Jeremy Stone (3 page)

I had Forgotten about Geronimo

Geronimo was a warrior

I read about in a book.

Old Man didn't like Geronimo

but then he hated everything about

the history

of North America

after 1492

and the arrival of you know who.

But I read the book anyway

and could see that

if they had just left Geronimo and his people alone

he would

have been peaceful. But

it didn't work out that way

so

he

fought

back.

Fought

hard.

Fought well.

But that is not what I liked about Geronimo.

They said

he could

walk

without

making

footprints.

He could

see far into the future.

And if he needed to,

he could tell the sun

not to come up

if he needed darkness

for protection.

Geronimo said:

“I was born on the prairies where the wind blew free

and there was nothing to break the light of the sun.”

In the past,

thinking about Geronimo

sometimes

made the black dog

run away.

And it helped me to pin

Paper Clip that day

although

Old Man wanted to take credit for that.

The Fish in the River

I think I have a problem understanding time.

Just like my grandfather.

I slip

into the past

and don't know why.

Old Man says it's because sometimes

I just have my head up my ass and he'll say,

how is the view

up there

today?

But that's just because

he thinks it's a bad thing

to spend too much time

in the past.

Anybody's personal past

unless you can go way

way back to the old days

when it was always quiet

in the woods

and you could just reach into any stream

and lift out

a

big fish

to cook for dinner.

I have a hard time

hanging on to the present.

The present is like that big fish and I am trying to hold onto it

so I can

cook it for dinner.

But it keeps jumping back into the river

and swimming away

upstream (into the past)

or downstream (into the future).

It's been a very long while

since my father went to the river

and caught a real fish

and my mother cooked it

and we ate it

with my cousins.

That's some fish,

my mother kept saying.

And my father kept saying, It was like

that fish

wanted me to

catch him

and feed him to my family.

But my father left the next day

to go look for work on the oil rigs out West.

And I felt bad

because I didn't eat all my fish,

didn't like all the bones.

But I should have saved those bones

to remember my father by.

Even

fish bones

should not

be wasted.

Caitlan Speaks

You need me in your life,

she said.

Just like that. Out of the blue.

You don't want to be alone

in this school

in this life

ever.

Do you know about Jenson Hayes?

she asked.

Who is Jenson Hayes? I asked.

Jenson Hayes was the one person I truly loved.

He was the one.

But I never told him.

And that was stupid of me.

And now he's gone.

You remind me of him.

I do?

Yes.

Difference is you are here

and Jenson's not.

Oh shit, I said.

Oh shit is right,

Caitlan said

and then kissed me hard on the mouth.

The Difference Between Me and Jenson Hayes

Follow me, Caitlan said.

She led me to a janitor's closet.

Don't worry about Fred. Fred is cool, she told me.

Fred is the janitor.

Fred lets me chill in the janitor's

closet whenever I need to chill.

Which was often as it turned out.

There were two classroom chairs in there.

We sat.

She stared at me intently.

You're quieter than Jenson, she said.

Taller and quieter. Darker skin.

But you've got his eyes.

And the deer in the headlights look.

Yeah, that was me. I liked this girl, the girl from the mountain stream

but she scared me a little.

Caitlan, what are we doing in here?

Talking, she said. Getting to know each other.

I know you've got issues, she said.

You don't have to be a psychic to know that

I guess, I answered.

We've all got issues. I just want to make

sure you don't get fucked over.

What do you mean?

Like Jenson. Fucked over and fucked up.

What happened?

What Happened to Jenson Hayes

He wasn't strong enough well, sometimes he was

when we were together when I told him how much I cared for him

when I played with his hair when we did other stuff.

I had to ask. What happened to Jenson?

They got to him.

They?

You know. The bastards. The shitheads.

The cruel ugly fucks who think they run the world.

Oh them, I said,

pretending I knew who they were.

Thomas Heaney for one. The lout who hit you with a paper clip.

He was the worst.

I didn't tell her that I had pinned him in wrestling.

That would have been bragging.

Paper Clip, I said.

Jenson didn't deserve any of that crap.

But he needed to be stronger.

He was very sensitive.

Look,

here's

a poem

he wrote

for

me.

Jenson's Poem

Sunlight on water

spring

green leaves on all the trees

warm sweet air

birds singing

everywhere.

You beside me

on the green moss

stretched out

our bodies

touching

forever.

Forever

Yes. Forever. That was Jenson.

Sensitive, creative, romantic, idealistic

and easily hurt. A fatal combination.

I swallowed hard. Oh, I forgot to tell you,

we were sitting in those classroom chairs,

facing each other, Caitlan and me, and our knees

were touching

and I was holding Jenson's poem that I just read

and I was thinking I really loved this girl,

this weird, hyper, intense, savagely beautiful girl

with long dark hair (Indian hair, I kept thinking).

And dark Indian eyes, too. This girl still hung up

on an old boyfriend

but that was okay because our knees were touching

and she had taken me into the

janitor's closet alone.

This was so much better than being in class

but I didn't know what would

happen after we walked out of that closet

and back into the real world of school.

But I didn't have the whole story.

What happened to Jenson?

I asked again. Did he move away?

Did he stop talking to you?

No, she said.

It wasn't like that.

Jenson is dead.

I sometimes think I still hear his voice. Sometimes I think I feel him touching me on the shoulder.

Sometimes …

I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable for you, she said.

I'm a little intense, I know. It scares people sometimes.

I'm not scared, I said.

But she could feel my knees shaking a little.

I have shaky knees when I get nervous

and sweaty hands.

I shouldn't say this, Caitlan said.

Say what?

Well, you have the look.

What look?

The victim look.

The what?

You have this look that says you've been hurt, you are vulnerable, and if someone wants to get you, to pick on you, to harass you, to hurt you, they will target you and wear you down. People like Thomas Heaney know that look and will dog you. And he's not the only one. People like him will find you all throughout your life.

That's not fair, I said.

I'm stronger than that.

You don't know me.

(No, I didn't actually say that out loud.

I just thought that.)

I swallowed hard again.

Caitlan leaned forward until her forehead was touching mine.

But I won't let that happen to you.

Not this time.

How Jenson Died

It was such a big story for such a small closet,

such a sad story for such an ordinary day,

such a dark and tragic tale from such a beautiful girl.

Caitlan said,

We had been going together for a couple of years. He wrote me poems. We went on long walks. We never ate meat, never used cell phones, only bought used clothes, refused to watch television. He taught me to meditate and to breathe properly. We read long old novels together. He taught me the names of birds and flowers. We knew for a fact we were living in the wrong century. The wrong time. The wrong place. But there was not much of anything we could do about it.

And then we broke up.

Why?

I don't know exactly.

I think everything we did was just

too

intense.

I nodded.

It was almost a year ago. We didn't talk for a week. My mom had often said we were too young to be so serious. His mom said it too. Maybe that had something to do with it. We were on a roller-coaster ride. Sometimes we were on top. But then we dropped to the bottom when we let the world get to us … when it really got to us. When it got to us so badly … do you understand?

Yes, I said. I understand.

When that happened.

It was bad.

There were black dogs in the room with us now.

Three of them. I could hear them breathing.

I could smell their breath.

While we were not speaking, Thomas and a couple of his friends had been dogging Jenson. And he was weak. I didn't know this at the time. But he had no one to turn to.

And they said something, did something. I don't know what.

He took his own life.

Pills.

Alone in his bedroom.

And there

was nothing

I could do

to bring him

back.