Chapter fourteen, Freedom Present. She leaves the Shaman's trailer, squinting and raising
a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the bright sun. Freedom
sneezes, as she always does when she first encounters bright sunlight. Growing up
in the desert has not ever helped to remedy this problem. In her other
hand, she holds the bear, swinging it up and down. Out of
boredom. She is waiting for Harry, who she had to call to come
pick her up and take her to work. She could have slept all day
at the Shamans, but Freedom remembered she had a shift at the truck stop.
It is a short one, thankfully, just the dinner rush, and
then she'll be free. Even though she is tired, she feels like letting
loose and going out. She figures she owes that bitch niewa a drink anyway
for saving her life. She stands up by the road to wait for Harry.
It is technically the Shaman's front yard, but because she lives in a
trailer, the whole expanse in front of her is just sand, brushy shrubs,
and cacti. One of the Shaman's cats, a gray tabby comes up
and winds itself around Freedom's legs, purring. Freedom puts her hand down to
pettit, and the cat, thinking it's playtime, bites Freedom's finger. Shit
ow. Freedom lightly kicks the cat and it goes running away and SLINKs under
the trailer. Hidden in the shade, she hears the white truck before she
sees it. It is so quiet out, no one is outside. The
heat is too intense today. Harry drives up to where Freedom stands, the
vehicle, kicking up dust into her face. She coughs and hoists herself up
into the passenger seat. Dusty Harry speaks one word before turning the car around
and heading back toward the inner State. What the hell happened to you?
He asked Freedom, giving her a sideways glance. What are you doing way
out here? You just caught me. I would have left earlier, but
one of the guys wanted to talk to me about something right before you called
Lucky. You nothing, Freedom says, rolling down the window and lighting a
cigarette. Harry turns the air conditioning up. It's too hot to have them
windows rolled down. I got the ac on tough. I'm smoking. Had
a traumatic experience, must have Harry gives up trying to fiddle with the controls
on the temperature and turns on the radio. Merle Haggard sings the bottle let
Me Down. The only music anyone gets on the stations out in Peach Springs
is old school country or Christian Freedom will take country any day. Harry doesn't
press from information for which Freedom is grateful. After throwing her cigarette out the
window, she rolls it up, closes her eyes, and leans her head
back against the headrust. After a few minutes, Harry speaks again, Hey,
where'd you get that bear? Huh? Freedom opens her eyes. What
bear? That stuffed animal? Harry points to the bear on the ground situated
between Freedom's feet. Freedom wiggles her foot on top of the bear's face,
watching the dust settle over its eyes. Oh yeah, I saw it at
the church rummage sale. Creepy fucking bear. The shaman told me to hang
onto it, some mumbo jumbo about how the bear came to find me and
that now it's on a journey with me or something pretty weird. I figured
I just hang on to him. Let me see it, Harry says,
taking his hand off the wheel and holding it out away from him. Freedom
reaches down and retrieves the bear, wiping the dust off its eyes before handing
it to Harry. It's just some kid's toy. I remember this. This
talking bear was crazy popular back in the day. It was really expensive too,
I remember because I think the Nancies had one for their little girl to
play with. It was the only one on the reservation. Who are the
Mancies, Freedom asked, sitting up straighter in her seat. Kaya, Mancie
was a friend of your mother's. Used to be pals. They moved a
few years back. Wonder whatever became of them. Harry checks the rear view
mirror, straightens it. Well, I don't need this thing. Thought i'd
just bring it back home for Lydia and a two to play with. Does
it still talk? Harry asked, pulling the white cord on its back.
A garbled, low sound comes out, the words unintelligible. The bear is
speaking gibberish. It's as if a tape is being played in slow motion.
Huh, he says, must be pretty old. Freedom changes the subject.
Can you drop me off at work? I gotta get in for the three
o'clock shift. Sure, Harry responds, giving the accelerator a pump. I'll
take the bear home to the kids. A two will probably love it.
