The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian Read online

  But they just stared at me.

  They were shocked.

  "You punched me," Roger said. His voice was thick with blood. "I can't believe you punched me."

  He sounded insulted.

  He sounded like his poor little feelings had been hurt.

  I couldn't believe it.

  He acted like he was the one who'd been wronged.

  "You're an animal," he said.

  I felt brave all of a sudden. Yeah, maybe it was just a stupid and immature school yard fight. Or maybe it was the most important moment of my life. Maybe I was telling the world that I was no longer a human target.

  "You meet me after school right here," I said.

  "Why?" he asked.

  I couldn't believe he was so stupid.

  "Because we're going to finish this fight."

  "You're crazy," Roger said.

  He got to his feet and walked away. His gang stared at me like I was a serial killer, and then they followed their leader.

  I was absolutely confused.

  I had followed the rules of fighting. I had behaved exactly the way I was supposed to

  behave. But these white boys had ignored the rules. In fact, they followed a whole other set of mysterious rules where people apparently DID NOT GET INTO FISTFIGHTS.

  "Wait," I called after Roger.

  "What do you want?" Roger asked.

  "What are the rules?"

  "What rules?"

  I didn't know what to say, so I just stood there red and mute like a stop sign. Roger and his friends disappeared.

  I felt like somebody had shoved me into a rocket ship and blasted me to a new planet. I was a freaky alien and there was absolutely no way to get home.

  Grandmother Gives Me Some Advice

  I went home that night completely confused. And terrified.

  If I'd punched an Indian in the face, then he would have spent days plotting his revenge.

  And I imagined that white guys would also want revenge after getting punched in the ace. So I figured Roger was going to run me over with a farm tractor or combine or grain truck or runaway pig.

  I wished Rowdy was still my friend. I could have sent him after Roger. It would have

  been like King Kong battling Godzilla.

  I realized how much of my self-worth, my sense of safety, was based on Rowdy's fists.

  But Rowdy hated me. And Roger hated me.

  I was good at being hated by guys who could kick my ass. It's not a talent you really want to have.

  My mother and father weren't home, so I turned to my grandmother for advice.

  "Grandma," I said. "I punched this big guy in the face. And he just walked away. And now I'm afraid he's going to kill me."

  "Why did you punch him?" she asked.

  "He was bullying me."

  "You should have just walked away."

  "He called me 'chief.' And 'squaw boy.' "

  "Then you should have kicked him in the balls."

  She pretended to kick a big guy in the crotch and we both laughed.

  "Did he hit you?" she asked.

  "No, not at all," I said.

  "Not even after you hit him?"

  "Nope."

  "And he's a big guy?"

  "Gigantic. I bet he could take Rowdy down."

  "Wow," she said.

  "It's strange, isn't it?" I asked. "What does it mean?"

  Grandma thought hard for a while.

  "I think it means he respects you," she said.

  "Respect? No way!"

  "Yes way! You see, you men and boys are like packs of wild dogs. This giant boy is the alpha male of the school, and you're the new dog, so he pushed you around a bit to see how tough you are."

  "But I'm not tough at all," I said.

  "Yeah, but you punched the alpha dog in the face," she said. "They're going to respect you now."

  "I love you, Grandma," I said. "But you're crazy."

  I couldn't sleep that night because I kept thinking about my impending doom. I knew

  Roger would be waiting for me in the morning at school. I knew he'd punch me in the head and shoulder area about two hundred times. I knew I'd soon be in a hospital drinking soup through a straw.

  So, exhausted and terrified, I went to school.

  My day began as it usually did. I got out of bed at dark-thirty, and rummaged around the kitchen for anything to eat. All I could find was a package of orange fruit drink mix, so I made a gallon of that, and drank it all down.

  Then I went into the bedroom and asked Mom and Dad if they were driving me to school.

  "Don't have enough gas," Dad said and went back to sleep.

  Great, I'd have to walk.

  So I put on my shoes and coat, and started down the highway. I got lucky because my

  dad's best friend Eugene just happened to be heading to Spokane.

  Eugene was a good guy, and like an uncle to me, but he was drunk all the time. Not

  stinky drunk, just drunk enough to be drunk. He was a funny and kind drunk, always wanting to laugh and hug you and sing songs and dance.

  Funny how the saddest guys can be happy drunks.

  "Hey, Junior," he said. "Hop on my pony, man."

  So I hopped onto the back of Eugene's bike, and off we went, barely in control. I just

  closed my eyes and held on.

  And pretty soon, Eugene got me to school.

  We pulled up in front and a lot of my classmates just stared. I mean, Eugene had braids down to his butt, for one, and neither of us wore helmets, for the other.

  I suppose we looked dangerous.

  "Man," he said. "There's a lot of white people here.

  "Yeah."

  "You doing all right with them?"

  "I don't know. I guess."

  "It's pretty cool, you doing this," he said.

  "You think?"

  "Yeah, man, I could never do it. I'm a wuss."

  Wow, I felt proud.

  "Thanks for the ride," I said.

  "You bet," Eugene said.

  He laughed and buzzed away. I walked up to the school and tried to ignore the stares of my classmates.

