Running Barefoot (10 page)

“Why do you want to be a Marine, Samuel?” I was curious as to why, if he didn’t know how to swim, he wanted to try in the first place.

Samuel was quiet for a minute. When he answered I wasn’t sure he’d understood my question.

“My Shima, my Navajo grandmother, said when I was born she hung my umbilical cord on her gun rack because she knew I was going to be a warrior. It is a Navajo tradition,” he smiled briefly as my eyes widened.

“It’s a tradition to hang the umbilical cord on the gun rack?” I blurted incredulously.

“It’s tradition to save the umbilical cord and put it in a special place that will be important to the newborn child when they are grown. It can be buried in the corral if it is believed the child will have an affinity for horses. It can be buried in the cornfield if the child will make his living from the land or under the loom if the child is thought to have the gift of weaving. My grandmother said she knew I would have to struggle to find my way in two worlds, and I would need a warrior’s spirit. Originally, she buried it in her hogan so that I would always know where my home was. But she says it felt wrong and she prayed many days to decide where to place my umbilical cord. She said the hogan would not always be my home, and she dug it up and put it on the gun rack.”

I met his gaze, intrigued. He continued, “She believed I would follow in my grandfather’s footsteps.”

“Who was your grandfather?”

“My Navajo grandfather was a Marine.”

“I see ... so you’ve always thought you would be a Marine because your grandmother believed that was your destiny?

“I believe it is, too. I’ve dreamed about seeing other places... about belonging, being a part of something that had nothing to do with being Navajo or being white, or any other culture. If you make it through 12 weeks of Marine training, you’re a Marine - one of the ’few and the proud.” Samuel’s mouth twisted humorlessly as he quoted the slogan. “I don’t have any siblings - my mom remarried to a man who already had five children, so I have three step-sisters and two step-brothers, all older than me. I don’t know them very well, and I don’t especially like them - they call me ‘the white boy’ when my mother isn’t around. I want out, Josie. I don’t want to go back home to the reservation. I’m proud of my heritage, but I don’t want to go back...I do not want to herd sheep my whole life.”

“So....this swimming thing. Is that the only problem?” I said tentatively.

He looked at me sharply. “I’d say it’s a pretty major problem.”

“The school has a pool, Samuel. Can’t you learn? Isn’t there someone who would teach you?”

“Who?” Samuel gazed at me angrily, “Who Josie? When? You are such a child! I ride this bus for 40 minutes every morning and 40 minutes every afternoon. I have no way of getting to school early or staying late. I have no driver’s license, so even if Don would let me take the truck, I’m useless.”

“I’m not a child, Samuel!” He had turned on me so suddenly, and his anger made me angry, too. “Maybe you need to ask for a little help. Don’t be so stubborn! I’m sure someone at the school would be willing to teach you, especially if they knew why you needed to learn.”

“Nobody wants to help me, and I’d rather drown than ask anyone.” Samuel’s face was grim and his fists were clenched. “I’m sorry I called you a child. Just…forget it okay?”

We sat in silence the rest of the way into the school. I wondered why the music had made him think about being a Marine - maybe because Rachmaninoff made him feel powerful when he felt so powerless.

6. Impromptu

P.E. was mandatory in junior high. I had lived in fear of undressing in the locker room the entire summer leading up to seventh grade. I had horrible visions of having to shower in those open stalls, all of my skinny, prepubescent classmates staring at my private parts. I had nightmares of running through the locker room, bare naked, looking for a towel while everyone else stood fully clothed, gaping at me. Music by Wagner screamed through the dream.

