Borders

When I was twelve, maybe thirteen, my mother announced that we were going to go to Salt Lake City to visit my sister, who had left the reserve, moved across the line, and found a job.

Laetitia had not left home with my mother’s blessing. But over time my mother had come to be proud of the fact that Laetitia had done all of this on her own. “She did real good,” my mother would say. “She did real good.”

Then there were the fine points to Laetitia’s going. She had not, as my mother liked to tell Mrs. Manyfingers, gone floating after some man like a balloon on a string. She hadn’t snuck out of the house, either, and gone to Vancouver or Edmonton or Toronto to chase rainbows down alleys, and she hadn’t been pregnant.

Just outside of Milk River, Laetitia told us to watch for the water tower. “Over the next rise. It’s the first thing you see.”

“We got a water tower on the reserve. There’s a big one in Lethbridge, too.”

“You’ll be able to see the tops of the flagpoles, too. That’s where the border is.”

“This is real lousy coffee.”

“You’re just angry because I want to see the world.”

“It’s the water. From here on down, they got lousy water.”

“I can catch the bus from Sweetgrass. You don’t have to lift a finger.”

“You’re going to have to buy your water in bottles if you want good coffee.”

I wandered back to the car. The wind had come up, and it blew Laetitia’s hair across her face. Mom reached out and pulled the strands out of Laetitia’s eyes…and Laetitia let her.

[“You can still see the mountain from here.”] *In Blackfoot

“Lots of mountains in Salt Lake.”

Most of [Laetitia’s] postcards said we should come down and see the city. But whenever I mentioned this, my mother would stiffen up.

So I was surprised when she bought two new tires for the car…and put on her best dress. I had to dress up, too, for my mother did not want us crossing the border looking like Americans.

My mother got a coffee at the convenience store. And we stood around and watched the prairies move in the sunlight. Then we climbed back in the car.

My mother straightened the dress across her thighs, leaned against the wheel, and drove all the way to the border in first gear…slowly, as if she were trying to see through a bad storm or riding high on black ice.

We sat on a wood bench for about an hour before anyone came over to talk to us. This time it was a woman. She had a gun, too.

“Hi. I’m Inspector Pratt. I understand there is a little misunderstanding.”

“I’m going to visit my daughter in Salt Lake City. We don’t have any guns or beer.”

“It’s a legal technicality, that’s all.”

“My daughter’s Blackfoot, too.”

[Inspector Pratt’s] gun was silver. There were several chips in the wood handle…and the name “Stella” was scratched into the metal butt.

The woman’s name was Carol…and I don’t guess she was any older than Laetitia.

“Wow, you both Canadians?”

“Blackfoot.”

“Really? I have a friend I went to school with who is Blackfoot. Do you know Mike Harley?”

“No.”

“He went to school in Lethbridge, but he’s really from Browning.”

It was a nice conversation and there were no cars behind us, so there was no rush.

“Salt Lake City is the gateway to some of the world’s most magnificent skiing. Salt Lake City is the home of one of the newer professional basketball franchises, the Utah Jazz. The Great Salt Lake is one of the natural wonders of the world.”

It was kind of exciting seeing all those color brochures on the table…and listening to Laetitia read all about how Salt Lake City was one of the best places in the entire world.

“That Salt Lake City place sounds too good to be true. We got everything right here.”

“It’s boring here.”

“People in Salt Lake City are probably sending away for brochures of Calgary and Lethbridge and Pincher Creek right now.”

In the end, my mother would say that maybe Laetitia should go to Salt Lake City, and Laetitia would say that maybe she would.

Pride is a good thing to have, you know. Laetitia had a lot of pride, and so did my mother. I figured that someday, I’d have it too.

One Sunday, Laetitia and I were watching television. Mom was over at Mrs. Manyfingers’s. Right in the middle of the program, Laetitia turned off the set…and said she was going to Salt Lake City, that life around here was too boring. I had wanted to see the rest of the program. And really didn’t care if Laetitia went to Salt Lake City or not.

When Mom got home, I told her what Laetitia had said. What surprised me was how angry Laetitia got when she found out that I had told Mom.

“You got a big mouth.”

“That’s what you said.”

“What I said is none of your business.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, I’m going for sure, now.”

That weekend, Laetitia packed her bags, and we drove her to the border.

It was almost evening when we left Coutts. I watched the border through the rear window until all you could see was the tops of the flagpoles and the blue water tower…and then they rolled over a hill and disappeared.