Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) (4 page)

We crest a hill covered with sagebrush into an area
where leafless trees guard lawns and homes. On the right is a huge church. Men
and women in orange vests direct traffic in and out of the parking lot.

This is perfect. I never thought about it before,
but now I’m curious—what would a place this packed have to say that would draw
so many people?

We slow, and a man with a suit under his neon vest
points to his left. Hayden smiles, waves and shakes his head no. We pass the
church.

“That’s not where we’re going?”

“Un-uh.” He looks straight ahead and drives with
his left hand. His right hand is in a hang loose symbol. He alternates tapping
his thumb then pinky against his thigh. “Too big.” The description sounds more
like a disease than an indication of size.

Hayden continues detailing his plans for his
truck. How hard it was to find a bumper, how rare parts are. Eventually I stop
listening. I can’t help but remember the look on Lorna’s face. She was truly
scared and I’ve never seen her afraid of anything. Even that time Thom stumbled
over a baby rattler in the side yard—she was the one hacking away with a shovel,
while the two of us just stood there.

It feels like a lead blanket drapes over my head
and shoulders. Each breath falters in my chest. If Lorna’s afraid, then I should—what?
What should I do?

 “You got allergies or something?”

“Yeah, I think.”

Hayden unzips an insulated vinyl bag and pulls out
an unopened water bottle. “There’s allergy pills in the glove box.” A regular
boy scout.

He hands me the water bottle. As I reach, the car
jolts and our hands touch. The tightness in my chest changes.

“I’ll be good with the water, thanks.” Who needs
to breathe?

We pull into the parking lot of an older brick
building. The trees are enormous, and in the flower beds are a bunch of those
pointy green spears that appear in the spring. I’ll have to remember this spot
during summer when the trees leaf out.

He parks and I slip off the seat. I watch him lock
his door with a key, so I hold down the lock and close my door. I know he sees
me do this, but he still walks around and lifts the handle, checking to see if I
locked it properly.

The freshly painted, dark, black parking lot pavement
contrasts with its bright yellow lines. It smells like Nevada desert in the
winter: sage and Manzanita scents brought by wind so cold and dry I’m afraid I’ll
get a nosebleed.

Everyone seems to know Hayden. He introduces me
again and again. I follow him into a large room with a high ceiling. There’s a
stage area with a piano and three microphones. Behind the stage, hangs that
huge “T,” the cross religious people everywhere use as an icon. We sit in these
padded chairs organized in straight rows. There’s a book waiting, where Hayden
writes his name. He writes in all caps, and it takes up the whole line. Such a
masculine thing to do, as if saying, “I am Hayden.”

He erases and rewrites it. HAYDEN AND GU... There
isn’t room to finish, so he erases again. He sees me watching and we giggle. His
head leans forward and almost touches mine. Finally, he fits HAYDEN & GUEST
in the slot.

This is the first real date I have ever been on. I
was asked to go somewhere, then he returned to pick me up and next he will
drive me home. That’s a date. Remembering the way his skin felt, I want to hold
his hand for real. Before I get the courage to grab it, a beautiful girl waves
at us from across the room.

She has a side ponytail clasped in a barrette. She
wears a sleeveless, white, mock-turtle neck top and a long, flower-printed
skirt. Even though she looks like she stepped out of Lorna’s yearbook, her
figure is not outdated.

“Hi, Hayden, you missed Sunday school.” She smiles
at him and then me. She looks genuinely pleased to see us.

He says hello to her.

In the awkwardness that follows, she says, “My
name is Leah,” and holds out her right hand. Is it possible for someone to
shake hands like a ballerina?

“Oh, sorry,” says Hayden. “This is my friend,
Baby.”

I’m glad for the anonymity.

“I am so pleased to meet you.” Her formality makes
me sit a little straighter. These are classy people. I’m glad I put cover-up on
the bit of bruise that’s still visible.

“Hayden, I brought you a plate of those brownies
you liked.”

“Oh?” He looks like he is about to say something,
but strains against it.

“I left them for you in the Sunday school room.”

She turns and I watch the pretty way her skirt
flaps around her ankles. I steal a peak; Hayden is not watching her.