Probably, Freedom says, decentrously, closing her eyes again. She wakes up
when the car pulls to a stop outside of the truck stop. She must
have fallen asleep. The bear is still on her lap. She tosses it
on the passenger seat when she gets out of the car. Thanks a lot,
Harry, No problem, kid, Freedom checks her watch. Two minutes
to spare. She runs up to the truck stop, brushing past Dakota and
into the back room, where she grabs an extra apron the hook on the
wall. You're late. Dakota has followed her into the back room. No,
I'm not, get off my ass. Freedom walks past her into the
dining room. Dakota ignores her and chirps as she waddles after her. Your
boyfriend is here. Who the guy with the sunglasses. He's been here since
breakfast asking for you? Oh cool. Freedom acts disinterested, but secretly she
is glad. She likes when Glasses is there. He has someone to talk
to. He's funny, he gives her attention to. She walks over to
the expo line and pretending to grab a plate looks over her shoulder into the
dining room. There he is at table fifty two, reading the paper.
She sets down the plate and walks over to greet him reading the paper.
Huh. Freedom puts her right hand on her hip and cocks her head.
Glasses brings the paper down slowly. Freedom can't see his eyes through his darkly
tinted shades, but she notices a tiny smile play at the corner of his
mouth. Yes, I am what for? Freedom sits down, scooting into
the booth across from him. I like to know what is going on in
the world, Freedom laughs. How about the Internet? Are you too old
school for that? I get on the internet sometimes dial up? Of course,
Freedom looks puzzled. What's that now? It's glasses turned to laugh.
It was a way to get on the Internet when it first came out,
way before your time, I guess, Freedom plays with a stray napkin that
sits in front of her on the table. You must be old. How
old are you, Glasses, I'm fifty two. Ever been married? Yes?
Kids? Glasses smiles again. What is this? Twenty questions? No,
no kids? How about you? You're married? Nah? Freedom answers,
I'm too young to get married. I'm only twenty eight. A lot
of people would disagree with that statement, Glasses says, picking up his coffee
cup and taking a sip. Yeah, I know, especially out here.
Freedom agrees with him. All the kids in my class are married now have
kids. She shudders, imagining her having to take care of lydia An a
two round the clock. They're too much as it is. You have plenty
of time to do those things. Glasses responds, You should be young now,
enjoy life. Freedom gestures around her. Yeah, this is a real
great life. Working at the truck stop, slinging breakfast twenty four hours a
day. I've got it made. Besides, there are no good men in
this town, and I ain't marrying no Indian, no offense against him.
You got a boyfriend, a non Indian boyfriend, Glasses ass smiling again.
No way, Like I said, no good men in this town. I
bet there are some where you're from, though, some big city with lots
of guys in suits, expensive ones. You wear expensive suits, Glasses,
he chuckles, Not usually, I imagine the city to be full of guys
and suits, like lawyers and stuff. Which city are we talking about,
Glasses scratches the stubble on his cheek. DC, didn't you say you were
from there? Freedom looks at him. I am, I had a boyfriend.
Freedom is back to the previous conversation. He was a trucker, used
to come in here a lot. He was old too, like you,
How old? Glasses smile has faded? Forty eight told me he was thirty
nine, but I saw his driver's license once. He had muscles and a
lot of tattoos. He was hot for an old guy. Said he was
separated from his wife. I didn't believe him. Guys they lie, you
know. Glasses looks at her again, studying her. You are wise beyond
your years anyway, Freedom continues, scooting out of the booth and standing up.
He moved or his trucking roote got switched, either way stopped coming around.
She shrugs, remembering the anti climactic way things had ended, and realizes
how little she cares. How come you don't have no tattoos, Glasses,
she asks, her hand resting on his arm just a bit longer, She
feels his bicep flecks under her arm at her touch. How do you know?
I don't don't seem like the type. Freedom is about to explain,
but just then Dakota barks at her from the kitchen and yells at her to
get to work. Freedom notices Glasses glance in Dakota's direction, and he bawls
up his fist. Freedom pokes him on the arm. What's wrong, Glasses?
You jealous? Jealous? I got to go to work and serve people
other than you. Freedom slides out of the booth and stands next to his
bench, hand on her hip. Again. Maybe I am. Freedom can't
tell if he's being serious or not. An idea hits her. Hey,
Glasses, we should go out. His head swivels up. Go out,
he asks. Freedom thinks she detects a hint of excitement in his voice.
Yeah, you know, drink alcohol, karaoke? You play pool, Glasses,
I do. I'm decent, Well, so am I? Freedom insists.
