The Hidden Arrow - Part One

Hello again. Just a quick note before getting into the story -- it's a drama and I wrote it a long while back, but have never shared it before now. For some reason that freaks me out.
The name Stonebiik is pronounced Stone-beak.
That's all.

The Hidden Arrow
A short story written by Shannon Masters

Jess Laliberte’s stomach lurched as she spat the grease-soaked bacon from the pan to the plate and set it on the bright yellow tablecloth. The prairie August sun had barely risen and already its searing heat filled the farmhouse kitchen. Jess cursed the heat under her breath as she mopped her brow and cracked open the window. The farm had been in the Stonebiik family for generations and was once part of the old Round Plains Reservation. Jess had lived here with her boyfriend Gary Stonebiik for three years, but still she considered herself a city girl.

                  Gary barreled in through the door dressed in overalls and a filthy baseball cap. He rose each morning before dawn to get the milking done and expected his breakfast at the same time each day. He kissed Jess’s cheek without a word before washing his hands and sitting down at the table to eat.

                  Jess sat across the table from him and looked at him, wondering how much to share. She’d barely touched her eggs, when feeling the weight of her stare Gary nudged the plate of bacon toward her.

                  “You feeling okay? Have some bacon.”

                  “You like bacon so much, you eat it!” Jess snapped as she jumped to her feet and dumped the contents of her plate into the garbage and tossed her plate into the sink.

                  “You sick or something?” Gary inquired casually. 

                  “Yeah. I’m sick of bacon and sick this stupid farm in the middle of this god-forsaken place! And I’m sick of driving that broken-down jalopy of a truck into that ass backwards town to that stupid mindless job.”

                  “So it’s not just the bacon,” Gary quipped with a full mouth.             

                  Jess skewered him with a look as she grabbed her keys and stormed out the door, slamming it behind her. 

                  “Love you,” Gary called out to the empty kitchen.

                  Clouds of dust stalked Jess’s antiquated blue pick-up truck as it bounced along the winding gravel road through acres of golden wheat and purple flax. As much as Jess complained about living here, she had to admit that secretly, she loved the land with its wide-open space and brilliant blue sky that stretched out endlessly to the horizon.          

                  Jess wheeled into the parking lot behind The Butcher’s Block, the local meat shop and her current place of employment. As she cut the engine, it backfired louder than a shotgun blast. She fired an oath under her breath then hopped out of the truck and beat a path in through the open back door.

                  The back part of the shop was set up like a million other commercial kitchens with stainless steel counters, tub sinks and walk-in refrigerators and freezers. Today was burger day. Jess’s friend and colleague, Cindy Wozniak, was already elbow-deep in raw ground beef, sporting a less than stylish hair net and blood-spattered apron.

                  “Late again. Did someone get lucky last night?” Cindy teased.

Jess guffawed at the idea.

                  “Just tired. Could barely roll myself out of bed this morning,” Jess replied as she strapped herself into a clean apron.

                  “With a man like Gary, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed either,” Cindy chirped.

                  “Don’t let Wayne hear you talk like that.”

                  “That old lump doesn’t hear a thing I say. It’s harvest time and football season, honey, technically I’m a widow ‘till the snow flies,” she laughed.

                  Jess pulled out a giant stainless steel tub full of raw ground beef and slid into a pair of gloves. A wave of nausea washed over her like a tsunami as she squished the flesh between her fingers. Her stifled gag did not go unnoticed.

                  “You alright?” Cindy asked.

                  Jess stared at the meat in her hands.

                  “Yeah. It’s just kind of gross when you think about it. This used to be an animal,” Jess replied.               

                  “Uh huh. And I got two words for you, yum me.” Cindy said.

Jess gave her friend a contemplative look.

                  “I think I might become a vegetarian,” Jess said earnestly.

                  “You can’t,” Cindy warned. “There’s no such thing as a vegetarian Indian.”                

                  “Métis,” Jess challenged.

                  “Jesus, that’s worse. The French eat even more meat than Indians. It’s in your blood.”

                  Jess managed a weak smile and got to work making patties, but after a few moments, she had to stop and wipe her brow.

