Nobody Cries at Bingo (24 page)

Samantha, Celeste and I explored the sports grounds. Meadow Lake was bigger than any reserve we'd been to before. It had two huge gymnasiums and six ball fields. It also had a track and well-stocked band store within walking distance. Even better, less than a kilometre away they had a lake where you could rent motorboats for five bucks and you didn't have to have a license or anything. It was truly a paradise.

There were brown faces everywhere you looked. If you listened, you could hear a variety of languages spoken.

Not everyone was brown. One afternoon, a group of pale-skinned girls strolled past us. There were a few golden-haired blondes and even a redhead in the bunch.

“Why are there white girls here?” I wondered aloud. And not happily either. I had to contend with white girls in school, I didn't want to have to deal with them on my summer vacation.

Samantha laughed. “Those aren't white girls. Those are Bill C-31s.”

“Bill what's?”

“You know their moms married white guys.”

Bill C-31 had just been passed in Parliament and now its effects were trickling down to us. Before it was passed, the Indian Act narrowly defined who was and was not an Indian. The Indian Act magically turned a Non-Native woman into a Native if she married a Native man. The Indian Act transformed any Native woman who married a non-Native into a non-Native person. It also made her Treaty rights disappear. They should have called it the Houdini Act. Once Bill C-31 was passed, the Native women who had lost their rights got them back.

I was instantly envious of the Bill C-31s. These girls had all the rights of Indians and because they tended to be lighter, they faced less of the racism; it was the perfect deal. Mom had made a similar comment in reference to Valerie, a white woman from our reserve. “That Val's got it made in spades.” Valerie was a southern belle from West Virginia. She introduced the reserve to grits, fried chicken and “Y'all.” In return, we taught her to fry bannock, make Indian tacos and say “youse.”

I showed Jared to Samantha and she agreed that he was cute. “Who do you like?” I asked.

She shrugged. “No one.”

“Don't worry we'll find someone for you. Maybe another athlete like yourself,” I said helpfully.

From my avid research, I knew that Jared hung out with Mike, who was tall with a face like a horse. Mike had a loud laugh and liked to crack jokes. He always stood a foot behind Jared effectively protecting Jared's perfect skin from the sun.

Their tent was located twenty feet northeast of ours. They didn't have a chaperone because Mike was sixteen years old.

“What events are you in?” Samantha boldly asked them as we walked to breakfast together.

Mike was just there to play baseball he said. Jared was in all of the short distance races and also playing on the baseball team.

“You're really good,” I whispered, staring down at the ground.

“I hear you're really good,” Samantha said loudly.

Jared smiled, “Thanks.”

In the bathroom, Samantha and I discussed the exchange. “Do you think he likes me?” I asked Samantha as I smoothed my hair down in the mirror.

Samantha shrugged. “Why don't you ask him?”

“I can't do that!” That wouldn't be romantic. Jared and I were soul mates and you don't have to ask your soul mate if they like you. You know by looking into their eyes. Unfortunately I was too shy to look into his eyes.

Celeste said that she figured he liked me because he kept looking in my direction. I thanked her with my eyes and silently promised her the biggest bedroom overlooking the ocean.

Charlene Bear was our chaperone and slept at the front of the doorway of our tent.

“Nobody but nobody is getting in trouble on this trip,” she said calmly as she laid out her sleeping bag.

“What kind of trouble?”

“Oh, you know.”

I don't think we did know. All we knew was that we wanted to get near the boys but we didn't know what we would do with them once we got close. Kiss them? That seemed do-able. And, what about this French-kissing thing kids were talking about? I didn't know if I'd be good at it; they didn't start teaching French at my school until grade nine.

And what was all that first, second and third base stuff? I barely understood when I was supposed to bunt.

And what exactly was “doing it?”

I know this seems incredibly naïve but remember, this was before Discovery channel and the Internet. All I knew about sex I'd heard from listening in to my mom gossip with her friends. Whenever they got to the good parts, they would drop their voices and lean close to one another. I'd have to leave my hiding spot and pretend to walk through the kitchen for some water. “What are you doing? Go play outside!”

“I'm thirsty.”

“Since when are you too good to drink out of the hose? Now, out!”

When I looked at a boy, all I noticed were his facial features. It took only one glance to declare if they were handsome or not. And it took only one more to fall in love. Without their heads, I wouldn't even recognize them. What was the point? What else could possibly be of value beyond a pair of long eyelashes and a sexy smile?

I knew that underneath their clothes boys were different but I didn't know how exactly. I barely understood my own anatomy. I mean, yes I knew that I was flat-footed, barrel chested and longwinded but what did that have to do with anything?

I was clueless and this was evident in my style of flirting. I had discovered that talking to my crush was much too nerve-wracking so I couldn't talk to him directly. Instead I teased his best friend incessantly.

