Free Tribes by Arthur Slade

sight of Groverly High, a wailing cacophony stopped me. The sound of thirty cats dying a slow death. Of the universe ripping apart.
    Bagpipes. Somewhere nearby. The Scottish blood in my veins, from my mother's side, began to vibrate. My Celtic heart thudded with joy. I had no choice—I was genetically programmed to respond to that wailing. I followed the sound, heading toward the river.
    The bagpiper was extremely good. He had to be part of a Highlander band. Or the army. I wondered if he'd be clad in full kilt, flame-red hair billowing in the breeze.
    Dew dotted the grass. A few tails of mist curled around the edge of the river. A woman jogged past, weights attached to her wrists and ankles—her face set in a look of absolute determination. I strolled under the Victoria Bridge, turned. Froze.
    There, above me on a knoll, was Delmar Brass. Clad in blue jeans and a black shirt, his long hair down, playing the pipes as if he'd just strolled off a Scottish ship. He was facing the river, blasting his song toward the high-rise buildings and hotels on the other side. The music stirred some ancient feeling in my body. Songs of my ancestors. A direct tonal connection to the past.
    It tuned my biorhythms.
    Watching Delmar, I was amazed at the revelation handed me. Two cultures exhibited in one person. Proof that we all came from the same tree.
    There was also a lesson: Never make assumptions. Rely on observation, then make a conclusion.
    I backed away and climbed up the hill. The bagpipes slowly faded, but I still heard them echo inside my mind's ear. Groverly swallowed me readily. I sleepwalked down the halls and with numb fingers opened my locker. Click .
    I stepped back, books in hand. Someone tripped over my leg and fell.
    Marcia Grady was on the floor, looking up at me, blond hair perfectly coiffed, lipstick expertly applied, a trace of blue shadow accentuating her eyes.
    A face to fall in love with.
    Mom was right. I was living in a dream world.
    "Sorry," Marcia said as she gracefully got up off the floor. She was taller than me. "I didn't see you there."
    "I too am sorry."
    She smiled, her automatic reaction to everything. I knew why Willard had fallen in love with her: such innocence and beauty. Unattainable.
    She picked up my books and handed them to me. "How are things going?"
    "They progress," I answered. "In a good way, I mean. Fine. Really." No one had ever told her that Willard had been in love with her. I wanted to say: Remember those phone calls where someone kept hanging up? That was Willard. But I bit my tongue. Better for her not to know. Still, in my mind Marcia and Willard were forever linked.
    "Well," she said, "gotta go."
    "Wait," I said. "Do you remember Willard?"
    "Willard?"
    "Willard Spokes. Will."
    Her face showed no recognition. Then: sadness. "Oh...yes. He was the one who...yes. I remember him. He was a friend of yours, wasn't he?"
    "A good friend," I said. "I—I just wanted to be sure people remembered him."
    "I do. He was a quiet guy. A nice, quiet guy."
    I nodded. "Yes. He was."
    "Well, see you," she said, walking away.
    "Yes, in the future," I answered, watching her until she was lost in the crowd.
    Memory. Somewhere in the coils of her brain Willard still existed.

 
     
     
     
     
    thirteen
    READING MAMMOTH ENTRAILS
     
    "Ready for your 'igh tea, Perky?" Elissa asked in a faux British accent.
    "I certainly am," I said. We'd decided to stroll around the schoolyard during break. Stopping at a set of old swings, we performed our impressions of human pendulums.
    "I did some reading about this weird tea thing," she continued. "We learned it from the Brits. But we're mixed up, as usual. A high tea isn't a high-and-mighty, hoity-toity event. It really means 'It's high time we had a spot o' tea and something to eat.'" She dug her feet into the sand, stopping herself. "You're daydreaming again," she accused.
    "I'm in the zone," I admitted. "Attuned to the potential of the universe. Just waiting for a