                  “If I have to look at another ounce of raw meat…” Jess hesitated, then her tone of voice completely changed.

                  “I’m going to be sick,” she warned.           

                  “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Cindy asked.

                  Jess didn’t have time to answer; the vomit had already crawled up into her mouth. She ran for the bathroom and without a moment to spare, she woofed up what little breakfast she’d eaten.

                  “You okay in there, cowgirl?” Cindy called.

This was not good, there was going to be no hiding it now, Jess thought.

                  “Yep,” Jess lied as she finished cleaning herself up and returned to the kitchen.

                  “We need a smoke break. C’mon,” Cindy urged as she lead the way back out to the parking lot.

                  Outside, Cindy lit up a smoke and handed it to Jess. Jess shook her head, no. Cindy took a long pull on the cigarette and studied Jess’s face while Jess tried hard to avoid eye contact.

                  “My God, he’s finally done it. Hasn’t he? He’s knocked you up. For two people who do it as much as you do, I’m only surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”

                  Jess barely managed to meet Cindy’s gaze before her eyes flooded with tears. Cindy stubbed out her cigarette and wrapped Jess in a hug.

                  “ What’s with the water works? Aren’t you happy about this, sweetie? Is it Gary? Guys sometimes need a little time to adjust, he’ll come around,” Cindy assured her.

                  “I haven’t told him,” Jess sobbed. “I haven’t – lived. I – I thought there’d be more.”

                  “More than what?”

                  “I don’t know. Like travel. I wanted to see the Black Hills or go to Paris for the weekend.”

                  “Again with the drama. Who goes to Paris for the weekend?”

                  Cindy couldn’t possibly understand. She’d lived her entire life here. She married Wayne, her high school sweet heart, had her first kid nine months later. That’s what you did around here; it’s what everyone expected you to do. Everyone except Jess; she’d always imagined a more glamorous life. She’d never been to New York, but always wondered what it would be like to live there, to really be the city girl she saw herself as. If she had a child now, that would be that.    

                  “I’ve given it serious thought. If my options are slopping raw meat with a brat on my back or terminating the pregnancy…”

                  “You can’t possibly be thinking about abortion.”

                  “I want more, Cindy, this is a wake-up call. I’ve got some money saved up.”

                  Cindy lit up a fresh cigarette and took several nervous drags, one after the other. Jess paced back in forth in front of her.

                  “Say something,” Jess pleaded.

                  After inhaling what was left of her smoke, Cindy stubbed it out and leveled Jess with a firm stare. 

                  “Take the day off. Go home, talk to Gary. You guys can sort this out together.” Cindy tried to sound reassuring, but it was obvious she didn’t approve of Jess’s attitude as Jess climbed into the truck and took off.

                  Jess barely noticed the colorful crops on either side of the flat two-lane highway as she zipped along preoccupied with her present condition. She rolled down the window and let the warm air rush through her tangle of long black hair and that’s when she saw it; an over-turned tractor with a man pinned beneath it in the field directly in front of her. Catapulted back to reality, Jess slammed on the brakes as she wrenched the truck over to the side of the road. She’d barely got the thing in park before she sprang from the driver’s seat and sprinted through the field praying that she wasn’t too late.

                  Once she was close enough, she could see that he was an elderly native man, maybe late sixties, but with the blood and dirt covering his face it was hard to be sure. She breathed a sigh of relief the second she realized that he was breathing and conscious. She immediately began peppering him with questions.

                  “Can you move? Do you have feeling in your legs? Do you know what day it is?

                  The farmer was strangely calm. His voice was low.

                  “Do you know what day it is?” He asked her back.

                  Jess managed a brave smile and knelt down beside him.

                  “Can you move at all?” she asked hopefully.

                  “No, it’s got me pretty good.”

                  “I’ll go for help.” Jess was about to climb to her feet when he rested a cool hand on her arm.

                  “Stay with me a while.”

                  Jess hesitated; she could see that there wasn’t much traffic and her gut told her to get help.

                  “We need to get you out from under there. I should go for help,” she insisted. His eyes shone as he smiled up at her reassuringly.

