Outside was, like, soupy.
No. That’s not it. Not really.
Outside was like if you were in a cloud, but
moving with it, right? ’Cause clouds usually blow with the wind. No, they scoot
and scuttle. Clouds deserve cute words, don’t they? Hey, don’t clouds always
seem to go one way? I mean I’m just thinking about that now. You watch those
nature shows, ever? Maybe it isn’t even on those shows. Is it? But where you
see those time-lapse—time lapsed?—images of the, like, the whole globe, and a
the clouds all twist and swirl and mash together. Not like in a tornadoee way.
Oh my God, what am I even talking about?
It was foggy outside. That’s what it was. Had been
for maybe a week already.
Wait, I know. Did you see those pictures from that
warehouse in Maryland or whatever that had acres of spider webs? It was all
over the Internet right before that—the Internet—all ended. At least it ended
for most of us.
The fog was like those spiderwebs.
Or like the thickest fog you’ve ever seen.
Beautiful really. But really eerie.
We had a fire going, which meant we had to have a
window or something open somewhere. That was Paula who thought of that. She was
always really smart and careful about stuff like making sure we could always
breathe. She opened one of the big, you know, garage doors that would have been
for deliveries. If you went near it you could see the fog get sucked in and
swirl around before it disappeared. It was weird to see it moving, because
outside it was so immobile. Still, I hated that it was coming in and one night
I dreamed that our warehouse had been overwhelmed by the fog, even though,
well— I don’t know why fog doesn’t come inside. It must come inside sometimes
in some places.
I was sitting on my wooden chair, which I could
tell—I knew—that Aaron was, like, very eager to throw in the fire, but it was
my favourite because it totally reminded me of one that my dad used to use, but
I really didn’t feel like that was, you know, cool to say to these guys as far
as giving a reason why I did not want it used as fuel.
Eric came back with some apples from our orchard.
From the orchard. “Can’t see a fucking thing out there.”
“Wish I knew when it was going to stop— When the
sun was coming back out,” Paula said. She had a collection of plants she’d
stolen or she’d dug up and potted in stolen terracotta. Every day she fussed
around them, watering them when they needed it, touching them, dusting them.
She was standing beside them. “This could be very very— Could be trouble.”
The apples Eric had with him, the apples he’d
brought back, were pretty good. Not eat them raw good, but still. I cut the bad
bits out. The worms and stuff. Are they worms? We call them worms. They must be
larva. Sometimes you wish you still had the Internet. Or knew someone you could
ask.
Paula brought me a pot to put the good bits of
apple in. She pulled out her knife too and we sliced the apples together, our
thumbs the only cutting board we needed for our dulled pocket blades.
A few months ago, Aaron sharpened Paula’s while
she slept and when she started slicing apples, the knife sliced through her
easily. “We’re just lucky that didn’t— That could have been a lot worse,
Aaron,” Paula said once the bleeding was under control.
Aaron was mad since they’d stopped sleeping
together.
“You could at least be grateful. Like a thank you,
maybe.”
“I don’t need it so sharp.”
“Not for apples, no, but what if some creep tries
something?”
Paula shook her head. “I don’t need— I can take
care of myself.”
That was a few months ago.
Back at the time I’m trying
to tell you about, I was telling you about, back at that time a few months
after the knife thing, Eric was sitting by the fire. The way he stared at it was
like maybe he was trying to burn the fog from out of his mind. He shook his
head before he came up to Paula and me chopping. “Is Aaron off fucking around with
Joyce?” There was a small stone, or maybe a piece of floor loosened from
one of its many cracks, lying at Eric’s feet. He kicked it and it bounced with
a muted clacking off towards our beds—
The Nest is what Aaron called it, still called it
even though he left it the first night he brought Joyce back here.
