will looked like Megan had said something totally profound and then said, “Yeah, yeah she is, come to think of it.”

“I'm fine with looking Mexican,” I said, wanting to hit that joint but still feeling creepy about it. Will laughed uproariously.

“Yeah, that's fucking hilarious,” Megan said, going into the bedroom to check on the baby. She came back a few minutes later, shutting her door quietly.

“I need another beer,” he said, and got up. When he got back, he had two beers in his hands. He plopped down in front of the TV and immediately opened the first one, drinking hard and long, his Adam's apple moving quick and hard. Pretty soon he was done with the first and onto the second, and then he started laughing real wild at the TV.

“What's so funny?” I asked and Will just held his stomach and pointed.

“You're weird,” Megan said, getting up to grab another beer. She came back and cracked it open, plopping down hard on the couch.

Will then started to get real talkative, but he wasn't making any sense. He'd try to say something and just sputter out, like an old car. So Megan and me started laughing because as awful and stupid as it was, it was fucking funny and Will kept laughing harder and harder. Then, when he'd get up to walk, he'd fall straight down.

“You want some water?” I asked him and he looked over at me and whacked me on the chest. Lucky for Will, Jake was in jail, 'cause if he had seen that, Will would have been upended. I got up and sat at the table.

“Megan. Wanna wrestle?”

She looked over at Will incredulously.

“No,” she said, and he laughed hysterically.

“Just a lil' joke.”

Finally, Will passed out on the couch like it was his final resting place. He hardly looked like he was breathing. I shook my head thinking, Jesus, I can't believe this guy. No matter where he goes, he's still on Pine Ridge.

“He looks dead,” I said.

“He's not,” Megan said. “Too bad.”

“Jeez, Megan,” I said.

“Well.”

“You know what? Tomorrow morning, I'm telling that fucker to get the fuck out and never come back. He has fucked me over so many times.”

I nodded. She was right. I knew she was right. He used everyone around her. He really did. I looked over at him, passed out and pathetic.

“I think he was already on something else before we started drinking and smoking,” I said.

Megan rolled her eyes. “I'm gonna go check on the baby,” she said.

I nodded and when she went into the bedroom, I went for a beer and drank it fast. I was angry. So angry. I could hear the baby crying. I leaned against the counter and finished the beer and cracked another one open. Put it down. Men were shit. They treated everyone around them like they'd been born to serve their stupid, childish needs.

I looked over at Will. I shook my head and though I felt like I hated him, I did hope for Megan's sake that his final resting place wouldn't be her couch.

I went over and sat next to him and I watched TV, feeling shitty and self-righteous. I looked over at Will. He was just sitting there, his expression nearly pompous. Something about that pissed me off. I walked over to my bag, this great brown and white Pendleton my old teacher gave me and I started digging through it. I heard the baby crying in Megan's room and Megan saying, “Shhh, shhhh.” I kept on digging.

Finally I found what I was looking for and I walked over to Will and started to draw on his face, praying to God that he wouldn't wake up. I wrote,
Kiss me, I'm stupid
and
Here Comes the Apple
. I finished and laughed, then took a couple of steps back and then sat in a rocking chair across from that ratty old couch and looked at Will in the near darkness, admiring my work and laughing again. Then I pulled out my lipstick and gave him big, red lips.

I could still hear the baby crying but with all of that alcohol in my brain, it all seemed distant, meaningless. I sat there for a long time, waiting for Megan to come out of her room and I remember watching him like that I thought of one of his goddamn stories. It was about this dog he had found when he was a kid on his rez. It wasn't even a ratty rez dog or nothing, it was this poodle that his dad found wandering the streets in the town off of Pine Ridge. All his little girl cousins wanted the poodle 'cause it looked just like the dogs on TV that all the little rich white girls had. But for some reason that dog took to Will like nothing else, it just loved him and curled up with him at night and everything. Then one time, Will got really sick, thought he was gonna die he felt so bad, and that dog wouldn't leave him for nothing, not even to eat. Said his dad had to take the dog's food into Will's room until Will got better. About a year after that the dog got sick. It was old anyways. So they took the dog to the vet 'cause Will begged and begged and the vet said the dog was on its last leg but to leave it overnight so that they could observe it and everything. But the worst part is, when they went back the next morning, the dog was dead. Will told me he never felt so bad in his life, said he couldn't believe he had let his dad convince him to leave it overnight when that dog wouldn't leave him for nothing when he was sick.