                  “I prayed for help and here you are.” The farmer lifted his head motioned for her to come a closer.  

                  Jess got down into the dirt next to him and propped his head onto her lap. She swept the dirt from his forehead and used her T-shirt to wipe away some of the blood from his nose and the gash in his temple.      

                  “Are you in pain? What can I do?” she asked.        

                  The farmer hesitated before speaking. His breath was labored.      

                  “Were you on your way home?”

                  Jess nodded.      

                  “I remember being your age.” He smiled at the fondness of the memory and closed his eyes as if trying to see the past more clearly.

                  I’ve got to keep him talking, Jess thought, panicked.       

                  “Stay with me, now. What do you remember?”

                  He opened his eyes and gazed up into her face intently.

                  “I was at a powwow pushing my way through the crowd when I looked into the biggest most beautiful brown eyes I’d ever seen - she had eyes like yours. I knew instantly she was the one.”

                  Jess couldn’t believe it; he’d made her blush. She laughed a little. 

                  “I met my boyfriend at a powwow too, it must be how you boys roll.” She laughed again. “How did it turn out?” she quizzed.

                  “I married her. Not spent a single day away from her since. Love’s like that,” he stated very matter-of-factly.

                  “Yeah,” Jess agreed.

                  “She’s gotten more beautiful with age. I’m not an educated man. I’m not well traveled but I’m rich, richest man on earth because of that woman. She’s filled our home with laughter and children. We even got grandkids.”

                  Jess smiled down at him and found herself stroking his damp brow.

                  “Know what my favorite thing is?” the farmer asked her.

                  “What?”

                  “The way her hair smells of campfire smoke in the summer. I got no regrets. Will you tell her for me? Tell her I got no regrets.”

                  Jess could feel him growing colder; feel him slipping away.

                  “Now you just hang on. You hang on and you can tell her yourself,” Jess insisted urgently.

                  He reached for her hand. Again his voice was strangely calm.

                  “I’m not afraid to cross over. I’ve lived a long time and I want to tell you a little secret. Don’t be fooled by everything out there.” He swept his free hand across the sky. He patted his chest then pointed his finger to her heart. “It’s all right in here. There is nothing more sacred than love and family.” His voice grew quiet and he motioned with his lips for her to come closer.

                  Jess leaned in. He was whispering now.

                  “You’re the bow. That child you carry is the arrow. Send him into the world. Teach him about love.”

                  Jess was stunned. She never told him she was pregnant and she wasn’t far enough along to be showing.    

                  “Love is the most important thing. Tell my wife I’ll be waiting for her.”

                  Jess grabbed at his hand. She shook him.

                  “No. No, hang on. You can tell her,” she begged, but it was too late, he was gone. Jess pulled him close to her and rocked him as she cried.

                  The Paramedics were on the scene. Soaked in the stranger’s blood, Jess stood in the field, watching helplessly as a police cruiser pulled up and an Officer escorted a beautiful silver-haired native woman out of the car. As the pair closed the gap between the highway and the scene of the accident, the woman could see her husband’s body beneath a sheet on the stretcher. She freed herself from the Officer and ran to her beloved. She pulled back the sheet, cradled her cheek to his and wailed a song of mourning. Jess wrapped her arms around herself as she cried with the woman from her spot, cemented in the field, wishing she could have done more, wishing she could have somehow saved him.

                  The Police Officer gently interjected and managed to extract the woman from her husband so the Paramedics could take him away.

 

Stay tuned for Part Two of The Hidden Arrow and have a glorious weekend.
xoxo
Shan


 

Jumbled July Thoughts

I honestly don't know what my problem is, but I have been having such a hard time getting here and writing a few words to reach out, share and keep in touch. Even my monthly virtues have fallen by the way side when it comes to sharing them with you. I'm choosing two this month BTW - JOY and GRATITUDE!

I used to wake up in the middle of the night with thoughts and ideas that I'd jot down on my little bedside notebook so I could show up in the morning and tell you all about it. Now I wake up from a nightmare that I've moved back to Vancouver, or that I'm completely unemployable, or that I've gained 60 pounds and started smoking again. Whew.