Luckily, showering was not mandatory, and I brought a huge towel from home, kept it in my locker, and huddled behind it while I changed into my gym clothes every day. I had long legs and enjoyed running, but that was as far as my athletic prowess went. Organized sports were beyond me. I was more than slightly spastic. During our unit on basketball, I attempted to make a basket, throwing it as hard as I could at the hoop, only to have it rebound sharply off the backboard and smack me in the face, bloodying my nose and blackening my eyes. I hated dodgeball even worse, and jumping rope was an absolute joke. I usually ended up volunteering to turn the rope for everyone else or shag balls in order to avoid having to participate. I was consistently assigned to ‘work with’ the two mentally challenged girls that participated in gym class, not because I could actually help them athletically, but because I was nice. I have to say though, both of them could beat me hands down in dodgeball and basketball. They were better at jump rope, too.

That day in P.E. we were doing calisthenics-a fancy word for stretching, and fairly safe for those less coordinated, like myself. Ms. Swenson, my P.E. coach, had a student aid leading us in the stretches. Her aid was a high school cheerleader named Marla Painter, who was very beautiful and very…stretchy. Her kicks were so high she could hit herself in the side of the head with her kneecap. She was showing us all three splits as I unfolded myself and slunk over to where Ms. Swenson was sitting grading papers. I supposed they were from the health class she taught. I had never seen a single sheet of paper in P.E.

“Ms. Swenson?” I asked shyly. Ms. Swenson didn’t care much for me. She didn’t have a lot of patience for the Klutz club, of which I was president.

Ms. Swenson finished checking the paper she was on before lifting her eyes in exasperation from the page.

“Yes?” She answered impatiently.

“I have a friend who needs to learn how to swim...umm, how exactly could he go about doing that here at the school, preferably during school hours?” I finished in a rush, hoping she wouldn’t slap me down too quickly.

“What grade is he in?” She asked, her eyes back on her page, checking away.

“He’s a senior. He’s my neighbor in Levan, and transportation is a bit of a problem. He wants to join the Marines when he graduates, but he needs to learn to swim.” Again I rushed through my explanation, daring to hope, but not hoping too fervently.

“Why are you asking for him?” She said suspiciously.

“He’s new to the school, and a little shy - so I told his grandmother I would find out,” I lied, feeling my cheeks burn.

“Hmmmm. Go with Marla back up to the high school when she finishes. I’ll give you a note... you have lunch next right?”

All seventh graders had first lunch, and I nodded my head eagerly.

“Ask Coach Judd or Coach Jasperson about it. Maybe they can work something out for him. I have a brother who’s a Marine - gotta know how to swim.” She finished in an almost pleasant tone.

“Thank you very much, Ms. Swenson.” I waited while she scribbled me a note and signed it like she was in the medical profession.

Marla took me to the high school gym and snagged a boy who was heading into the locker room to see if either Coach Judd or Coach Jasperson was in his office inside. She bounced off after that, leaving me waiting outside the boy’s locker room for the messenger to return. I waited for a very long time. Either the coaches weren’t in there, or the boy had gotten distracted. I was about ready to give up in despair when the last person I wanted to see came walking through the gymnasium towards the boys locker room.

“Josie...what are you doing?” Samuel said, befuddled to see me lurking outside a place I had no business being.

“Ms. Swenson sent me up to speak with Coach Judd or Coach Jasperson. Marla Painter came with me, but she left and I can’t go in there!” My voice sounded a little like a wail, and I embarrassed myself with the sudden urge to cry. I wasn’t about to tell Samuel I was here for him.

“Just a minute,” he offered helpfully. “I’ll go see if there’s someone in there.”

At that moment, Coach Jasperson accompanied Marla’s messenger out of his inner sanctum. Coach Jasperson was eating a huge tuna sandwich with potato chips smashed in between the bread. Apparently he hadn’t wanted to give up any of his lunch break to chat with me. I breathed a sigh of relief and then shuddered in dread. This was going to embarrass me and embarrass Samuel. I knew he might never forgive me, but I did it anyway. As the messenger sauntered away I began to speak.