I was thinking about Will and his poodle when Megan finally came out and saw what I had done. She started laughing, though by that time I felt like shit for doing it. Will didn't even move, but he was breathing pretty regular. We joked for a while and then started watching a movie. I looked over at Will. He was still passed out. I had never seen him asleep before and even with all that makeup on, he was still beautiful with his face like some kind of Sioux Jesus, his hands all spread across his chest. But he just throws all of that in the trash… he's nothing, really.

 

C

H

A

P

T

E

R

 

1

1

 

I drove home around 11:00, hoping that everyone was asleep. But when I got in the door, I could hear the TV blaring in the living room and sighed. I walked past as quickly and quietly as I could, thinking maybe Dad wouldn't hear me, so I wouldn't have to deal with his
please watch this program with me
thing. When I was a kid, I thought that his attention showed how much he loved me. But when I got older, I realized that he was just lonely and fucked up.

“Margaritte?” he said, his voice slurring, his back still to me. I had almost made it.

I was silent. I thought about just staying silent, tip toe-ing past as quietly as I could.

“Yes?”

“Where you… been?” he asked, turning around on the couch to face me.

“Studying with Julia,” I said, hoping it was over.

“Oh.”

“I'm just gonna go to bed Dad, OK?”

“No—no, waita minute,” he said, standing up.

“Jeez, Dad.” He was in his underwear, his thick, freckled legs and torso looking more white and freckled than ever.

“Whaaa?”

“You're… never mind.” Normally he was a pretty modest dude and I didn't want to embarrass him by pointing out that he had somehow lost his robe in the process of the evening's entertainment, especially since he was drunk. He looked so drunk he made
me
feel drunk.

“Where you been?”

“Remember, Dad, I just told you. Julia's house.” I arched an eyebrow.

“Dontchu tell me to member!” he yelled, slipping a little and then recovering. I flinched.

“Sorry, Dad.”

He shook his head in an exaggerated motion and said, “Sorry, sorry, I—”

“It's OK, Dad.”

“Is just, I find that hard to believe.” He sounded almost sober.

“Believe it,” I said and he laughed and cocked his eyebrows back in that funny way he always did. I stared at his drunk ass for a while, just wanting to take my clothes off, brush my teeth and sleep.

“Dad. I was studying all afternoon. I just wanna go to sleep, OK?” I sounded whiny. I was practically praying for him to leave me the fuck alone.

“Julia's.”

“Yes, Dad, Julia's. Remember Julia?”

He seemed to be thinking about that for a while. I was afraid he'd forget again and we'd have to go through the whole fucking thing one more time when I heard Mom yelling from the bedroom.

“Doug! Come to bed!”

“Jus a minute Christine!”

I felt guilty. I'd left Mom and the twins alone with him.

Then I could hear the bedroom door opening and the sound of Mom stomping down the hallway. I sighed and pulled on the edge of my tank top. I really wasn't ready for drama. I was ready for sleep. The whole thing with Will and Megan had worn me out.

Mom appeared a few seconds later, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed. She looked over at Dad and rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ, Doug! You're in your underwear!”

He swerved his head towards her. “Shut up Christine! I'm tryina talk to Margaritte.”

Mom sighed real heavy. “Come to bed, Doug.”

He waggled his head and I looked over at Mom and she looked back. We both looked over at Dad and then Mom went over and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Just come to bed, Doug.”

He looked down at her hand, slowly, and then swatted it off.

“Doug, be reasonable.”

“You be reasonable.” He lurched past me.

“Doug… ” Mom called, but he was already halfway to his office.

