Sherman Alexie - The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

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.

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.

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.