I'll bet you five bucks. You can't beat me. Freedom hesitates,
waiting for him to respond. Just when she thinks he is about to turn
her down, he shrugs. Let's do it, he says, but not
too late. I got to head back to d C in the morning.
All right, Glasses, Freedom is excited. I'm off at six and then
we can go. As Dakota yells at her again, Freedom rolls her eyes
and heads in the direction of the kitchen. I'll be here, Glasses responds,
picking up his paper again. Figured as much, Freedom says, mostly
to herself. Chapter fifteen, Ryan present. It's only when he goes to
stand up that he realizes he's drunk. He's such a lightweight these days.
A couple of beers never would have gotten him like this back in the day,
Back in his drinking days, forget it. He'd need a pint of
whiskey and a few beers just to get there. But tonight, here he
is six beers deep and two shots in, and he's feeling pretty good.
Ryan glances down at the bar stool next to him and smiles as he watches
Freedom leaning over the railing talking with the bartender, some guy she knows,
Johnny or john or Jimmy. Ryan hasn't been paying much attention to anything or
anyone but her. She is talking with Johnny or Jimmy, conspiratorially holding her
hand up next to her mouth and whispering in his ear. Her green crop
top grazes the bar, and because one knee rests on the bar, stool,
her asses up in the air, white jeans, skirt barely covering her
ample butt cheeks. A white flip flop with pineapples on it dangles precariously on
her foot. Ryan wraps his knuckles on the bar, feeling beer foam and
sticky liquor residue cover them. He pulls his hand away quickly. Freedom spins
her head toward him, dropping her hand and giving him the once over.
Gotta hit the head again, Freedom laughs, shaking her head, her large
hoop earrings swinging back and forth around her glasses. You pee more than any
chick I've ever known. Ryan doesn't have a response for that, so he
simply heads off in the direction of the men's room at the back of the
bar. Once there, he checks himself out in the mirror. Sunglasses on,
dark Tommy Bahamas, shirt, untucked green cargo shorts, and sandals.
He looks like the picture of a middle aged man on vacation. Ryan doesn't
know if one could call what he is doing a vacation, but he is
certainly having fun. In fact, he can't remember the last time he kicked
back and let loose. Although he looks younger than his fifty two years.
He is a middle aged man, one who for tonight at least, has
a much younger woman at his side. He wonders what the other men are
thinking, or if they are wondering, what his relationship to her is.
Ryan sees the men look and wonder. He sees the jealousy and the bitterness
on their faces. Not since Gina has he felt the stairs of other men
and reveled in their admiration. When he woke up in the motel room this
morning, he had no idea that he would wind up at the Sundowner Saloon
in Kingman twelve hours later. This is the first bar Ryan has been to
in all of the years he has been coming to the area. Up until
tonight. He had found it necessary to keep his wits about him while he
was here. But Freedom had never asked him to see her outside of the
truck stop before, so when she did, Ryan was surprised at how quickly
he had agreed. He had waited in his booth while she finished her shift,
clocked out, and went to change in the back. As he sat,
he tried to read the rest of the paper, but realized he was
reading the same sentence over and over. He was nervous, He began to
have second thoughts about leaving the truck stop with Freedom. What if someone saw
them and generated unnecessary attention. What if he made a complete fool of himself
and she thought he was a loser. He waffled back and forth for a
while and was just about to get up and find Freedom to let her know
that he had changed his mind and that he was going to have to leave,
when he saw her walking out from the back. She wore the green
top that exposed her middrift, a pale expanse of skin, flat as a
board, with a few tiny freckles dotting it. The white jeans skirt was
too big around her waist and rode up against her thighs, making it seem
even shorter than it was. Freedom distractedly tugged at the skirt with one hand
as she walked. The hoop earrings touched the top of her clavicle bone,
swinging wildly, skimming the straps of the white bra she didn't need with every
other step. In her right hand she held a plate with the cheeseburger and
fries, and on her left side was a wad of cash wedged under her
armpit between her rib cage and bicep. Her flip flops slapped against the truck
stop floor as she maneuvered her way around the counter and toward Ryan's booth.
She smiled as she came nearer to him. Ryan couldn't wait for her to
reach the table and it down across from him, yet at the same time
wanted her to continue walking toward him so that he could watch her forever.