“Great. Now he'll be there all night,” she said.

“Mom, you know how he is,” I said moodily. “I just want to go to bed.”

“Well, first of all, I don't know where you were all day, but when we got home, we had to deal with him on our own. And then he got really drunk.” Her mouth was in a little, angry line.

I closed my eyes and put my head in my hands. Mom sighed, and we listened to Dad rooting around in the office. The twins' bedroom door opened and they walked out slowly, holding hands, Mary's thumb in her mouth. They were wearing Care Bear sleep shirts and they looked like the little Indian porcelain dolls that you can buy at gas stations.

“Is Dad mad?' Carrie asked.

“Yes. He's mad. And drunk,” Mom said, and I worried Dad would hear her. “Let's all just go to bed.” I got up and took Mary's hand, and Mary was still holding Carrie's hand. Mary let go of my hand and looked up at me. She delicately fingered the silver turquoise bracelet I was wearing that Auntie Justine had traded for her beadwork years ago, when she still used to do that.

“Can I get a bracelet like yours?” She asked.

“Sure, someday. We could maybe get you one at powwow.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“You should dance. You could do Fancy Shawl.”

“OK.” She stuck her thumb back in her mouth.

“I want to do… the fancy!” Carrie said. Mary frowned around her thumb and let go of Carrie's hand. I sighed. “You can both do Fancy Shawl someday. Now let's go.” I took both of their hands. Mom followed behind.

“Is Dad in his office?” Carrie asked.

“Yes,” I said, herding them both.

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

“He sure does like that office.”

“Yeah,” Mary said, taking her thumb out for a second and then sticking it back in.

We were almost to the twins' room when we heard Dad behind us.

“Christine,” he said, real soft. I kept walking but the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“Doug, for… ” and then she trailed off. And then, “Oh God, oh Doug, oh God,” and I turned around. He was holding one of his guns.

“I jus' wanna talk.”

“Doug. We're putting the twins to bed,” Mom said.

“Does Dad have a gun?” Carrie asked, and I pulled them both close.

“I jus' wanna talk,” he said again. His eyes were bloodshot and the gun was lying at his side, looking strangely like a dead snake hanging from his hand.

“Oh Doug,” Mom said. We were all still.

“Dad… ” I said finally, and he swerved his head drunkenly. He stared at me like he didn't really recognize me for a second, then said, “I wanna talk.”

“Let me handle this, Margaritte.” Mom didn't even look at me. She kept her eyes on Dad.

“Doug. If you want to talk, that's OK. But we were just going to bed. Can't we talk tomorrow?”

He looked over at all of us, and shook his head messily, sadly. “Why won't any of you talk to me?” He sighed heavily, his large nearly-naked frame moving solidly up, then down.

“We'll talk, Dad,” I said.

“Margaritte! Let! Me! Handle! This!”

“OK.”

“Are you gonna go back into your office?” Carrie asked and Dad looked over at her.

“I don't wannu, I don' wannu.” He put his hand over his eyes.

“We'll talk Doug, but what do you need the gun for?” Mom asked.

Dad looked down at the gun like he'd almost forgotten he was holding it.

“Well, I thought we could talk, and then take a walk.” He nodded then, like what he'd just said made perfect sense.

“Doug, we're tired. Could we take a walk tomorrow?” Mom asked and Dad shook his head. “No. We should take a walk now, and we should take the gun. It's jus not safe out there anymore.” He pushed his Kmart glasses further up his nose, which looked real funny on him, considering they were the only thing he had on besides his underwear.

“But Doug, it's late. We could talk, but I don't think we should take a walk. The girls need to go to sleep and you don't really want to walk this late, do you? It's dark outside.”

He looked at her for a while with this funny, sad little expression on his face.

“Why won't you talk to me?”

“We can talk, Doug.”

He switched the gun from his left to his right hand and looked down at it and then up.

“You jus' don't care.”

“I care
—
” she said, but he interrupted her.

“You don't!”

