Gichimanidoo (A Novel)

Marie reached into my shirt pocket, snatched my phone, scrolled through some files, and played No Volveré. Since that day in the boiler room, I liked to think it had become our song. She placed it back into my pocket and stood. I rose with her and we waltzed in the brisk autumn air.

We swayed briefly after the song ended. She pulled back and looked in my eyes. "Don't worry about me. I'm an adult and can take care of myself." She started to turn, hesitated, and then gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. It startled me, and before I could say anything, she strode away.

"Adios, Fede," she called over her shoulder, disappearing around a bend in the foot path.

I arrived the next morning with coffees in hand. The sky had turned grey and weighed heavy on the lake. I waited for about thirty minutes, checked my phone, but there were no messages. Marie never came. I contemplated texting her, then shrugged. I assumed she was busy, so I left for work.

When I returned the next day and she didn't show up again, I began to worry. I stared at my phone, nearly ready to call her.

"She can't answer," said a soft female voice. I looked up from my seat on the bench, startled.

Before me stood a teenage girl dressed in a red t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Her dark hair was cut short and her face shaded by a tall tree. I noticed, around her neck, hung a dreamcatcher necklace made of beads and feathers.

"Marie is dying," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.