  And then I saw Roger walk out the front door.

  Man, I was going to have to fight. Shit, my whole life is a fight.

  "Hey," Roger said.

  "Hey," I said.

  "Who was that on the bike?" he asked.

  "Oh, that was my dad's best friend."

  "That was a cool bike," he said. "Vintage."

  "Yeah, he just got it."

  "You ride with him a lot?"

  "Yes," I said. I lied.

  "Cool," Roger said.

  "Yeah, cool," I said.

  "All right, then," he said. "I'll see you around."

  And then he walked away.

  Wow, he didn't kick my ass. He was actually nice. He paid me some respect. He paid

  respect to Eugene and his bike.

  Maybe Grandma was right. Maybe I had challenged the alpha dog and was now being

  rewarded for it.

  I love my grandmother. She's the smartest person on the planet.

  Feeling almost like a human being, I walked into the school and saw Penelope the

  Beautiful.

  "Hey, Penelope," I said, hoping that she knew I was now accepted by the dog pack.

  She didn't even respond to me. Maybe she hadn't heard me.

  "Hey, Penelope," I said again.

  She looked at me and sniffed.

  SHE SNIFFED!

  LIKE I SMELLED BAD OR SOMETHING!

  "Do I know you?" she said.

  There were only about one hundred students in the whole school, right? So of course, she knew me. She was just being a Itch.

  "I'm Junior," I said. "I mean, I'm Arnold."

  "Oh, that's right," she said. "You're the boy who can't figure out his own name."

  Her friends giggled.

  I was so ashamed. I might have impressed the king, but the queen still hated me.
I guess my grandmother didn't know everything.

  Tears of a Clown

  When I was twelve, I fell in love with an Indian girl named Dawn. She was tall and

  brown and was the best traditional powwow dancer on the rez. Her braids, wrapped in otter fur, were legendary. Of course, she didn't care about me. She mostly made fun of me (she called me Junior High Honky for some reason I never understood). But that just made me love her even more. She was out of my league, and even though I was only twelve, I knew that I'd be one of those guys who always fell in love with the unreachable, ungettable, and uninterested.

  One night, at about two in the morning, when Rowdy slept over at my house, I made a

  full confession.

  "Man," I said. "I love Dawn so much."

  He was pretending to be asleep on the floor of my room.

  "Rowdy," I said. "Are you awake?"

  "No."

  "Did you hear what I said?"

  "No."

  "I said I love Dawn so much."

  He was quiet.

  "Aren't you going to say anything?" I asked.

  "About what?"

  "About what I just said."

  "I didn't hear you say anything."

  He was just screwing with me.

  "Come on, Rowdy, I'm trying to tell you something major."

  "You're just being stupid," he said.

  "What's so stupid about it?"

  "Dawn doesn't give a shit about you," he said.

  And that made me cry. Man, I've always cried too easily. I cry when I'm happy or sad. I cry when I'm angry. I cry because I'm crying. It's weak. It's the opposite of warrior.

  "Quit crying," Rowdy said.

  "I can't help it," I said. "I love her more than I've ever loved anybody."

  Yeah, I was quite the dramatic twelve-year-old.

  "Please," Rowdy said. "Stop that bawling, okay?"

  "Okay, okay," I said. "I'm sorry."

  I wiped my face with one of my pillows and threw it across the room.

  "Jesus, you're a wimp," Rowdy said.

  "Just don't tell anybody I cried about Dawn," I said.

  "Have I ever told anybody your secrets?" Rowdy asked.

  "No."

  "Okay, then, I won't tell anybody you cried over a dumb girl."

  And he didn't tell anybody. Rowdy was my secret-keeper.

  Halloween

  At school today, I went dressed as a homeless dude. It was a pretty easy costume for me.

  There's not much difference between my good and bad clothes, so I pretty much look half-homeless anyway.

  And Penelope went dressed as a homeless woman. Of course, she was the most beautiful

  homeless woman who ever lived.

  We made a cute couple.

  Of course, we weren't a couple at all, but I still found the need to comment on our

  common taste.

  "Hey," I said. "We have the same costume."

  I thought she was just going to sniff at me again, but she almost smiled.

  "You have a good costume," Penelope said. "You look really homeless."

  "Thank you," I said. "You look really cute."

  "I'm not trying to be cute," she said. "I'm wearing this to protest the treatment of homeless people in this country. I'm going to ask for only spare change tonight, instead of candy, and I'm going to give it all to the homeless."

  I didn't understand how wearing a Halloween costume could become a political statement, but I admired her commitment. I wanted her to admire my commitment, too. So I lied.

  "Well," I said. "I'm wearing this to protest the treatment of homeless Native Americans in this country."

  "Oh," she said. "I guess that's pretty cool."

  "Yeah, that spare change thing is a good idea. I think I might do that, too."

  Of course, after school, I'd be trick-or-treating on the rez, so I wouldn't collect as much spare change as Penelope would in Reardan.

  "Hey," I said. "Why don't we pool our money tomorrow and send it together? We'd be able to give twice as much."

  Penelope stared at me. She studied me. I think she was trying to figure out if I was

  serious.