“Hey, Mike, you ever let little kids ride on your back? Yes or neigh?”

Mike laughed and returned the teasing, “Hey, Dawn, did a ball hit you in the face? Oh sorry, you just look that way naturally.”

With the friend, I could be bold. With my crush, I was quiet, verging on taciturn. If Charlene had witnessed my flirting style she would have felt more than comfortable moving her sleeping bag to the back of the tent.

Samantha on the other hand had no problem talking to all boys, including Jared. She didn't need to bounce her remarks off Mike to whom she barely paid any attention. She and Jared invented little nicknames between one another. “See ya later Jer.” “You too Gonzales.”

“Why did he call you Gonzales?”

“Oh you know, speedy Gonzales, after the cartoon. It's stupid.”

“It sure is stupid!” I laughed loudly. Anger simmered beneath the surface.

I took a walk to the bathroom with my sister. “I think Samantha likes Jared,” I huffed.

“Maybe she just wants to be his friend?” Celeste offered.

I wanted to believe Celeste even though I knew it wasn't so. My friend was betraying me and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

I suppose I could have hung out with other friends but since I didn't have any, that didn't leave me with many options. I decided I would continue our farce of a friendship.

My races became of secondary importance. I even missed one race because I was over at the ball fields watching the boys play.

Charlene took me aside. “What are you here for, Dawn? I mean, really.”

I knew immediately what I was there for. I was there to be the third party in the most painful love triangle the world had ever seen. “To have fun?”

“Yes but also to compete. Remember that.”

Ah, competition. The answer was right there in front of me. I was not some passive baby; I was a fighter. I was Rocky Balboa in the fifth round, bloody and bruised, with a core of power that was yet untouched.

The next mealtime I purposely sat next to Mike and Jared.

“Hi Jared, how are your games going?”

Jared looked surprised to hear me speaking to him. “Okay. Looks like we're gonna take gold.”

I tried to be witty. “My aren't we cocky.”

“What?”

“Sorry, didn't mean to insult your immense ego,
Jer
.”

Mike laughed.

“Right.” Jared looked wary.

My brain screamed, “You're losing him! Abort, abort!”

Instead I said, “You're so pretty Jared, anyone ever mistake you for a guy?”

Jared picked up his tray and left.

I looked across the cafeteria. I could see Samantha sitting with a group of girls I had not yet met. After lunch I joined her. She was cold. “So what did Jared say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“I think he likes you.”

“Not anymore,” I whispered under my breath.

We ran to our ball diamond. Charlene had taped the roster on the side of the bleachers. Samantha was playing first base. I was playing right field as usual.

“Ha ha, the outfield is for bad players.” Samantha laughed at her own joke.

“Well, first base is for . . . for . . . show-offs!”

“Dawn, you have spit in the corner of your mouth,” Celeste said helpfully.

I wiped my mouth and turned away from Samantha. I found another girl to warm up with.

Every one of Samantha's laughs was a knife through my gut. She. Is. So. Annoying. The ball said as it landed in my glove. I had never been good at throwing a ball but it became remarkably easy when I was angry. The other girl throwing the ball had a worried look on her face, “Not so hard, Dawn. We're just warming up.”

“Yeah, sorry. Don't know my own strength.”

I decided I was warm enough and climbed up the bleachers. I was half way to the top when a foul ball strayed from the diamond and struck my shoulder. A hot pain reverberated through my body. I even felt it in my teeth as I crumpled onto the bleachers. I bravely fought the pain with a righteous scream. Soon tears joined the party and I was viewing the world through a blurry mist. The first face I saw was Samantha's.

“What happened?”

“The ball hit me!”

“It's okay. It's not turning blue or anything,” she said, as she peeked at my shoulder.

“It still hurts!” I whined.

She sat next to me and rubbed my shoulder. It made the pain worse. I didn't complain because it was the nicest thing a friend had ever done for me.

Our chartered bus left at seven pm on the last night of the summer games. As we left, fireworks lit the sky. Celeste sat in front of me with her best friend and Samantha and I sat behind them.

We compared medals. Samantha had five. She wore them all round her neck. I had two; they were safely stashed in my backpack. We talked about all our fun times. It had been a great two weeks and as the bus pulled onto the highway, I remembered that I had forgotten to call my mom.

I tapped Celeste's shoulder. “Hey, Celeste did you call Mom?”

Celeste shook her head. “I thought you did.”

“Boy is she gonna be mad.” As I said it, I secretly marveled at my new independence. I could spend any amount of time away from Mom . . . as long as boys were somehow involved.

Mike walked up to our seat and whispered in Samantha's ear. She looked behind us. Jared waved at her.

“I wonder what he wants?” she asked innocently.