“Brownies, huh?”

“She made these gluten-free brownies. I ate
several, but only because they didn’t have nuts. The other snacks had nuts.”

I look at his face. I like that he speaks
directly, no assumptions. He stares ahead, tapping his right hand in that thumb-pinky
way he does. There’s a slight indention under his mustache on his upper lip, a
scar maybe. His haircut is precise, like his clothing, his movements.

I look back at his lip. I would love to peak under
the mustache to see the scar better, to touch it. The hair edging his high
forehead is baby-fine and lighter than the rest, the same color as his eye
lashes: pyrite.

 “You pulled me out of that building.”

“Yeah.”

He is golden.

Two men, one woman and the girl named Leah walk
out onto the stage area. The woman sits behind the piano, and the shorter man
stands at the glass podium. Leah and the other man walk to the microphones and
spend several minutes adjusting them. The man at the podium starts to pray but
it sounds like he is reading. Everyone gets real quiet and listens. The lady
starts to play the piano. Hayden stands up and I remember Thom’s advice, so I
stand too. In a minute everyone is standing.

Hayden opens a music book and turns to a song called,
“It is Well.” It’s a pretty, old-fashioned way to talk. But Thom is right, I’m
bored. My bedtime is approaching. There’s movement just off to the right and
ahead. A woman sways; her face is in her hands. She weeps.

I watch her. I want to go to her and put my arms
around her. How can she hurt so much? How can I give her comfort?

The next song isn’t so sleepy and the woman lifts
her hands up next to her face. She still has tears, but she smiles. She’s
really getting into the singing. I listen to Hayden’s deep, rumbling voice and
watch the crying woman. There is beauty here. Close. I look around to see if
anyone else notices.

Just in front of me, a pear-shaped woman elbows
the gal she stands next to. She points to the crying woman, and they share a
knowing look and a smirk.

Yeah, that crying woman should remember she’s in
public.

The singing takes forever. I watch the second hand
on a large clock. It’s faster than the beat of the music. Finally, they tell us
to “greet one and another” and sit down. I hope they don’t use old-fashioned language
the whole time. I read books like that, but it sounds out of context in real
life.

Hayden shakes my hand and I laugh, but I don’t
want to let go. I shake the hand of the “elbow” woman and then we sit. She
pulls a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer from her purse and smears a huge drop on
her hands. The cucumber-alcohol smell burns my throat. I wish I could ask her
for some, because now my hands feel dirty.

Talking, talking, more talking. I’d rather be
climbing into bed. The speaker, performer—whatever he’s called— he has a nice
voice. But he’s so passionate, I wonder if elbow lady is nudging her friend
when he gets into it.

Everyone laughs. If he says jokes, I need to start
paying attention.

“…legalized prostitution in Nevada. Why, just in
our neighborhood there are places where women take off their clothes for money.”

Hello. I’m awake.

Hayden looks at me with his eyes wide and
apologetic. I don’t want his sympathy. I’m okay with what I did. I was in
control. True, I didn’t want Thom to know about it, but that doesn’t mean
anything.

Apparently, all the ills of society stem from the
degradation of sex, pornography and stripping. All this from a guy I could
totally picture in the Wild Lily. What’s the big deal with sex? People have
been doing it since they crawled out of the slime. What I wore to dance wasn’t
anything different than I see on every beach, every magazine and grocery store
isle. I’m sure this guy swims, or is that evil too? Maybe he doesn’t even take
his clothes off to shower.

I can’t wait until we can leave. I should never have
come. I concentrate on my breathing—it’s become difficult again. Everyone
stands and starts toward the doors. Hayden grabs my hand to lead me. It’s so
calming to touch him.

Leah weaves through the clusters of people
congratulating themselves on how little sex they have.

 “Don’t forget the brownies,” Leah calls.

“Oh, thanks.”

“Run and get them, I’ll wait with Baby. I want to
invite her to group,” Leah says.

I try to tell him no without words. I scream,
plead and cajole with my eyes.

“I’ll be right back, Baby.”

I sigh for a response. His warmth drops my hand.