In one fluid motion, Freedom slid into the booth across from him, deposited
the cheeseburger and fries on the table, released the want of cash from her
armpit, and placed it on the table in front of him. She then
produced a small pouch that had Ryan assumed been in her hand hidden under the
plate, and unzipped it with a wink in his direction. She pulled out
a pack of cigarettes, a hot pink mini lighter, and the smallest flask
Ryan had ever seen. She pulled a cigarette out of the pack, lit
it with the lighter, took a short drag, and, pulling the plate
of food hungrily toward her, pointed the cigarette at the money count it.
She ordered Ryan, taking the top of the butt off of the cheeseburger and
placing it on the plate. She put her cigarette in the ashtray side her,
picked up a few greasy fries and deposited them on top of the meat
patty. Freedom then reached for the ketchup in the tray next to her right
hand, grabbed the bottle, popped the white rubber top open with her teeth,
and squirted a large amount of the condiment on top of the fries,
before closing the top of the ketchup again with her mouth. She squirted a
tiny dollop of the red sauce under her left forefinger and licked it off,
letting the tip of her finger remain in her mouth for a second longer than
necessary. As she looked up to meet his eyes, Ryan saw the tip
of her tongue work around the finger and red sauce dirting in and out of
her mouth with a loud pop and a sucking sound. She drew the digit
out of her mouth, still meeting his gaze. Ryan found himself wondering if
she had done that on purpose or if it was just an innocent habit.
He would find himself wondering the same thing throughout the night, as a scene
before him played over and over in his head, fitting the top bun over
the ketchup and fries. Freedom picked up the burger and took a huge bite.
She chewed loudly and quickly swallowed, and reached for the cigarette again.
She cocked her head to the side and spoke glasses hello. Ryan had forgotten
what she had ordered him to do. Count the money, please, Freedom
said again, taking another drag of her cigarette and gesturing toward the wad of
cash. I gotta see how much I made today so we can hit the
town. She made air quotes with her hands when she said hit the town,
and then laughed at herself. She continued, but add on five dollars
to that number, because I'm going to be rich when I beat you in
pool and you pay up. We'll just see about that. Ryan could feel
his face reddening behind his sunglasses. All of his misgivings about going with her
were fading away. There was no harm in having a few drinks, he
reasoned with himself. Besides, she had looked so excited when she had asked
him to go. Ryan couldn't bear to let her down. He counted the
money, sixty three dollars, he said to her, as if it were
a question and not his conclusive findings. Freedom shrugged her shoulders and unscrewed the
top of the flask on the table. It was a short shift. She
took a swig from the flask and offered it to Ryan. He declined,
telling her that he needed to drive such a goody two shoes glasses. Freedom
hastily ate the rest of her burger and drained the rest of the liquid from
the flask. Popping up, she swept at the money on the table.
Let's go, We're out of here. She headed toward the door without a
backward glance. Ran hurried to catch up, but Freedom banged through the door
before he could hold it open for her. Ryan had in the nate longing
to be as much of a gentleman as he could. He always felt primal
here with her. As they neared Ryan's car, parked in its usual side
spot, he talked himself out of opening the car door for her. Freedom
probably would have laughed at him had he done so, and this wasn't a
date. He watched as she slung her little pouch onto the passenger seat,
then sat down herself, almost crushing it beneath her skinny thighs. She kicked
off her pineapple flop flops, hauled her bare feet up onto the dashboard,
lit another cigarette, and directed him towards Stockton Hill Road and Kingman. They
drove an awkward but anticipatory silence, both looking out the window and stealing glances
at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. They had been at
the Sundowner for the past four hours. Sitting at the bar, Freedom the
life of the party, saying hello to everyone. She knew Ryan would stand
behind her, silent content to watch her socialize in her element. Once or
twice she had waved her hand in his direction and proclaimed her mystery guest to
be Glasses. But other than that, Ryan stayed out of her way.
He is taking a piss in the urinal when he hears the bathroom door creak
open. The music muffled before suddenly gets louder by decibels, and Ryan can
hear a woman's singing. The bar has karaoke tonight, and for the past
ninety minutes has been host to one terrible singer after the other. This girl
is decent, though, Ryan thinks, and as he listens realizes it is
unmistakably Freedom, finishing in the bathroom, He leaves and walks toward the bar,
looking over his shoulder at the tiny makeshift stage. Freedom stands there holding
the microphone against her chest. There's a stool to her left that goes unused.
