harassment all his life. Now I know a little bit, a very little bit, of what he’s gone through.”
“That’s positive, I guess. But I wish I could fix it all for you. Just make it all stop and be better.” Sasha’s outrage was centered on her face in a fierce scowl.
Cory stopped and hugged her friend. “Thanks, Sash.”
The scowl gave way to a smile. “Careful, you don’t want to invite gay-bashing next.”
They reached Cory’s car. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“No thanks. Six blocks twice a day is all the exercise I get.” She dropped her book bag on the car hood. “Don’t you wonder who’s doing it?”
Cory unlocked the car door. “Sure. It could be almost anyone. Not you, not Tony. Although a year ago… ”
“ True enough. That’s hopeful, isn’t it? People do change. I think”—she paused and checked for anyone loitering between the few remaining cars—“maybe Nick and Karin.”
Cory shook her head vigorously. “If it is, I don’t want to know. Karin and I were Brownies together.” A car went past and honked. They waved absently and stepped back to avoid the spray as the car ran through a puddle.
“Have you by any chance changed your mind about going to the landing tomorrow night?”
“I’m not going, Sash. I can’t be part of it.”
“We need more people to show support for the spearing. We can’t let the only ones from town be the protesters. I’ve heard that television crews from Milwaukee and Minneapolis might be there.”
“And you know what they’ll see? A few guys standing in a boat spearing fish and a bunch of other people shouting at each other. Will it help anything for me to come and take sides? Remember, I’d be shouting back at my brother. My brother. I suppose that’s exactly what a reporter would love to see: ‘Family Divided; report at six.’”
“Mac might be there.”
“And I won’t be. I’ve told him that and he accepts it. He said he wouldn’t stay the entire evening. We plan to meet later on.” She got in the car. Sasha tapped on the window, and Cory rolled it down.
“I wish you would come, but I understand.” She gripped the door handle. “Cory K., I think you have been so great this winter with all you’ve gone through. Really strong.”
“I don’t feel that way.”
“Probably not.”
Cory stacked the cassettes that were scattered across the car seat, then toppled the pile with a finger poke. “Sash, too many things have happened too fast. I feel like I’ve been playing football or something and I got hit from behind. Bam! And all the wind has been knocked out of me.”
Sasha laughed.
“It’s not funny.”
“Sure it is. You play football? You’d be crunched in a minute. But it explains why you’re so quiet these days. If things were normal, that would have been you waving the poster and screaming.” Sasha drummed on the car roof with her fingers. “Call me tomorrow if you change your mind. I’d rather not go alone.” She picked up her book bag, waved, and walked away.
Cory drove across the parking lot in the opposite direction. She slipped a tape into the player and punched the rewind button. While the tape whirred, Sasha’s words replayed in her mind. “Wrong, Sash. Very wrong,” she said tersely. She didn’t feel strong. Not strong at all.
The next day there were posters in every one of the motel rooms. When Cory walked into the first room of the morning she was stopped cold at the sight of the flyer.
“Bartleby’s on our side,” she recalled Rob saying. “And I’m not,” she said firmly and ripped it down. Ten rooms and twenty beds later she walked into the office with an armload of dirty laundry. A crowd of people was gathered around a large coffee urn that had been set out, an unusual measure of hospitality for the motel owner. Cory wished herself invisible as she plowed through the people with her overstuffed bag of sheets and towels. Mr. Bartleby followed her into the back room.
“We’re
“That’s positive, I guess. But I wish I could fix it all for you. Just make it all stop and be better.” Sasha’s outrage was centered on her face in a fierce scowl.
Cory stopped and hugged her friend. “Thanks, Sash.”
The scowl gave way to a smile. “Careful, you don’t want to invite gay-bashing next.”
They reached Cory’s car. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“No thanks. Six blocks twice a day is all the exercise I get.” She dropped her book bag on the car hood. “Don’t you wonder who’s doing it?”
Cory unlocked the car door. “Sure. It could be almost anyone. Not you, not Tony. Although a year ago… ”
“ True enough. That’s hopeful, isn’t it? People do change. I think”—she paused and checked for anyone loitering between the few remaining cars—“maybe Nick and Karin.”
Cory shook her head vigorously. “If it is, I don’t want to know. Karin and I were Brownies together.” A car went past and honked. They waved absently and stepped back to avoid the spray as the car ran through a puddle.
“Have you by any chance changed your mind about going to the landing tomorrow night?”
“I’m not going, Sash. I can’t be part of it.”
“We need more people to show support for the spearing. We can’t let the only ones from town be the protesters. I’ve heard that television crews from Milwaukee and Minneapolis might be there.”
“And you know what they’ll see? A few guys standing in a boat spearing fish and a bunch of other people shouting at each other. Will it help anything for me to come and take sides? Remember, I’d be shouting back at my brother. My brother. I suppose that’s exactly what a reporter would love to see: ‘Family Divided; report at six.’”
“Mac might be there.”
“And I won’t be. I’ve told him that and he accepts it. He said he wouldn’t stay the entire evening. We plan to meet later on.” She got in the car. Sasha tapped on the window, and Cory rolled it down.
“I wish you would come, but I understand.” She gripped the door handle. “Cory K., I think you have been so great this winter with all you’ve gone through. Really strong.”
“I don’t feel that way.”
“Probably not.”
Cory stacked the cassettes that were scattered across the car seat, then toppled the pile with a finger poke. “Sash, too many things have happened too fast. I feel like I’ve been playing football or something and I got hit from behind. Bam! And all the wind has been knocked out of me.”
Sasha laughed.
“It’s not funny.”
“Sure it is. You play football? You’d be crunched in a minute. But it explains why you’re so quiet these days. If things were normal, that would have been you waving the poster and screaming.” Sasha drummed on the car roof with her fingers. “Call me tomorrow if you change your mind. I’d rather not go alone.” She picked up her book bag, waved, and walked away.
Cory drove across the parking lot in the opposite direction. She slipped a tape into the player and punched the rewind button. While the tape whirred, Sasha’s words replayed in her mind. “Wrong, Sash. Very wrong,” she said tersely. She didn’t feel strong. Not strong at all.
The next day there were posters in every one of the motel rooms. When Cory walked into the first room of the morning she was stopped cold at the sight of the flyer.
“Bartleby’s on our side,” she recalled Rob saying. “And I’m not,” she said firmly and ripped it down. Ten rooms and twenty beds later she walked into the office with an armload of dirty laundry. A crowd of people was gathered around a large coffee urn that had been set out, an unusual measure of hospitality for the motel owner. Cory wished herself invisible as she plowed through the people with her overstuffed bag of sheets and towels. Mr. Bartleby followed her into the back room.
“We’re
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