Call it stress, a break in routine, a shift away from my focus on the Tracy Anderson Method, a bit of the blues, family troubles, the heat - I could go on and on with excuses but that's what they are, just excuses.

I love writing and I love coming here and talking with you through these pages. I jump eagerly to read your comments and thoughts. You're amazing noble reader and I miss you. I am seriously going to try harder to get here more often and to prove it I am going to post a short story. This week. Depending on how long it is, I may have to write it in more than one post as I am aware that it's summer and you're out in the world having fun and you don't have time to sit in front of the computer all day reading. But should you take your ipad to the beach or under the shade of a lovely tree, you just might want a bit of short fiction to keep you company and take you to another world. 

So now I've said it out loud, I'll have to hold myself to it. I've always been so terrified of what you'd think. What if you hate it? My grammar sucks and I can't spell for shit. Honestly I think there are days I have no business being a writer, but I write so may as well share it.

And since it's birthday month, that will be my gift to you. It's all I can afford right now. I know that is a temporary temporary state. I'll find a great job soon, I can feel it.

Meantime I have been writing a series about a female gangster and I sort of feel like talking about it. You know how when you watch a great show and you want everyone else to watch it too? It's like that, but so far this show only exists in my head and on my computer, still I can tell you about it. But before I do, allow me to grovel a little further.

I think I got so used to writing about health and working out that when I started this blog to get away from that stuff, I got scared off. I was afraid to share more of me, but fuck it! There is a handful of you that stuck around because you wanted to and how did I reward you? By going silent. Well nay nay I say. No more. 

So my show is called THE WARD and it takes place in this ghetto in downtown Toronto that literally no longer exists. If you know Toronto today, this neighborhood was leveled to build Nathan Phillips Square. True story. Anyway --

Here's the pitch:
 

It’s the spring of 1919; only months after world leaders signed an armistice to end the Great War. People strive to put the conflict behind them, unfortunately for single mother Charlie Kitchen, a war of another kind rages on.

Charlie fronts a gang in the heart of THE WARD, Toronto’s worst neighborhood. An ethnically diverse community that’s rife with racial tension; it’s over populated by refugees, immigrants, and fugitive slaves flooding into the country in search of a better life. But when you wind up in a place where your neighbors don’t speak the same language, where you’re crammed in on top of one another like rats, where poverty, filth, and disease are so rampant that you’re all but forgotten by the rest of society, the normal rules don’t apply.

You cannot rely on justice to be served. Opportunities are not provided to those who work hard. Women are still considered second-class citizens, and if you’re Native? Forget justice, opportunity, and equality. You’re lucky if you survive residential school.

But Charlie Kitchen is determined to do more than survive.

A mixed-blood Ojibway, Charlie managed to escape the horrors of her youth and scrape together a living in The Ward, both off her back and her brains. She did whatever she had to. And when the men in the neighborhood, including the gangsters, were hauled off to fight for their country, Charlie smelled an opportunity. She stepped up and made sure that protection dues were still paid, that the whiskey still flowed, and that the brothel doors stayed open.

She had a keen instinct for leadership and with prohibition now in full swing, business is booming. But it’s drawing the unwanted attention of the hungry young men returning from war. They want what she’s built and they intend to take it. Fortunately, Charlie has surrounded herself with a pack of loyal warriors who won’t let her be usurped without a fight.

It may be the end of World War I, but it’s the beginning of the biggest fight of Charlie Kitchen’s life.

This series is not one of mobsters gunning each other down in the streets with Tommy guns; it’s no ordinary turf war in the hood. This is the story of woman stripped of her identity, her dignity, and her faith in justice, whose aim is to reclaim all three while her very existence is under constant threat of extinction.

It’s a time of prohibition in Canada; it’s a world filled with gambling dens, bling pigs, and brothels. THE WARD is Canada’s PEAKY BLINDERS; it’s BOARDWALK EMPIRE from the poor man’s point of view. A limited series, THE WARD details the grisly rise and fall of gangster come entrepreneur, Charlie Kitchen in her crusade for equality.

