pillow, and only when lying down did I acknowledge that I was dizzy, my nose moist. I sat up. I had no time to be sick.
It was a little after one p.m., which meant it was morning in New York. I dialed Jeremy and felt a pang of homesickness for the way the phone rang. I got Dede, the nurse on duty—one whose face I couldn’t place among the Greek chorus of nurses. “He’s fine,” Dede said. No accent, a source of irrational relief. “Just fine.” She said Jeremy hadn’t had an episode since the night of the funeral. I asked to be put on the phone with him, but Dede said he was sleeping. “Can you call back in half
an hour or so?”
I stared at the phone. I wanted someone to call. I had to remind myself Dad was not an option.
I chewed on my thawed licorice. When the bag was finished, I tried calling Jeremy again. A nurse named Laura answered. I knew her! She had piercings all the way up both ears, but wore no jewelry on her wrists or hands. She gave me an update and put Jeremy on. I heard his loud breathing. “Hi honey,” I said. “I’m in Lapland.” I made it sound like it was a vacation destination, some place I’d long dreamed of traveling to. I was careful whenever speaking with Jeremy, fearful that one day he would start talking and he would laugh and make it clear that he had understood everything I had ever said, every-
thing anyone had ever said. “I’ve been quiet my whole life,” he would explain, “because talking seemed like it would complicate things.”
We were on the phone for ten minutes. I wrapped up my monologue. “I love you, Jeremy,” I said. Never so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. Not before, and not today. “Did you hear me?” I said. “Did you fucking hear me?”
Laura was back on the phone. “Are you talking to me?” she
asked.
I hung up.
9.
I brushed my teeth, emptied my backpack, and repacked it with my wallet, the photos of my mother, and the knife. In the reception area, I looked for Nils. I wanted to show him the photos, to ask him questions. But he was nowhere, and I didn’t want to ring the doorbell to what I saw must be his living quarters. No other room had a doorbell.
I zipped up my coat and set out with no plan in mind. Once outside, I unzipped my coat, removed my hat—was it warm out? I half-walked, half-slid down the hill to the main road. Teenage boys on snowmobiles sped past like bees. Older women in local Sami outfits, all wearing red hats, were gathered outside a grocery store.
“Excuse me,” I said. I removed a photo of my mother from the envelope. “Did you happen to know this woman?” The
photo was passed from small hand to small hand. I took out all the photos so each of the five women had her own.
One woman, the shortest of the short group, said something to the others. Then she spoke to me in Sami. It was clear the women didn’t speak any English, or understand a word I was saying. And yet, the more confused they looked, the more I talked. “She was living here while taking part in the early Alta Dam protests,” I said. “She was American, one of the only ones involved. Did you know her?”
The shortest woman pointed down the road. “Alta,” she said. The others joined in. “Alta Dam,” they said, nodding. One of them pointed to the bus stop.
“Thank you,” I said.
For a moment, I felt we were all related, the five Sami women and I. None of us understood anything.
10.
The sky was now muted, the town cast in a flesh tone. I wasn’t feeling well—my legs pulsed with fatigue, black spots floated in front of my eyes. I can sleep tonight , I told myself. I continued walking up the road until I got to a gas station with a small market. Suddenly hungry, I scoured the store for snacks. It was stocked with shelves of flashlights and stuffed animals, most of them tigers. Next to the tigers, a bin of Sami hats—red, bulbous like pincushions.
The cashier was an older man in a Sami tunic that fit him
like a dress. Beneath
It was a little after one p.m., which meant it was morning in New York. I dialed Jeremy and felt a pang of homesickness for the way the phone rang. I got Dede, the nurse on duty—one whose face I couldn’t place among the Greek chorus of nurses. “He’s fine,” Dede said. No accent, a source of irrational relief. “Just fine.” She said Jeremy hadn’t had an episode since the night of the funeral. I asked to be put on the phone with him, but Dede said he was sleeping. “Can you call back in half
an hour or so?”
I stared at the phone. I wanted someone to call. I had to remind myself Dad was not an option.
I chewed on my thawed licorice. When the bag was finished, I tried calling Jeremy again. A nurse named Laura answered. I knew her! She had piercings all the way up both ears, but wore no jewelry on her wrists or hands. She gave me an update and put Jeremy on. I heard his loud breathing. “Hi honey,” I said. “I’m in Lapland.” I made it sound like it was a vacation destination, some place I’d long dreamed of traveling to. I was careful whenever speaking with Jeremy, fearful that one day he would start talking and he would laugh and make it clear that he had understood everything I had ever said, every-
thing anyone had ever said. “I’ve been quiet my whole life,” he would explain, “because talking seemed like it would complicate things.”
We were on the phone for ten minutes. I wrapped up my monologue. “I love you, Jeremy,” I said. Never so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. Not before, and not today. “Did you hear me?” I said. “Did you fucking hear me?”
Laura was back on the phone. “Are you talking to me?” she
asked.
I hung up.
9.
I brushed my teeth, emptied my backpack, and repacked it with my wallet, the photos of my mother, and the knife. In the reception area, I looked for Nils. I wanted to show him the photos, to ask him questions. But he was nowhere, and I didn’t want to ring the doorbell to what I saw must be his living quarters. No other room had a doorbell.
I zipped up my coat and set out with no plan in mind. Once outside, I unzipped my coat, removed my hat—was it warm out? I half-walked, half-slid down the hill to the main road. Teenage boys on snowmobiles sped past like bees. Older women in local Sami outfits, all wearing red hats, were gathered outside a grocery store.
“Excuse me,” I said. I removed a photo of my mother from the envelope. “Did you happen to know this woman?” The
photo was passed from small hand to small hand. I took out all the photos so each of the five women had her own.
One woman, the shortest of the short group, said something to the others. Then she spoke to me in Sami. It was clear the women didn’t speak any English, or understand a word I was saying. And yet, the more confused they looked, the more I talked. “She was living here while taking part in the early Alta Dam protests,” I said. “She was American, one of the only ones involved. Did you know her?”
The shortest woman pointed down the road. “Alta,” she said. The others joined in. “Alta Dam,” they said, nodding. One of them pointed to the bus stop.
“Thank you,” I said.
For a moment, I felt we were all related, the five Sami women and I. None of us understood anything.
10.
The sky was now muted, the town cast in a flesh tone. I wasn’t feeling well—my legs pulsed with fatigue, black spots floated in front of my eyes. I can sleep tonight , I told myself. I continued walking up the road until I got to a gas station with a small market. Suddenly hungry, I scoured the store for snacks. It was stocked with shelves of flashlights and stuffed animals, most of them tigers. Next to the tigers, a bin of Sami hats—red, bulbous like pincushions.
The cashier was an older man in a Sami tunic that fit him
like a dress. Beneath
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