At first the whole Aaron leaving the Nest thing
was hard on Paula, who, like, really actually suffered a lot because of Aaron,
which was, simply, because she loved him, but that didn’t really fully explain
the suffering bit. For that you’d need to really get inside her head and maybe
even his head, but I think it was like, that maybe Aaron was a little abusive
the way he talked to her and withheld hugs and stuff. Or the way he loudly
talked about how it was her, actually, who had stopped fucking him. We didn’t
have the Internet, like I said already, and the library had been pillaged, most
of its materials probably burned, so we didn’t even bother to go there to look
for stuff anymore and so even if they still had resources about abuse in
relationships, even if they hadn’t been stolen to be read or burned, I hadn’t
gone to look for them because why bother anymore? We never went there.
But I was talking about Aaron and Joyce, whose
name was Joyce even though she was from the local Reserve and even though Aaron
kept pressing her for her real name, like how could that be her real name,
shouldn’t her real name be, like, more nature based?
I was talking about Aaron and Joyce leaving the
Nest and how it bugged Paula at first, but now it seemed to bother Eric the
most because Eric seemed to be having feelings for Joyce, who seemed to be
feeling things back. Good things. Because Joyce seemed also to be feeling
things about Aaron, too, but they weren’t good. Like how she flinched around
him. Like how she tensed right up when she was trying to talk to us and Aaron
would inevitably interrupt.
Like how she had a fresh bruise, or one we could
see anyway.
We went back to the fire and we hung the pot up
over it for the apples to cook. Nobody talked but nobody left to look at the
fog or to wait for Aaron and Joyce to drive back up in the car. In Aaron’s car.
“I don’t know what Aaron’s— I think Aaron expects
too much of Joyce,” Paula said.
“Like she knows every fucking thing that Indians
knew, or know, or whatever,” Eric said.
I know that not every reserve is even on or near
where the people forced onto that reserve are even from originally. Still, I
don’t know about whether that was true for Joyce’s Nation and I can’t look it
up. I didn’t want to ask her where she’s from because, I mean, think how that
would sound, think how that would have sounded before things started to break
down, never mind after all the vigilante problems we had around here.
I also didn’t ask her because speaking isn’t my
thing.
“She hasn’t given us one useful thing,” Aaron said
to us the other night while Joyce peed outside. We had stopped using the toilet
in the warehouse because even though the water ran the pressure was so bad it
just wasn’t worth it, so Joyce was, like, far away.
“Isn’t she now— She’s our friend,” Paula said.
“You can’t eat friendship,” Aaron said.
“We ate my fucking dog,” Eric said.
Cannibalism had been practiced in the Americas, I
think. I mean, that’s true isn’t it? And I don’t mean by Native people. I had
an uncle who was in a band called The Donner Party. The changes because of the
fog, to the light, I think, they had us all acting really nervous. Maybe
something in our lizard brain? Isn’t that what it’s called?
“Doesn’t Joyce— Did you ask Joyce about the fish
in the river?”
“We don’t even trust the water from that river,”
Aaron said.
We collected rain in a rusting barrel that had
held something industrial back before this was our home. Eric thinks maybe some
sort of oil. Petroleum product was how he put it. I like the word petroleum.
But any water that we had to get from the river, Aaron made us boil then we
would put a piece of burnt wood in it. Burned wood. Aaron’s parents had been
sorta rich and he remembered them buying charcoal twigs imported from Japan to
purify their drinking water.
“Those fish are all falling apart, like the scales
can’t wait until the fucking fish are dead to rot right off them,” Eric said.
“Aren’t they— I think they’re spawning,” Paula
said.
“Kay, but does Joyce know about them?” Eric asked.
“Do I know about what?” Joyce asked as she walked
back towards the fire.
“The fish in the river,” Eric said.
Aaron shot him a look.
“Those big old ones. They are so nasty,” Joyce said. “They’re
like, I don’t know. My mom left a cucumber in the fridge too long once and I
went to pick it up and it fell apart. The plastic around it held it together,
but there was this milky juice all over the fridge shelf and the cucumber was
moldy.”
“Don’t rotten— Cucumbers smell so . . . so
unfortunate when they go off,” Paula said.
“They’re fucking nasty,” Eric said.
“You ready to go to bed?” Aaron asked Joyce.
