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

"No," I said.

"How will you get home?" she asked.

"Most nights, I walk home. I hitchhike. Somebody usually picks me up. I've only had to walk the whole way a few times."

She started to cry.

FOR ME!

Who knew that tears of sympathy could be so sexy?

"Oh, my God, Arnold, you can't do that," she said. "I won't let you do that. You'll freeze.

Roger will drive you home. He'll he happy to drive you home."

I tried to stop her, but Penelope ran over to Roger's car and told him the truth.

And Roger, being of kind heart and generous pocket, and a little bit racist, drove me

home that night.

And he drove me home plenty of other nights, too.

If you let people into your life a little bit, they can be pretty damn amazing.

Don't Trust Your Computer

Today at school, I was really missing Rowdy, so I walked over to the computer lab, took a digital photo of my smiling face, and e-mailed it to him.

A few minutes later, he e-mailed me a digital photo of his bare ass. I don't know when he snapped that pic.

It made me laugh.

And it made me depressed, too.

Rowdy could be so crazy-funny-disgusting. The Reardan kids were so worried about

grades and sports and THEIR FUTURES that they sometimes acted like repressed middle-aged business dudes with cell phones stuck in their small intestines.

Rowdy was the opposite of repressed. He was exactly the kind of kid who would e-mail

his bare ass (and bare everything else) to the world.

"Hey," Gordy said. "Is that somebody's posterior?"

Posterior! Did he just say "posterior"?

"Gordy, my man," I said. "That is most definitely NOT a posterior. That is a stinky ass.

You can smell the thing, even though the computer."

"Whose butt is that?" he asked.

"Ah, it's my best friend, Rowdy. Well, he used to be my best friend. He hates me now."

"How come he hates you?" he asked.

"Because I left the rez," I said.

"But you still live there, don't you? You're just going to school here."

"I know, I know, but some Indians think you have to act white to make your life better.

Some Indians think you become white if you try to make your life better, if you become

successful."

"If that were true, then wouldn't all white people be successful?"

Man, Gordy was smart. I wished I could take him to the rez and let him educate Rowdy.

Of course, Rowdy would probably punch Gordy until he was brain-dead. Or maybe Rowdy,

Gordy, and I could become a superhero trio, fighting for truth, justice, and the Native American way. Well, okay, Gordy was white, but anybody can start to act like an Indian if he hangs around us long enough.

"The people at home," I said. "A lot of them call me an apple."

"Do they think you're a fruit or something?" he asked.

"No, no," I said. "They call me an apple because they think I'm red on the outside and white on the inside."

"Ah, so they think you're a traitor."

"Yep."

"Well, life is a constant struggle between being an individual and being a member of the community."

Can you believe there is a kid who talks like that? Like he's already a college professor impressed with the sound of his own voice?

"Gordy," I said. "I don't understand what you're trying to say to me."

"Well, in the early days of humans, the community was our only protection against

predators, and against starvation. We survived because we trusted one another."

"So?"

"So, back in the day, weird people threatened the strength of the tribe. If you weren't good for making food, shelter, or babies, then you were tossed out on your own."

"But we're not primitive like that anymore."

"Oh, yes, we are. Weird people still get banished."

"You mean weird people like me," I said.

"And me," Gordy said.

"All right, then," I said. "So we have a tribe of two."

I had the sudden urge to hug Gordy, and he had the sudden urge to prevent me from

hugging him.

"Don't get sentimental," he said.

Yep, even the weird boys are afraid of their emotions.

My Sister Sends Me a Letter

Dear Junior,

I am still looking for a job. They keep telling me I don't have enough experience. But how can I get enough experience if they don't give me a chance to get experience? Oh, well. I have a lot of free time, so I have started to write my life story. Really! Isn't that crazy? I think I'm going to call it HOW TO RUN AWAY FROM YOUR HOUSE AND FIND YOUR HOME.

What do you think?

Tell everybody I love them and miss them!

Love,

your Big Sis!

P.S.

And we moved into a new house.

It's the most gorgeous place in the world!

I almost didn't try out for the Reardan basketball team. I just figured I wasn't going to be good enough to make even the C squad. And I didn't want to get cut from the team. I didn't think I could live through that humiliation.

But my dad changed my mind.

"Do you know about the first time I met your mother?" he asked.

"You're both from the rez," I said. "So it was on the rez. Big duh."

"But I only moved to this rez when I was five years old."

"So."

"So your mother is eight years older than me."

"And there's a partridge in the pear tree. Get to the point, Dad."

"Your mother was thirteen and I was five when we first met. And guess how we first met?"

"How?"

"She helped me get a drink from a water fountain."

"Well, that just seems sort of gross," I said.

"I was tiny," Dad said. "And she boosted me up so I could I get a drink. And imagine, all these years later and we're married and have two kids."

"What does this have to do with basketball?"

"You have to dream big to get big."

"That's pretty dang optimistic for you, Dad."

"Well, you know, your mother helped me get a drink from the water fountain last night, if you know what I mean."

And all I could say to my father was, "Ewwwww-wwwww."

That's one more thing people don't know about Indians: we love to talk dirty.

Anyway, I signed up for basketball.

On the first day of practice, I stepped onto the court and felt short, skinny, and slow.

All of the white boys were good. Some were great.

I mean, there were some guys who were 6 foot 6 and 6 foot 7.

Roger the Giant was strong and fast and could dunk.

I tried to stay out of way. I figured I'd die if he ran me over. But he just smiled all the time, played hard, and slapped me hard on the back.

We all shot basketballs for a while. And then Coach stepped onto the court.

Forty kids IMMEDIATELY stopped bouncing and shooting and talking. We were silent,

SNAP, just like that.

"I want to thank you all for coming out today," Coach said. "There are forty of you. But we only have room for twelve on the varsity and twelve on the junior varsity."

I knew I wouldn't make those teams. I was C squad material, for sure.

"In other years, we've also had a twelve-man C squad," Coach said. "But we don't have the budget for it this year. That means I'm going to have to cut sixteen players today."

Twenty boys puffed up their chests. They knew they were good enough to make either

the varsity or the junior varsity

The other twenty shook their heads. We knew we were cuttable.