Ryan realizes she is singing Wide Open Spaces, the Dixie Chick song that
was popular almost two decades ago. The background bar noise quiets to a hum
as everyone strains to watch and hear the pretty girl with the pretty voice.
Ryan signals to Johnny or Jimmy and asks for a bottle of bud and two
shots of whiskey neat He plans to enjoy the rest of the show with a
real drink. The girl up on the stage is radiant. She has everyone's
attention with the way she sexily sways and sings. Ryan, sipping his whiskey,
realizes he faces the same conundrum as he did less than three hours ago.
He wants the girl back beside him, in close proximity, where he
can touch her and smell her and keep her safe, and at the same
time never wants to stop watching her in front of him, just out of
reach. The song ends, and the crowd that has gathered around the stage
claps politely in admiration. Freedom takes a small bow and hops off the stage,
tossing the microphone onto the stool. In a flash, she is at
Ryan's side. She searches his face for what Ryan realizes is approval, but
because he has his sunglasses on, she finds only stoicism. He tips his
beard toward her and nods his head approvingly. That was really good. Thanks.
She looks up at him expectantly, flushed from the quick walk back to
the bar, Her eyes search his face for approval, but Ryan, his
sunglasses on, perpetually imagines Freedom must not see what she is looking for from
him, because the look on her face changes quickly to one of disappointment.
To appease her his shortcomings, Ryan takes a step toward her so that his
right forearm barely brushes hers. Her eyes light up, and she moves only
her arm closer to his. There is no mistake they are touching, and
Ryan feels the familiar jolt and tingle that starts at the top of his head
and warms his whole body until it rushes down there. The warmth stays expanding.
Next, Ryan feels Freedom's hand, She slips her fingers in between his
fingers and slowly slides them up and down. Ryan closes his eyes and pulls
his head back, trying to concentrate on anything other than her touch and the
way it is exciting him. Freedom leans across him, her tiny torso stretching
out toward the bar, and drops Ryan's hand in order to class the second
shot of whiskey on the bar that is started to beat droplets of condensation.
This for me, she asks, no one in particular, averting her gaze
from Ryan's. Yes it is, Ryan says, but Freedom is no longer
paying attention. She downs the shot and, beckoning to Ryan for him to
follow, walks toward one of the pool tables in the far right corner,
grabbing his beer off the bar. Ryan follows her. By the time he
reaches the pool table, she is already talking to a group of Native American
guys who look to be in their mid twenties. She is swaying, leaning
against the table, asking them something. She is drunk. Ryan hears her,
asking the men if she and Ryan can play at the pool table.
The men are milling around it holding pool cues, but don't seem to be
involved in a game. The men look her up and down. Then I
Ryan, the fattest of the three, speaks first. Who is that?
He asks, pointing his cue and Ryan's direction, Your dad. The Indians
laugh, hitting each other. Freedom laughs too, trying to hitch her butt
up to rest on the pool table. It is too high for her,
so she stumbles, almost losing her balance, but writes herself at the last
minute. Who Glasses? She slurs, steadying herself with one hand against the
table. Before Ryan can say anything, she continues, glasses is my boyfriend.
The Huallumpies laugh again, this time more hesitantly. Their laughter dies off
and they all glare at Ryan. The second man takes a sip of his
beer and addresses Freedom while still looking at Ryan. Why are you wasting your
time with this old, fuck hot piece of ass like you? The man
glances up and down at Freedom again. Yeah. The first one chimes in,
you get off on changing Grandpa's diaper every night or something. From the
vantage point behind her, Ryan can see Free raise her hands in the air
and put up both middle fingers, but before he can step up in between
her and the Huallapaie men, the second one reaches out an arm and grabs
Freedom by one of her outstretched middle fingers. Freedom is yanked forward, her
hair flying out behind her. She gives a small yelp, and as Ryan
watches, the man spins her around by her finger until she is facing out
into the bar. He rears his arm back and it comes down hard on
her ass. Ryan can hear the slap of it reverberate even over the din
of the noise in the bar. Freedom's eyes open wide, her mouth making
a visible O shape you ass whole. She starts to cry out, wrestling
to get away from him, but the man's grip on her arm tightens,
and as Ryan watches, the Huallipie man moves in so that his face is
next to Freedom's. His hand curls around Freedom's jawbone, jerks it toward him,
and, stretching out a long, slimy tongue, licks the side of
Freedom's face. Before he knows what is happening, Ryan is flying toward him,
throwing his beer bottle against the far wall. He crashes into the Indian,
one hand circling around his throat while the other pushes his shoulder up against
the wall. Ryan slams him into the wall again for emphasis, sticking his
right hand into the lowest pocket in his cargo shorts and producing his Federal Marshal
badge. He smashes the badge against the wallapi's cheek and pushes hard enough so
that the man's head is turned at a ninety degree angle. You see this,
Ryan growls into the man's face. Do you see this badge, you
stupid fuck. I'm a Federal goddamn marshal, you stupid motherfucker. Look.
