Foreign Bodies

Stranded in Parallel [Chapter 12]

I didn’t talk to Mom at all during the rest of the procedure. I vigilantly made sure not to doze off again, keeping the notebook at my side away from her view. I kept mostly silent when the treatment was over and we made our way back out to the car. I hardly made eye contact across the table at the restaurant as we ate an early lunch out. Despite feeling wary about it, I left the notebook in the car when we had gone inside, just so Mom wouldn’t feel the need to talk or ask about it. I hid it away under my thigh again as soon as we got back in the car.

“I’m going to take a nap,” I muttered as we walked through the front door.

“Good idea,” Mom sighed, setting aside her coat and shoes. “I won’t make too much noise. Maybe I’ll even take one myself.”

Without responding, I hurried up the stairs with the notebook pushed against my chest, worrying about its sudden curvature from having sat under my leg for so long. The door latch had barely clicked before I was splayed out on the bed, the lined pages open in front of me. I only paused to lean down and grab my pencil off the floor in case any sudden thoughts came to me.

My fingers traced the words where Ohanzee had said he worried about me. Or rather, worried about things. He also remembered the sarcastic statements about me and my misfortune. The dulled end of the pencil in my grip danced about the edges of the paper as I decided how to describe myself.

“My misfortune? I should just say how crap my life has been. Do you use that word? Should I start with my illness? Or my father disappearing? Since you’re in your academy, do you get to hear from your family? Do you have family?”

I looked at the pages expectantly after responding, even though I knew a response was far off. After reading back again through the last few exchanges, I noticed my pillow not far off, calling my name.

When I awoke, it was already getting dark outside. The bandages on my elbow, leftover from the procedure, held tight, digging into my arm and reminding me of the day’s ordeal. On top of that, my head hurt, my chest felt heavy, and my stomach tightened around the undigested food from lunch. I forced myself out from under the tangle of covers and outside my stuffy room.

Downstairs, I could hear the clanking of dishes and running water. Mom looked up from the sink as I stepped into the front room. “Good morning.”

I glanced at the dim front windows, then the clock on the oven. It was past our normal dinner time. “’Morning…” I grumbled.

Mom turned off the water and put aside a freshly-washed handful of silverware. “I already ate. I was going to wake you up, but it looked like you needed the sleep. Help yourself.”

“Yeah,” I said under my breath, looking at my feet.

I trudged to the fridge to judge the offering, then went to get a plate and serve myself. The vaguely square slice of casserole went into the microwave, the glass plate spinning like my own path around the kitchen. My stomach was still complaining, but if I didn’t eat, Mom was going to ask questions. I retrieved the food and sat down at the table as Mom finished up the dishes.

“Do you need to use the bathroom? I’m going to take a shower,” she said, standing at the base of the stairs.

“No,” I said, staring at the plate of food.

“Okay. Back to work tomorrow morning,” she grumbled before pausing once more. “Feel free to have more of that tomorrow for lunch. There’s plenty.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, barely wanting to eat it fresh. I forced down a few bites, listening to my mom stepping up the creaky stairs. Once I heard the shower on, I dumped the rest of the food into the trash, jostling the contents of the bin a bit to hide the evidence.

When I heard Mom’s door close upstairs, I snuck back into my own room, ready to grab up the notebook.

Is that why you wished you could come to my world? To escape that life? I don’t want to assume what you are going to say, but this world isn’t perfect either.

I have a family, a tribe. I am also no stranger to sickness. My birth parents died long ago from a sickness. But my tribe took care of me after. I came to this academy so I would not end up a burden to them. And to gain useful knowledge, so I can help them in exchange one day. Help people in general.

Before I could fish for my pencil, I heard footsteps outside in the hall. “Back in bed?”

I hid the notebook at my side and watched the doorknob for any movement. “Just reading!” I called back.

“Okay, then. I’m turning in soon. Don’t stay up too late.”

I sighed and nodded. “Okay,” I grumbled back, guarding the view of the notebook with my knees. After a few moments, I allowed myself to reposition, with my back against the wall and the pages open across my legs.

“I’m sorry about your parents. If nothing else, you’ve helped me. I asked my mom what the word Dakota meant. She said it was a friend or ally. You’re my Dakota, I guess. Sorry if that sounds corny. I don’t know much about our people’s practices.”

I began to slide back down the wall to rest my head and patiently await the response, but the dark scratches on the paper began to appear almost immediately.

Why not?

My eyes shot open as I examined the words. I expected more to come, but it was clear that the question was the only thought on his mind.

“I guess… we don’t practice anything special. Not even the people on the reservation.”

Reservation?

I ended up on the next page to continue the line of questioning. “Where… the land that was given to us to live on. I guess it’s like a way of making up for things. I figured the academy… your academy… was something like that?”

Given by who?

I knew the answer to the question, but writing it out felt strange, like some sort of blaming, pointing finger. “The government. White people.”

The people from across the sea. How far have they come into your land?

“It is… they entered this land long ago. They made colonies, and then went from there. It is a nation of its own, built on the lands of many tribes. The tribes are still around, but there aren’t as many of them… us. But it all goes from sea to sea. It’s… this is tons of history I’m describing badly. I couldn’t tell you with the remainder of the pages of this notebook. Especially not with how much school I’ve missed.”

They know nothing but conflict and destruction and theft. I’m sorry that your world fell to them.

My hand shook as I scribbled out the words. “That was the past. This is now. They’re different. Not perfect. But… they… see us. As people. My own father was of their kind.” I bit my lip as the tears came to my eyes.

You said he disappeared from your life. That is despicable. And your illness… that is the white blood in your veins.

Before any further words could come across the page, I flipped the notebook whole across the bed and onto the floor. I found my face in the pillow, shoving it deep enough that Mom wouldn’t hear my sobbing from down the hall.