Not content to simply make a living, Charlie Kitchen intends to make history.

 

I'm excited about it. I know it's going to cost a fortune to make and it's a very tricky sell, but I won't know unless I try. I'm grateful for having had the time to write it, and hard as it was, it was a joy to create. Ha ha, you see what I did there? Incorporated my virtues into everyday life.

Hope you're having a great summer and stay tuned for "The Hidden Arrow" the first and only short story every written by me... and likely the last. I'm more of a film and tv gal but what the hell, right? YOLO!

xo
Shan


 

 

It's hard being a girl.

If there is anything that I know for sure, it's that it's hard being a girl. But you know what else I've learned? It's even harder being a woman. At least as a girl you have good skin, the future is stretched out for miles ahead, and everything seems possible.

As the clock ticks on, years pass, and you struggle to accomplish all of those goals you so gleefully set for yourself, life can get a little taxing. You can get worn out. But there are many things you can do to counter those feelings. You can eat well, live well, love, move your body, get fresh air, meditate, drink lots of cool refreshing water, copious glasses of wine might seem helpful while you're drinking them but those can have side effects, reading inspiring quotes, learning what those you admire have done and the list goes on.

I have a calendar by my bedside. It's a daily one where you rip off the previous day and you get a new picture for the new day. I generally buy ones with photos of flowers or cute puppies but this year I opted for a quote calendar. So each day I flip the date and get a new thought for the day. Some are silly, some boring, some are great reminders and today was a good one. The message today was: If you realized how powerful your thoughts are, you would never think a negative thought.

Wow, that's some serious truth right there.

I've been in transition. He Who Shall Not Be Named and I had decided it was time for a change so we packed up, got in our old red truck and drove across the country to start a new life (ish). It's still us in our life, but a new place, new possibility that kind of thing. We chose to make a bit of a holiday out of it, but being on the road and living out of a bag for over six weeks isn't always what it's cracked up to be. I wasn't getting the exercise that my age requires of me to maintain a good weight. Plus my diet left a LOT to be desired. Pizza, burritos, cake, cookies, chocolate, fried breakfast - oh lordissa how I love a fried breakfast.

Now, two and a half months later, as I sit in my bedroom typing this letter to you noble reader, I feel bad. I feel bad about myself. My weight has climbed up almost to the height it was before I ever started Tracy's 30-Day Method in September 2010. I've gained inches everywhere. Even my skin feels too tight. And yes, I know now that I've moved into my new place and things are settling into a routine I can get back to my six days a week with Tracy and I can try to curb my enthusiasm for everything sweet and carby, do all the stuff I should have been doing on the road but lost the will to do and I'll get back into my skinny jeans - but I feel bad.

But having a keen understanding of the importance of what we think and what we throw out there into the universe, I decided two things needed to be done. One, I needed to come here and confess how awful I feel about myself in order to snap out of it and two, I need to make a public declaration of my commitment to going sugar free. Again. Can you say yo-yo? Can you say merry-go-round? Hey, I didn't quit smoking on the first try either so bear with me.

My plan is two-fold. The first part of the plan is to try and find something about myself that I don't find appalling - so here it is -- I feel good about my arms.

I know it's a bit weak and sort of pathetic but I have to start somewhere and I think my arms are okay.

Next, I am hosting a dinner party for some very dear friends this Saturday, one of whom owns a gelato shop and is bringing homemade gelato. So rather than feel guilty, or decline I am going to have some. I will enjoy it. In fact there is chocolate in my fridge as I type this. 

So the deal is - if I am going to kick sugar once and for all why not choose a date that I can keep track of and remember? With Sunday being the summer solstice and National Aboriginal Day - I think that will be the perfect day for a fresh start. I'm not saying it's going to be easy or that I won't fail, but I am going to try and I needed to say it out loud to make it real.

Now I am off in search of some chocolate chipped cookies because if I am going to be giving all this up, I want to be sure I cross the absolute faves off the list in the next few days. What's a detox without a lil pre-tox first, am I right? No I'm not right. These are the ravings of a junkie talking. Anyway thanks for reading.

Love you!
xo
Shan