“I do care, Doug, and we can talk. Just come to bed, OK?”

He shook his head again and looked down at the gun.

“Doug… can't you see you're scaring the kids?'

He looked up sharply. “You're scaring the kids, Christine!”

“Please, Doug. Please put the gun away, Doug.”

“You don't love me.” Tears were running down his face.

“I love you, Doug,” Mom said.

“I love you, Daddy,” Carrie said, and he looked at her and wiped his tears with one hand, roughly.

“I have to pee,” Mary said.

“Just a minute,” I whispered, and patted her on the head.

“Doug, aren't you tired? The kids are tired. They want to go to bed. Can't we just go to bed? Aren't you tired, Doug?”

He sighed. “Yes… I'm very tired.”

He looked away, down at the gun and then at Mom with this real suspicious look on his face.

“Why don't you put that away and go to bed?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I think we're all tired Doug, can't you see that?”

“No. I think you all don't care.” Mom closed her eyes. “I think—” he started, and raised the gun slightly. Mom and me stepped back.

“I have to pee!” Mary said.

“I know,” I said, and Mary started to whine.

He raised it a little more. “None of you care!”

“Doug… ” Mom said.

“No! No!” He pulled the gun almost all the way up.

“Margaritte, follow me,” Mom said and I nodded for a full minute before I realized that she wasn't looking at me.

“Yes,” I said finally, gripping Mary and Carrie's hands, hard.

“Good.”

“I have to pee!” Mary said again. I reached down and patted her head without looking at her. I started to back towards the bathroom and Dad turned the gun towards us. We froze. Mary began to pee.

“Nooooooooo,” she said, crying.

“It's OK,” Carrie said. “I peed once too.”

“Doug, if you don't put the gun away and let us go to bed, we're going to have to leave.”

“Noooooo,” he said, sounding like Mary. “We have to talk.”

“No, Doug.” She looked at him. He held tightly to the gun.

“Let's go.” Mom started walking towards the stairs, watching Dad the whole time. “Doug,” she said, pausing near him. “We're going to go. But we will be back tomorrow.” And she motioned for me to follow. I started walking with the twins.

“No, Christine, no.” He moved the gun in her direction. She didn't stop, but I did. She looked over at me, “Come on Margaritte,” she said, and I looked over at Dad and started moving. He looked panicky but he trailed off, and the gun wilted in his hand.

As me and the twins walked past, I thought of the time that he had made me hold the gun. I had screamed that I didn't want to, but he made me, yelling angrily the whole time. It had sat limply in my hand, tears running down my face until he took it from me, shaking his head in disgust. The funny thing was, Dad had no real use for guns. He wasn't like my uncles, who were hunters. He didn't even know how to shoot proper really, he just had them. A lot of them.

We made it past him, behind Mom who grabbed her old tooled-leather purse that was always sitting on the stand by the door. I could feel the gun at my back. I didn't know whether he would shoot, or put the gun down, or whether he would shoot and miss, or hit… but I could feel his anger and loneliness mixing behind me and moving out towards us. I waited for the gun to go off, for it to hit me right between my shoulder blades. I thought of the little, tiny person growing inside of me. At the door, I looked back. He was standing there, the gun against his leg, his eyes on us. I turned and followed Mom. I closed the door.

On the car ride to the hotel, the twins cried for their Barbies, and Mom slapped me because I'd left them with Dad the whole day and that meant the whole thing had been my fault. When she slapped me, she split my lip, and blood began running down my face and mixing with my tears. I knew why we were heading towards a hotel and not over to Auntie Justine's. She knew what Dad was like and would have been happy to take us in, but then Mom would have had to bear the humiliation of having to tell her what had happened and hear another long, ranting speech about leaving Dad.

At the hotel the guy at the counter stared at us: two children in pajamas, one with pee stains drying on her Care Bear sleep shirt, one teenager looking like exactly what she was, a drug dealer in a white wifebeater, and a woman in pajamas. She handed the guy her credit card and he took it, ran it through, and handed us a hotel key.