If Grandpa was there, he wasn’t talking first.
You warned me, I said.
Nothing.
You helped me.
He was playing hard to get.
Why this time? I asked, spinning in my little lonely world. Not that I don’t appreciate the effort, but there’re about a hundred times I could name where I could’ve used the help. Like that RPG in the market.
This time, you were working with something from my world. You needed more than dreams.
You sorry I didn’t listen?
You do what you’re going to do.
Well, I got myself a monster. Does that make me a monster too?
Grandpa didn’t answer right away, so I did it for him: I guess that’s why they call it a curse. Or responsibility.
Maybe you got some First in you after all.
I gave her up. Killed her inside me.
She’s still with you. With everybody. She’s carrying the medicine of our return from where the First came from. All the First, and not just for one man, but for everybody. For everyone you’re keeping inside you, and the ones you let go.
That’s some powerful shit.
Best there is.
Something caressed my face, and I thought it was Medicine Snake Woman saying her farewell. But her touch was cold and then I thought she was dead. I opened my eyes, resolving not to let my heart break again when I looked up at her face. Instead of her, I saw the head of a giant white snake over me, tongue tasting the air, one cold eye fixed on me.
Your great-grandfather died because he killed his monster.
Snake. Talking. I wasn’t having it.
That bridge collapse wasn’t his fault.
No, but battle has its cost.
The design was flawed. The builders didn’t correct it. I looked it up.
If your grandfather hadn’t fought as long and hard as he did to win, the weight would have held long enough for the men to leave at day’s end. But if he’d lost, far more terrible things would have come to the Kahnawake. And to more. Your grandfather, he was killed by the one that came for him.
My heart jumped. Grandpa? You never told me.
And terrible things followed. Fire. And blood. For the world.
And Dad — my dad...
Your father was killed before his time came. You carried his burden, as well as your own.
So, what’s the cost of my winning? Am I going to die? Is my apartment building going to collapse—
You paid your price, in your heart.
I didn’t like the way that sounded. Already, I was feeling like I needed a way to let everything slide off of me. Maybe even lose Grandpa in my head. So I said, Am I done? Is the blood and the duty part of my life over?
You’re not that special.
Ideas burst out of the little boxes I’d tried keeping them locked up in. They chased each other around in my head like mice running from a cat, and the circle of my little life suddenly grew bigger. Medicine Snake Woman. Monsters. Dead people in my head. A burden of duty. I got a little cold thinking about how lucky I’d been, with Grandpa in my head and Medicine Snake Woman being there to give me a way to come out on top. And then I was cold as the far side of the moon, thinking of Great-Grandpa all alone on high steel against something like that. And Grandpa, going down, then Dad, never getting the chance to even fight, having to watch me come to his grave searching for answers and not being able to give me any.
Then I remembered it wasn’t Grandpa talking. It was the damned snake.
“What the hell are you?” My question echoed in the big empty train station, and I looked to the tunnel entrances for someone new to come into my life.
That’s your animal spirit, boy. Snake. Must be the white man part of you.
Grandpa.
I gave a look back into that snake’s eye. Why?
Gift from Medicine Snake Woman. Consider it your love child.
I pushed myself up and saw her standing on the platform edge smiling at me, though her face was bruised. She favored one leg and kept her hands behind her back.
“Thanks—” I started to say, but she was already gone.
And then I remembered, she’d already said, “You’re welcome.”
The snake curled around me, gave me a squeeze. I saw stars. Python, boa constrictor, I couldn’t decide. But after the thing finished hugging and sliding over me, I felt a lot better, though by the end the snake was down to the size of a string I could tie around my finger.
I picked up the little snake, which wriggled in my palm, and asked it, “How did you know that stuff about my father and grandpa?”
Of course, there was no answer. Still, I was grateful. For a little while.
Medicine Snake Woman was already fading from my heart. She was dead, at least to my flesh-and-blood heart. I’d done a good job killing and burying her. Pretty soon, the surprise and sorrow and pride I’d felt knowing what happened to my ancestors would slide off of me too. Because nothing sticks with me, not for long.
But the circle I was running in was still bigger. My life was taking a turn. I figured maybe I’d finally found that path Grandpa liked to talk about, yet the crossroads I was bound to run into looked like it was going to be serious trouble, if this monster was just the start. But I was sure the snake was going to come in handy.
Just shows you can’t always be right.
I talked to the pale string of wriggling meat in my palm. “So you’re supposed to be my guide, my medicine, my healer? White snake for the white man in me. Very funny. So what do you have to say, Snake? You and Grandpa. Who am I? What am I here for? What’s next?”
It wasn’t one voice that answered, but two, both in my head. Yeah, I was on the path, all right, walking through high places and sure to see more and bigger monsters in days to come. And for a long time to come, I knew I’d be hearing Snake and Grandpa saying just what they said when I asked them all those stupid questions: You ain’t that special.
Indian time
by Melissa Yi
Ontario, Canada
I “Thanks.” I look behind her for my boys. I’m not here to fight. I’m here to take my boys out.
“I kept them in their rooms. I didn’t want them to be disappointed.” She lets her voice drift off, and I’m sixteen again, and Noelle and me are shooting up till nothing else matters. I shake that off. Noelle’s dead, her mother’s standing in the doorway, blocking me from seeing my sons, and as their dad, I’m not going to let her.
Mrs. Saunders shades her eyes. It’s October in Cornwall, Ontario, so the sun’s not blinding her. She’s making a point. Noelle used to say you could tell a lot about someone from the hands. Mrs. Saunders’s hands look pretty young for a woman who’s almost seventy. Plus, she still wears her wedding ring even though Mr. Saunders has been dead for at least twenty years. She asks, “Who’s that in the car?”
“My girlfriend Shana.” I told her to stay outside. I knew it would get too messy. I raise my voice. “We’re here to see Jake and Tommy.”
The Buick door slams. I whip around, but Shana’s already striding up to the porch with her best waitress grin. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Saunders. My name is Shana—”
“I’m sure,” says Mrs. Saunders, letting Shana’s hand hang in the breeze. “So nice of Fred to bring his latest girlfriend to meet the boys.” I see her taking in Shana’s brown skin, big nose, and bigger tits.