“Are you free on Tuesday nights?”

There’s no way I’m coming back to church again.
“Well, I need to look for a new job.”

“It’s an all-girls group. So much fun. Meets at my
house.”

She doesn’t even know me.

“We’re discussing a way for girls to remain under
the roof of their father, covered by their father, until they go under the roof
of their husband.”

Is she even speaking English? I turn and walk away
without looking back. When I get to Hayden’s truck, I remember the door is
locked. Dually checked.

There are girls like Leah, and there are girls
like me.

I need to get away. I look at the building and it
makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I am dirty. I am cursed. I know
for sure now that I have a spirit over me. It’s my fault Brita was killed. Evil
is with me. I need to walk.

The sound of gravel under my feet soothes me. Each
step takes me farther from that place. They can’t protect themselves from girls
like me, so they huddle together. At least there are not any footsteps
following me this time.

I don’t know where I’ll go. It’s too far to walk
back to the reservation, but as long as I can get to town, maybe Raenah will
pick me up. Ugh. Her Rabbit’s still broken. I need something to hit. Instead, I
run. Fortunately, the road slopes down. Momentum keeps me going, but I’m so out
of shape and weak from the feeling I had when I looked at the church.

Tires crunch the gravel behind me. I stumble back
to keep from getting hit. Ground strikes my elbows, hard. The pain shoots
through to the healing wound on my cheek. I can’t breathe. Something is on my
chest. I’m going to die. I’ll die on the side of this road.

Hayden squats over me, his arms move to surround
me. He shushes me. Sunshine strokes my hair. I smell his sweat. I’m spent,
poured out like the last drop of Thom’s vodka.

“Do you get a lot of panic attacks?”

“Is that what that was?”

“Yeah, I think.” He pulls me to my feet.

“No.” I hear a car and have the same sensation
that I’m going to die, but this time I feel distant from the previous fear, like
I’m only reading about it. “It’s your church.” I try at humor to lighten the
look on his face. I feel like I want Hayden to lean in and hold me more. I hate
the feeling.

“I’m going to take you home.” He tries to walk me
to the car, but I don’t want to be coddled. I want to be stronger than that. I’ll
never let this happen again. I wish I was in control.

We hardly talk on the way. The benefit is: I don’t
have to listen to him describe refinishing his truck.

“Do you drink coffee, tea, or soda?”

 “Soda.” Are we still on a date?

Hayden pulls into a gas station just outside of
the Indian colony. I sit in the truck, still tired.

“Come on, let’s get something to drink.” He holds
my door open for me.

I follow him. He chooses orange juice. I can’t
find grape soda, so I copy him and get juice, but mine is purple. Hayden pays,
and we walk outside to a splintery picnic bench by the road. The smell of
gasoline punctuates the crisp air.

“I’ll take you home when you feel better.”

I don’t want to talk about what happened, so I
don’t answer. He opens his juice and drinks half the bottle before stopping.

“About the sermon—” He takes a breath then falls silent.

“It’s not like you don’t know what I do.” Why not
help him out a little? I know all men like the thought of a woman taking off
her clothes even if they say they don’t. I give him a look to let him know.
What will he say to that?

“But it isn’t right.”

“Why?”

“Because it should be private, holy, between only two
people.”

“So you want to own your woman. She can only dance
for you.”

“Not own.”

Hayden swirls his juice around in his bottle and I
listen to the cars zooming by. If he doesn’t want to own a woman, then why should
it be so private?

“So you wouldn’t go get a drink at a club and
watch a dancer?”

“Well, it isn’t real.”

Hayden’s right, it isn’t real but the money is
good. At least it was.

“It’s just a service, entertainment. A show,” I
say.

“No, it’s not. It means more.”

I realize my leg is tapping a ridiculous speed
under the table.

“So you agree with the…what did you call it? Sermon?
That dancing steals souls from children, it’s a horrible sin?”

Hayden laughs like he doesn’t think it’s that
funny. “Yeah.” He snaps his tongue and watches traffic, thinking or avoiding
the answer. “So you heard him talk about sin. What did you think about what he
said after?”