Miriam Toews - The Flying Troutmans

Expelled, he said. You’re supposed to call them.

What? I said. What are you talking about?

Call them, he said. He stared at the TV. I could still make out the words Deborah Solomon, be my girlfriend written in the dust on the screen.

You tell me, I said. I sat down next to him and put my arm around his shoulders. He flinched but he didn’t move away. I stared at the TV with him. What do you like so much about Deborah Solomon? I asked him. He shrugged. No, really? The older woman thing? I asked.

No, he said.

What, then?

I don’t know, he said.

Well, what? I asked again.

She’s solid, he said, finally. And she doesn’t back away from shit.

So why were you expelled? I asked.

It was just…nothing, he said.

You got expelled for nothing? Like, your principal just pulls random names out of a hat.

Logan sighed. I felt his shoulder rise and collapse. Okay, he said. And then we had this conversation.

Logan: I was shooting hoops with this kid whose older brother is with The Deuce.

Me: Really?

Logan: Yeah.

Me: Oh. So. Hmm.

Logan: Yeah.

Me: Okay, so how was it?

Logan: Do you even know what The Deuce is?

Me: No. A gang?

Logan: Yeah. So did you know their colour is baby blue?

Me: Oh, that’s perfect.

Logan: What do you mean?

Me: The irony of it.

Logan: No. It’s just their colour.

Me: Well, it’s a nice one.

Logan: And the kid I was shooting hoops with was wearing a baby blue shirt.

Me: I thought colours weren’t allowed at your school.

Logan: Well, you can’t…it’s just a colour. You can’t really ban a—

Me: No, but, you know, explicit gang colours.

Logan: No.

Me: Okay, you’d know.

Logan: So, we’re there and—

Me: School property?

Logan: Yeah. Don’t say “school property.” I hate that expression.

Me: Okay.

Logan: We’re there and these guys come up to where we are, only I’m off a bit, a little away from them, and these guys are talking to the kid I’m playing with.

Me: Yeah?

Logan: And then he goes off a bit with them, over to the side, by the wall.

Me: Uh-huh.

Logan: And I can’t really hear what they’re saying or anything, but then a few minutes later he comes back and he tells me they took his shirt.

Me: The baby blue one?

Logan: Yeah, he had another one under it. Me: Oh, that’s good.

Logan: And his Walkman.

Me: Poor kid. All calm, just like that?

Logan: Yeah.

Me: Well, that’s scary. Did you go report it?

Logan: (Doesn’t say anything, just looks at me for a second.)

Me: What?

Logan: Okay. Hattie. This kid said they were I.P.

Me: So?

Logan: You don’t go to the principal’s office and say you just got robbed by the Posse.

Me: No? You don’t?

Logan: Okay. Hattie. What do you think would happen?

Me: I don’t know.

Logan: Yeah. Nothing. They don’t go to school.

Me: Well, he could phone the cops.

Logan: No.

Me: Well, I would.

Logan: No.

Me: No?

Logan: So then this kid said that they had a knife.

Me: Oh my god.

Logan: And then the kid said, Well, at least they didn’t see this.

Me: See what?

Logan: His binder.

Me: What would the I.P. do with a binder?

Logan: ’Cause it said “Posse Killers” on it.

Me: Oh my god. That kid is a deuce?

Logan: Not “a deuce.” Deuce.

Me: That kid’s Deuce?

Logan: No, that doesn’t sound right either.

Me: How about, is that kid a member of The Deuce?

Logan: Okay. No. But his older brother is.

Me: Okay. But, you know, I’m concerned that—

Logan: But this kid used to be in The Deuce.

Me: Really?

Logan: He just got out of jail.

Me: What? Seriously? You’re playing basketball with gangsters who’ve been in prison?

Logan: He’s a nice guy, though.

Me: Well, god, listen, Logan—

Logan: He’s trying to get his shit together.

Me: Hmmm. Well…

Logan: So anyway, I go back inside and like five minutes later on the P.A. it’s like, Logan Troutman, would you please come to the office, so I go and they say, Oh, we saw you playing basketball with certain individuals known to have gang ties and we’ve already warned you about this blahblahblah, and I’m like, So? I had a spare. And they’re like, That’s three strikes, you’re out. Lame.

Me: Really.

Logan: Mmm-hmmm.

Me: But like how were you technically supposed to know that they were in a gang? Or gangs, plural, whatever.

Logan: They obviously know I know.

Me: Oh.

I didn’t know exactly what he meant, but it seemed like we’d exhausted that point and it didn’t matter anyway.

We’re hitting the road, I said.

What road? he said.

You, me, Thebie, we’re going on a road trip, I said. We’re gonna look for Cherkis.

Logan stared at the TV like it was the only thing standing between him and eternal happiness. Like a retriever stares at a squirrel before all hell breaks loose. Then he loosened up.

Where? he asked.

I don’t know, I said. South Dakota…I’m not sure. I have one lead.

What do we do if we find him?

I don’t know, I said.

What do we do if we don’t find him?

I don’t know that, either, I said.

Awesome, he said. But why?

I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not. Min wants us to, I said. It was her idea.

Really? said Logan. She never even talks about him.

I know, I said, but I think she understands now that she needs his help. We can phone her from the road.

I don’t know, said Logan.

What don’t you know? I asked.

Logan got up and walked to the kitchen.

I phoned the hospital again and asked to speak to Min. The nurse told me that Min did not want to talk to me. I know, I said, but I don’t think she means it.

She’d prefer not to see you, said the nurse.

What about her kids? I said.

Min doesn’t want any visitors, said the nurse.

I wasn’t surprised. I had refused to help her die and her kids reminded her of important reasons to live. She had done this before when she was deeply psychotic, turned her back, flipped us the bird, walked away. My parents once drove for days to the West Coast trying to find out where she’d disappeared to and when they got to her apartment she refused to open the door and then called the cops to say they were harassing her. There had been so many times that she told me never to call her again. I would come all the way from Paris to see her and she’d tell me to go to hell. I love you, Hattie, she’d say, but please go away. At first I was hurt and mystified. One time I waited all night in minus-twenty weather outside her front door, begging her to open it and let me in. I’d spent hours, days, following her around town, trying to get her to talk to me, to acknowledge me, to realize that all I wanted to do was help her. She phoned the cops and told them I was stalking her. I was used to it now. I understood. She would eventually change her mind, let me back into her life, and the temporary banishment would never be spoken of.

But this was the first time she’d refused to see her kids.

Logan came back into the living room and sat down on the couch. What don’t you know? I asked him again. He said he didn’t know. You don’t know what you don’t know? I said.

Well, he said, I’d kind of like not to be interrogated. I know that.

Do you mean you don’t know if we should be leaving Min? I asked him.

I don’t know, he said.

We’re obviously coming back, though, I said. I mean, you know, obviously.

I know, yeah, he said. Obviously.

But you just don’t know, I said.