  "Are you for real?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Well, okay," she said. "It's a deal."

  "Cool, cool, cool," I said.

  So, later that night, I went out trick-or-treating on the rez. It was a pretty stupid idea, I guess. I was probably too old to be trick-or-treating, even if I was asking for spare change for the homeless.

  Oh, plenty of people were happy to give me spare change. And more than a few of them

  gave me candy and spare change.

  And my dad was home and sober, and he gave me a dollar. He was almost always home

  and sober and generous on Halloween.

  A few folks, especially the grandmothers, thought I was a brave little dude for going to a white school.

  But there were a lot more people who just called me names and slammed the door in my

  face.

  And I didn't even consider what other kids might do to me.

  About ten o'clock, as I was walking home, three guys jumped me. I couldn't tell who they were. They all wore Frankenstein masks. And they shoved me to the ground and kicked me a few times.

  And spit on me.

  I could handle the kicks.

  But the spit made me feel like an insect.

  Like a slug.

  Like a slug burning to death from salty spit.

  They didn't beat me up too bad. I could tell they didn't want to put me in the hospital or anything. Mostly they just wanted to remind me that I was a traitor. And they wanted to steal my candy and the money.

  It wasn't much. Maybe ten bucks in coins and dollar bills.

  But that money, and the idea of giving it to poor people, had made me feel pretty good

  about myself.

  I was a poor kid raising money for other poor people.

  It made me feel almost honorable.

  But I just felt stupid and naive after those guys took off. I lay there in the dirt and remembered how Rowdy and I used to trick-or-treat together. We'd always wear the same

  costume. And I knew that if I'd been with him, I never would have gotten assaulted.

  And then I wondered if Rowdy was one of the guys who just beat me up. Damn, that

  would be awful. But I couldn't I believe it. I wouldn't believe it. No matter how much he hated me, Rowdy would never hurt me that way. Never.

  At least, I hope he'd never hurt me.

  The next morning, at school, I walked up to Penelope and showed her my empty hands.

  "I'm sorry," I said.

  "Sorry for what?" she asked.

  "I raised money last night, but then some guys attacked me and stole it."

  "Oh, my God, are you okay?"

  "Yeah, they just kicked me a few times."

  "Oh, my God, where did they lack you?"

  I lifted up my shirt and showed her the bruises on my belly and ribs and back.

  "That's terrible. Did you see a doctor?"

  "Oh, they're not so bad," I said.

  "That one looks like it really hurts," she said and touched a fingertip to the huge purple bruise on my back.

  I almost fainted.

  Her touch felt so good.

  "I'm sorry they did that to you," she said. "I'll still put your name on the money when I send it."

  "Wow," I said. "That's really cool. Thank you."

  "You're welcome," she said and walked away.

  I was just going to let her go. But I had to say something memorable, something huge.

  "Hey!" I called after her.

  "What?" she asked.

  "It feels good, doesn't it?"

  "What feels good?"

  "It feels good to help people, doesn't it?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said. "Yes, it does."

  She smiled.

  Of course, after that little moment, I thought t
hat Penelope and I would become closer. I thought that she'd start paying more attention to me and that everybody else would notice ml then I'd become the most popular dude in the place. But nothing much changed. I was still a stranger in a strange land. And Penelope still treated me pretty much the same. She didn't really say much to me. And I didn't really say much to her.

  I wanted to ask Rowdy for his advice.

  "Hey, buddy," I would have said. "How do I make a beautifu1 white girl fall in love with me?"

  "Well, buddy," he would have said. "The first thing you have to do is change the way you look, the way you talk, and the way you walk. And then she'll think you're her fricking Prince Charming."

  Slouching Toward Thanksgiving

  I walked like a zombie through the next few weeks in Reardan.

  Well, no, that's not exactly the right description.

  I mean, if I'd been walking around like a zombie, I might have been scary. So, no, I

  wasn't a zombie, not at all. Because you can't ignore a zombie. So that made me, well, it made me nothing.

  Zero.

  Zilch.

  Nada.

  In fact, if you think of everybody with a body, soul, and in as a human, then I was the opposite of human.

  It was the loneliest time of my life.

  And whenever I get lonely, I grow a big zit on the end of my nose.

  If things didn't get better soon, I was going to turn into one giant walking talking zit.

  A strange thing was happening to me.

  Zitty and lonely, I woke up on the reservation as an Indian, and somewhere on the road to Reardan, I became something less than Indian.

  And once I arrived at Reardan, I became something less than less than less than Indian.

  Those white kids did not talk to me.

  They barely looked at me.

  Well, Roger would nod his head at me, but he didn't socialize with me or anything. I

  wondered if maybe I should punch everybody in the face. Maybe they'd all pay attention to me then.

  I just walked from class to class alone; I sat at lunch alone; during PE I stood in the corner of the gym and played catch with myself. Just tossed a basketball up and down, up and down, up and down.

  And I know you're thinking, "Okay, Mr. Sad Sack, how many ways are you going to tell us how depressed you were?"

  And, okay, maybe I'm overstating my case. Maybe I'm exaggerating. So let me tell you a

  few good things that I discovered during that awful time.