Behind the Mask

I don't know what to say. What can I say that would make a difference anyway? The thing is whatever it is that needs to be said, I'm not saying it. He's not saying it either.

It's odd. Neither of us is saying anything and yet everything is being said. Somehow without saying a word we're able to have a conversation anyway. That's how it's been with us for a long time now. He just knows what I'm thinking. I know what he's thinking and right now I'm not sure I like it.

He claims that he's happier than he's ever been in his whole life, but behind all that happy he's miserable. I can see it even if no one else can. As soon as I can get him alone he'll talk about it. I'll get him to talk about it. He'll tell me. He always tells me everything, eventually.

That last run was really bad. We both knew that woman wasn't going to make it, but we had to play along, make her feel safe. We had to try to get her to Rampart. We hoped maybe the doctors could do something that we couldn't.

I knew he was devastated when she coded in the ambulance. We were both there working on her frantically pumping in the medications Brackett ordered. They just didn't help. He had promised her that she would be okay. He knew deep down that she wouldn't, but losing is hard for both of us.

I know he's upset. I can see it in his eyes. I think the guys know too. At least they suspect. He hides it so well. His face set in that protective mask.

He's sitting over there sharing a story with the guys about the last time he went bowling. He tells a good story. Has everyone laughing at the way he describes Dwyer's bowling technique, and how Dwyer kept getting gutter balls every time the ladies bowling next to them giggled. But he isn't really enjoying himself telling that story. He's just entertaining the guys, so we won't notice what's behind the mask.

He once told me how he learned to wear that mask. He told me about the "talk his father gave him when he was a boy.

***

"Sit down on your behind, Johnny, because I'm about to tell you the rules for working in white man's world." I was twelve at the time sitting there in my mother's kitchen at the simple wooden table my dad had made, staring at the pound cake cooling in the window and thinking about how hungry I was. My dad grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me to look at him instead of at the cake. He wanted to be sure I was paying attention to what he had to say. All I could hear was the growling in my stomach, but I tried real hard to listen to him. I hated the reservation. I wanted to get a good job out in the world that would take me far away from that place. "First thing you need to remember is your business is your business. You keep your mouth shut about our business. They don't want to hear about your problems and you don't want them knowing about our ways. So keep your mouth shut." He jerked my chin back around to face him, because I had turned back to the cake. "Johnny, you have to pay attention. This is important. Next you never sit down on the job. Always keep busy. Even if the people you work with are sitting down you keep working unless you fall out or something. White men think we are lazy and worthless. If you're lucky enough to get the job then you have to prove to them you want to keep it. Okay?" I just wanted him to hurry so we could have lunch. I'm half white, so why did all this apply to me? I can get along with anybody. I know how to work hard. I always got my homework and school work done fast and always got an A. I just didn't understand why he thought it was so important to tell me all of this. What I didn't know at the time was things were different at the middle school I would be going to the next fall. It was not on the reservation. It was in town and most of the kids were white. Man, I sure learned quickly what he meant. "And Johnny don't speak in our language. Always speak proper English. They will respect you more if you do. And keep your tongue. Don't lose your temper. It will only get you into trouble. Always follow the rules." I looked at him. I know he could see how confused I was. I always did what he told me to do. I almost never got in trouble. It kind of hurt me that he said that. Funny though, I could feel the anger welling up at him. I had to keep my mouth shut or I might have said something bad to him right then and there. I guess that's when I first did that. You know keeping emotion out of my face. Not letting him know what I was thinking. Holding back with everything I had in me not to show anything on my face. It's kind of funny how that really helps me now when I know a victim probably won't make it, but they need to think I can make a difference. It's assuring to them that they can't see anything in my face.