He brings the badge back and crushes it against the man's cheek. After he
does, Ryan pushes the man's face back against the wall and points his badge
at the other two men. They stare blankly at him, mouths agape.
If I ever see any of you stupid redskin fucks ever come near her again,
I'll put a tomahawk through your skulls. Got that. Ryan loosens his
grip again on the man, who splutters and slumps down against the wall.
The man nods, his eyes closing as he puts his hands around his own
throat. Ryan drops his badge in his pocket, turns quickly, and,
seeing Freedom, grabs her by the hand. The bar patrons begin to talk
again. Excitedly. A smattering of applause starts, and Ryan hears a murmur
of appreciative chatter. One guy yells out badass, but Ryan doesn't stop to
acknowledge any praise. He pulls Freedom out the door of the bar and deposits
her in the passenger seat of his car. He gets in the car,
pulling away out of the parking lot, and squeals onto the inner state.
He looks at Freedom. She looks dazed. The sleeve of her top has
come off of her shoulder, and only one hoop earring now dangles from her
right ear. Other than that, she looks okay. She absent mindedly strokes
her middle finger. I'm okay, she responds, shaking her head. I
think that fucker broke my finger. Ryan glances over at her and sees that
the finger is black and blue and swollen to twice its size. He turns
his head back toward the road. He needs to pay attention. Adrenaline,
testosterone, and alcohol are pumping through his veins, and he is going ninety
miles an hour. Looks broken. He concedes, turning right onto the road
where his motel is. Freedom, seemingly unfazed by his admission, looks out
the window. Where are we going? She asks him. Her eyes look
glazed and she giggles to herself, throwing her arm out and letting it rest
on Ryan's. He realizes she is still drunk. To my motel, he
says, swinging the car into the parking lot. You are staying here tonight,
where you'll be safe. I'll sleep on the floor. Freedom looks at
him, finally comprehending. She nods her head in agreement, and stepping out
of the car, dutifully follows him up to the motel door. Ryan unlocks
it, and, stepping into the room, flips on the light. He
motions to the queen size bed in the middle of the room and pushes the
swing bar against the door, locking it. You can sleep there, he
says, awkwardly, and he moves around Freedom to take his badge and his
wallet out of his pockets and place them on the bathroom counter. He reaches
for his dop kit and the gauze he has stashed inside. Now let's see
about that finger, he starts to say, grabbing the gauze. He turns
around, surprised to see her not on the bed, but standing still in
the middle of the room. She ignores him and looks him in the eyes.
When she speaks, she has a serious tone to her voice. No
one has ever done that for me before. Ryan looks at her, remembering
done what he asks, knowing the answer, but needing desperately to hear it
from her. Saved me, she says, tilting her head. Ryan is
silent. You saved me, Freedom says, repeating the phrase as if she
is only just now realizing the truth in those words, why did you do
that? He clears his throat because he starts, then stops, because why,
Freedom insists. Ryan shifts his feet and looks up from the floor at
her standing across the room. Because it's my job. He waits for her
reaction. Freedom remains expressionless for what seems like hours. Next, she is
moving toward him, as if in slow motion. Suddenly she is next to
him. Her body inches away, her arms encircle his waist, and she
rests her head against his chest. Then her arms travel up over his torso,
her hands running against his chest until they clasped together around his neck.
Freedom sighs contentedly, a little girl's sigh, eyes closed, and she pulls
his face toward hers. Until her lips find his,