The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (6 page)

someone. I started shaking.

"That's not funny," he said.

"It's not supposed to be funny," I said. "I'm transferring to Reardan. I want you to come with me."

"And when are you going on this imaginary journey?"

"It's not imaginary. It's real. And I'm transferring now. I start school tomorrow at Reardan."

"You better quit saying that," he said. "You're getting me mad."

I didn't want to get him mad. When Rowdy got mad it ok him days to get un-mad. But he

was my best friend and wanted him to know the truth.

"I'm not trying to get you mad," I said. "I'm telling the truth. I'm leaving the rez, man, and I want you to come with me. Come on. It will be an adventure."

"I don't even drive through that town," he said. "What makes you think I want to go to school there?"

He got up, stared me hard in the eyes, and then spit on the floor.

Last year, during eighth grade, we traveled to Reardan to play them in flag football.

Rowdy was our star quarterback and kicker and middle linebacker, and I was the loser water boy, and we lost to Reardan by the score of 45-0.

Of course, losing isn't exactly fun.

Nobody wants to be a loser.

We all got really mad and vowed to kick their asses the next game.

But, two weeks after that, Reardan came to the rez and beat us 56-10.

During basketball season, Reardan beat us 72-5 and 86-50, our only two losses of the

season.

Rowdy scored twenty-four points in the first game and forty in the second game.

I scored nine points in each game, going 3 for 10 on three-pointers in the first game and 3

for 15 in the second. Those were my two worst games of the season.

During baseball season, Rowdy hit three home runs in the first game against Reardan and two home runs in the second but we still lost by scores of 17-3 and 12-2. I played in both losses and struck out seven times and was hit by a pitch once.

Sad thing is, getting hit like that was my only hit of the season.

After baseball season, I led the Wellpinit Junior High Academic Bowl team against

Reardan Junior High, and we lost by a grand total of 50-1.

Yep, we answered one question correctly.

I was the only kid, white or Indian, who knew that Charles Dickens wrote
A Tale of Two
Cities
. And let me tell you, we Indians were the worst of times and those Reardan kids were the best of times.

Those kids were
magnificent
.

They knew
everything
.

And they were
beautiful
.

They were beautiful and smart.

They were beautiful and smart and epic.

They were filled with hope.

I don't know if hope is white. But I do know that hope for us like some mythical creature: Man, I was scared of those Reardan kids, and maybe I was scared of hope, too, but

Rowdy absolutely hated all of it.

"Rowdy," I said. "I am going to Reardan tomorrow."

For the first time he saw that I was serious, but he didn't want me to be serious.

"You'll never do it," he said. "You're too scared."

"I'm going," I said.

"No way, you're a wuss."

"I'm doing it."

"You're a pussy."

"I'm going to Reardan tomorrow."

"You're really serious?"

"Rowdy," I said. "I'm as serious as a tumor."

He coughed and turned away from me. I touched In shoulder. Why did I touch his

shoulder? I don't know. I was stupid. Rowdy spun around and shoved me.

"Don't touch me, you retarded fag!" he yelled.

My heart broke into fourteen pieces, one for each year that Rowdy and I had been best

friends.

I started crying.

That wasn't surprising at all, but Rowdy started crying, too, and he hated that. He wiped his eyes, stared at his wet hand, and screamed. I'm sure that everybody on the rez heard that scream. It was the worst thing I'd ever heard.

It was pain, pure pain.

"Rowdy, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry."

He kept screaming.

"You can still come with me," I said. "You're still my best friend."

Rowdy stopped screaming with his mouth but he kept screaming with his eyes.

"You always thought you were better than me," he yelled.

"No, no, I don't think I'm better than anybody. I think I'm worse than everybody else."

"Why are you leaving?"

"I have to go. I'm going to die if I don't leave."

I touched his shoulder again and Rowdy flinched.

Yes, I touched him again.

What kind of idiot was I?

I was the kind of idiot that got punched hard in the face by his best friend.

Bang!
Rowdy punched me.

Bang!
I hit the ground.

Bang!
My nose bled like a firework.

I stayed on the ground for a long time after Rowdy walked by. I stupidly hoped that time would stand still if I stayed still. But I had to stand eventually, and when I did, I knew that my best friend had become my worst enemy.

The next morning, Dad drove me the twenty-two miles to Reardan.

"I'm scared," I said.

"I'm scared, too," Dad said.

He hugged me close. His breath smelled like mouthwash and lime vodka.

"You don't have to do this," he said. "You can always go back to the rez school."

"No," I said. "I have to do this."

Can you imagine what would have happened to me if I'd hinted around and gone back to

the rez school?

I would have been pummeled. Mutilated. Crucified.

You can't just betray your tribe and then change your mind ton minutes later. I was on a one-way bridge. There was no way to turn around, even if I wanted to.

"Just remember this," my father said. "Those white people aren't better than you."

But he was so wrong. And he knew he was wrong. He was the loser Indian father of a

loser Indian son living in a world built for winners.

But he loved me so much. He hugged me even closer.

"This is a great thing," he said. "You're so brave. You're a warrior."

It was the best thing he could have said.

"Hey, here's some lunch money," he said and handed me a dollar.

We were poor enough to get free lunch, but I didn't want to be the only Indian
and
a sad sack who needed charity.

"Thanks, Dad," I said.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too."

I felt stronger so I stepped out of the car and walked to the front door. It was locked.

So I stood alone on the sidewalk and watched my father drive away. I hoped he'd drive

right home and not stop in a bar and spend whatever money he had left.

I hoped he'd remember to come back and pick me up after school.

I stood alone at the front door for a few very long minutes.

It was still early and I had a black eye from Rowdy's good-bye punch. No, I had a purple, blue, yellow, and black eye. It looked like modern art.

Then the white kids began arriving for school. They surrounded me. Those kids weren't

just white. They were
translucent
. I could see the blue veins running through their skin like rivers.

Most of the kids were my size or smaller, but there were ten or twelve monster dudes.

Giant white guys. They looked like men, not boys. They had to be seniors. Some of them looked like they had to shave two or three times a day.

They stared at me, the Indian boy with the black eye and swollen nose, my going-away

gifts from Rowdy. Those white kids couldn't believe their eyes. They stared at me like I was Bigfoot or a UFO. What was I doing at Reardan, whose mascot was an Indian, thereby making me the only
other
Indian in town?

So what was I doing in racist Reardan, where more than hall of every graduating class

went to college? Nobody in my family had ever gone near a college.

Reardan was the opposite of the rez. It was the opposite of my family. It was the opposite of me. I didn't deserve to be there. I knew it; all of those kids knew it. Indians don't deserve shit.

So, feeling worthless and stupid, I just waited. And pretty soon, a janitor opened the front door and all of the other kids strolled inside.

I stayed outside.

Maybe I could just drop out of school completely. I co go live in the woods like a hermit.

Like a real Indian.

Of course, since I was allergic to pretty much every plant that grew on earth, I would

have been a real Indian with a head full of snot.

"Okay," I said to myself. "Here I go."

I walked into the school, made my way to the front office, and told them who I was.

"Oh, you're the one from the reservation," the secretary said.

"Yeah," I said.

I couldn't tell if she thought the reservation was a good or bad thing.

"My name is Melinda," she said. "Welcome to Reardan High School. Here's your schedule, a copy of the school constitution and moral code, and a temporary student ID. We've got you assigned to Mr. Grant for homeroom. You better hustle on down there. You're late."

"All, where is that?" I asked.