.“Coach Jasperson, Samuel here is my neighbor.” I gestured towards Samuel, not daring to look at him. “He wants to join the Marines when he graduates. The problem is he doesn’t know how to swim. He needs to be in a swim class or something here at the school, working with someone who can teach him.” I was talking so fast Coach Jasperson had stopped chewing in order to keep up. “He can’t come early to school, and he can’t stay late for transportation reasons so it would be a very good thing if you could make sure he gets the help he needs during school hours.” I sounded like one of those wind-up dolls, prattling along cheerfully.

I sneaked a look at Samuel. His face was like a cold, hard mask. I knew he would never speak to me again. My heart broke a little.

“I’m sure Samuel would be glad to speak to a guidance counselor to rearrange his schedule to make it work.” I’d done what I could do, and my voice trailed off nervously.

“The Marines, huh?” Coach Jasperson was chewing again. “I’m sure we could figure something out....it was Samuel, right? You speak English?”

I cringed. I could see why Coach Jasperson thought he might not. After all, I’d done all the talking for him.

“Yes I speak English.” Samuel’s reply was sharp, and I heard the outrage in his voice. He was furious with me. Still, I hoped Coach Jasperson didn’t hear it and misunderstand.

“Good, good!” Coach Jasperson was too busy enjoying his sandwich, and he missed the darts shooting from Samuel’s onyx eyes.

“Well, you and I will go see Mr. Whiting, the guidance counselor, and I will set you up with one of the guys from the swim team. I think Justin McPherson could help you during 2nd hour. He’s my aid, and I never have much for him to do. If we can free your schedule up during second hour, you should be set.”

Bless Coach Jasperson for being very helpful and a little oblivious at the same time. He put one arm around Samuel’s shoulders, pulling him along, talking to him while he licked the last of the tuna salad from his fingers. Samuel turned and looked at me over Coach Jasperson’s beefy shoulder. I bit my lip to keep from tearing up as he glared at me. He turned his head dismissively, and I left the gymnasium as quickly as I could.

I missed the bus on purpose that night and waited until almost 5:00 that afternoon to get a ride home with Johnny after wrestling practice. I was tired and hungry and more than a little distraught. I’d finished all my homework, including a book report not due for another two weeks. I’d tried to read but found myself too jittery to focus. I longed for my music books – at least I could have gone into the band room and practiced the piano. I’d called Sonja from the office to tell her I wouldn’t be at my lesson that afternoon. When it was finally time to go I had to sit crammed in between Johnny and another sweaty wrestler all the way home from Nephi. I should have just taken the bus, but I couldn’t face Samuel yet.

The next day I faked sick. My dad didn’t question me too hard. In fact, he didn’t question me at all. I never faked sick, so when I said I didn’t feel well and wasn’t going, he just shrugged his shoulders, felt my head, and asked me if I needed him to stay home from work to be with me.

“Ugh! Please no!” I thought desperately. Then I would have to fake sick all day. I told him I would just sleep and that I would be fine all by myself. He didn’t need much convincing. I spent the day playing the piano until my back and neck ached and my fingers kept playing even after I stopped.

At 3:30 the doorbell rang. I was back on the piano playing Fur Elise, my feet bare, wearing my favorite old jeans and the soft blue BYU sweatshirt Jared had given me for Christmas. I ran my fingers through my hair and walked to the door, expecting Tara.

Samuel stood on the porch, his hands pushed down into his pockets, his head uncovered, his silky black hair blowing in the cold January wind. He didn’t have his backpack, so I assumed he’d gone home first. I wondered what excuse he’d made in order to come see me. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could see it.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” His voice held no anger, but there was a tightness around his mouth that I hated.

I moved aside and opened the door wider, indicating that he should come inside. He seemed hesitant to enter but must have realized we couldn’t sit out on the porch in the cold for very long - plus, his grandpa or someone might drive by and explaining would be weird. People in small towns saw things and talked....if someone saw Samuel sitting on my front porch with me, tongues would start wagging and that would not be good.