“I guess so,” Joyce said. She smiled at us. “I
just love talking to you guys.” Joyce smiled at me, then smiled at Paula and
Eric in turn. “It reminds me of my friends on the Res. There’s still a few of
them left, too. You should come visit us sometime.”
“Let’s go,” Aaron said.
“Are you going back to the Reserve? I mean
eventually?” Eric asked.
Aaron said, “Come on,” so fast that we could hear
Joyce say, “Sure. Eventually,” even though they both started at the same time
and Aaron made himself much louder.
That was from a night a few days before. Joyce and
Aaron went to bed after that.
Aaron’s engine interrupted the sounds of the fire
and the bubbling of our applesauce. The murk outside burned eerily from Aaron’s
headlights, which he insisted on using even though Eric and Paula both told him
that they didn’t think you were supposed to have them on in fog.
He came in alone. “Fuck your applesauce,” he said.
“I don’t want applesauce for the rest of my fucking life.” He smiled like he
was hurting somewhere. “Come here.”
Nobody asked where Joyce was until we were out by
the car. Then it was Eric who said something.
“She’s not coming back,” Aaron said. He opened the
trunk and it was filled with meat all wrapped in plastic. Dried meat. We hadn’t
seen meat, hadn’t seen much food other than apples, in a long time. We’d talked
about how if we were still alive that maybe some other large mammals were still
out there, too. Like deer or moose. Maybe bears and wolves and coyotes. Some
people still had dogs.
“Where’s this from?” Eric asked.
Paula and I looked at each other and I knew that
Paula was thinking the same thing as me, that maybe this was Joyce in the
trunk. The edible parts.
“Joyce’s aunty gave it to me.”
“Why would she do that?” Eric asked.
“If you had food, you wouldn’t— I can’t— Would we
really share food if we had it?” Paula asked.
“Some people believe in generosity,” Aaron said.
“Like it’s some higher principle.”
I was staring at the meat and feeling a little
sick, actually.
Paula had one of those burps that you hold in
because you think there might be something solid along with it, but then you
let out when you are sure that it’s just air.
“Here,” Aaron said, putting a piece of dried meat,
neatly shrink-wrapped, into Eric’s arms.
We ate so well that night. Despite our fear and revulsion. Only Aaron didn’t have
his meat with applesauce too. Still, we ended up leaving most of the mush we’d
made earlier.
Eric was totally energized after. Like the meat
gave him super powers. He started talking really quickly about Repo Man, some old L.A. punk rock movie. “Remember,” he
said, even though none of us had seen it, “Remember the alien in the trunk and
how when they see it that one fucking guy is like, ‘Let’s go do some crimes.’”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Aaron said. “As a
sentence I mean.”
“That’s what’s so funny,” Eric said.
“I guess it isn’t a realist— I mean, why’s there
an alien in the trunk?” Paula asked.
“’Cause it’s a movie,” Eric said.
“I’m still stuck on that stupid sentence,” Aaron
said.
The boys ended up play fighting. Or maybe it was
real fighting.
Paula and I cleaned up. At one point, Paula, who
was normally super hard working and efficient, she stopped in the middle of
throwing some garbage into the fire. She was holding a sticker that had been
placed on the meat. I came up beside her. The boys were over in the Nest. Eric
had thrown a blanket over Aaron and was straddling it to keep Aaron pinned and
Aaron was thrashing to get free. Paula pointed to an address on the package. “I
think that’s on the Reserve,” she said.
I nodded.
“Don’t you think— I mean, maybe we could go,”
Paula said.
I knew Aaron wouldn’t like it. And I knew we’d
need Aaron’s car. Plus the map Aaron kept under his pillow when he slept. “We
have to bring Eric,” I said.
“I wouldn’t— We will,” Paula said.
My heart was beating quickly. I wanted to ask when
we were going to go, I wanted to ask which one of us would drive, I wanted to
ask Paula if she knew that, ‘If we go we won’t be able to come back here,’ at
least I didn’t think so. I asked, “Do you think we’ll see Joyce?”
“I— We’ll see.”
Toronto, March 2016
Emoji sequence: visual artist, Katie Bond Pretti
Story: Lee Sheppard
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