Rez Runaway by Melanie Florence

Author:Melanie Florence
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lorimer
Published: 2016-09-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Giving In

So that’s how I spent my days. I would hang out downtown, asking people for spare change and filling out job applications at every store and restaurant I could find. Not one of them called me for an interview. It wasn’t surprising considering my work experience consisted of mowing lawns, helping tend to the sweat lodge back home, and odd jobs like painting. In the city there were too many applicants and not enough jobs. And the few dollars I got from people on the street didn’t buy nearly enough food and certainly didn’t allow me a bed or shower.

At night, I found a corner in the park with John. We swapped stories, shared what little food we had, and looked out for each other. He made me miss home, but it made things more bearable to have someone to talk to.

John coughed beside me. I pulled his cardigan more tightly around him.

“Are you okay?” I asked. His cough had been getting worse. John waved me off and took a drink from the bottle of water I held out to him.

“I’m fine. Just a cold. I got you something,” he announced, rummaging around in one of his shopping bags.

“For me?” I asked, surprised. John pulled out a navy blue hoodie and handed it to me. It looked nearly new. The word GAP written across the front was barely faded. It had been washed enough that it was soft and it was lined in some kind of fleece that made it look invitingly warm.

“John, you didn’t have to do this. You should have bought yourself some soup or some cough syrup,” I told him.

He shrugged. “Saw it at the Salvation Army and thought you could use it. Nights are getting colder.”

“But . . .” I stammered.

“It’s okay, son. I had a couple of bucks and you needed something warmer than that old thing.” He gestured toward my old sweatshirt.

“You could probably use a new coat,” I said, looking at his threadbare overcoat.

“I’ve got my bottle to keep me warm,” he patted his pocket, winking at me.

“Did you start drinking when you came to the city?” I asked.

John shook his head. “Hell no! Me and the bottle go back a long time, Joe. We used to try to make our own back at Mohawk. It was rotgut stuff but it did the trick. Made you forget where you were for a little while.”

I nodded. I was curious about John’s time at the Mohawk Institute but I didn’t want to ask too many questions. I knew how sensitive survivors could be about it. Like my grandfather who never talked about what happened there. Asking him questions had earned me a slap or two.

I changed the subject. I thanked John again and put the hoodie on, marvelling at how much more bearable it made sleeping outside. I had a new hoodie and I had eaten dinner. I had my new friend, John.

But it wasn’t enough.

I didn’t want to take sponge baths in the restroom at McDonalds.

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