Free Somewhere In-Between by Donna Milner Page B

red men with painted faces, bows and arrows.
    Growing up in an exclusive community in Vancouver and attending private schools, Julie’s exposure to other cultures was from a distance, to say the least. It wasn’t until she was an adult, and particularly since moving to Waverley Creek, that she realized that there was worse bigotry than her father’s thoughtless words. Now she is as guilty of it as anyone she has ever judged, because in her heart she has to admit there was a dark seed of truth in Ian’s accusation. It wasn’t only the crow pendant that had thrown her for a loop. Still, her reaction is puzzling even to herself. It’s not as if she hasn’t encountered other First Nations people since Darla’s death. Unless she had never left her house when they still lived in town, she was bound to, even out here. Most of the haying crew this summer were from a local band. She’d simply avoided them. The truth was that Virgil’s height and colouring, his facial features, aquiline nose and flared nostrils, were unlike any of the Chilcotin people she’s ever encountered.
    She suddenly recalls where she saw Virgil before. It was last summer, when her world was still intact, outside of the Waverley Creek Hospital. Why had she gone there that day? A blood test? Visiting a friend? She can’t remember. But she does remember the unusually large crowd of First Nations, Elders and young alike, milling around in front of the hospital doors. The parking lot was full, forcing Julie to find a spot out on the street. On her way back, the people gathered at the hospital entry neither noticed her, nor ignored her. They continued smoking or talking quietly as she wove her way through. Near the main entry someone was helping an old woman climb out of the passenger seat of a van parked in a visitor’s stall. The woman, tiny and bent, a weathered map of wrinkles defining her face, wore a pink cardigan, despite the warmth of the day, an ankle-length skirt and fluorescent green socks. Julie smiled in spite of herself. She’d always admired the brilliant shades of clothing, a quiet celebration of colour, which elderly First Nations women seem to favour.
    As the woman moved slowly through the respectfully parting crowd, Julie couldn’t help but notice the tall man helping her inside. At the time Julie had no idea who he was, but she remembers being struck by the handsome face and the coppery hued skin that made him stand out in the crowd. Only now does it occur to her that the man escorting the woman that day was Virgil Blue.
    Later, inside the hospital, Julie had asked the woman at the reception desk what was going on outside.
    The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, one of their Elders up on the third floor is dying,” she said with impatience. “Whenever one of them dies, the whole damn tribe shows up.”
    Taken aback by her words, Julie had replied, “How wonderful to have so many people who want to say goodbye.”
    She had turned and headed to the elevator, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks, and shame at her own initial reaction—that the gathering was some kind of protest. Even worse was the fact that she had avoided Levi Johnny’s eyes in the crowd, that she had not said hello or acknowledged him as she passed by.
    The sound of the door in the mudroom opening and closing breaks into her thoughts. She remains at the sink when Ian enters the kitchen.
    â€œVirgil will leave,” he says behind her.
    Picking up the dishtowel from the counter she turns around. She studies her hands, drying them with measured movement as Ian walks over to her. He hands her a slip of paper. Recognizing another of Virgil’s scrawled notes, Julie takes it. Ian backs away and sits down at the table while she reads the short message.
    If it will help her heart to heal, I will go.
    She takes a deep breath, lets it fill her lungs then slowly releases it, imagining it as a black