Niimi’s father answers the door. He wears a long red bathrobe and his eyes are red, like he’s been either reading or crying all day. “Sorry to bother you this late, sir, but is Niimi home?” I ask.
He eyes me suspiciously. “You’re Tommy Waterfalls’s son, aren’t you?”
“I am,” I say. “I guess we haven’t officially met.”
“I’m Stanley Waatese. My daughter’s pretty upset. Did you call her a liar?” he asks.
“Yes, and a thief.” I take a deep breath. “But I’m here to apologize.”
He laughs, which surprises me and is a relief. “Well, in that case, you can come in here and wait. She had to go save the world really quick. But she’ll be back soon.”
“I’m sorry,” I say as I follow him inside the house. “But, saving the world?”
“As you’ve probably gathered, my daughter chooses to see a marvelous world. You choose to see a marvel-less world. But at the end of the day, a superhero is someone willing to help people who need it,” he says and points outside to his tree full of bloom bottles. “It really doesn’t matter what you or I or even Niimi choose to call it. As long as we make the world a better place, right?”
He’s right. So what if she believes in superheroes? People believe in all sorts of things. I should know. My time here has made me question everything.
“I guess you’re right. Maybe a world without heroes leaves us with a world full of villains,” I say.
“You sound like Niimi. I see she’s rubbing off on you,” he says.
Normally, being compared to Niimi would cause me to burst out laughing, but for some strange reason, hearing it from this man, it makes me feel good.
“Is this an Ojibwe thing?” I ask.
“What do you mean, an Ojibwe thing?”
“Everything I’ve experienced since I arrived,” I say. “The blooming and all that?”
“It’s a human thing,” the chief replies. “When a doctor saves a patient’s life, it is called their practice. When a firefighter saves the lives of the people trapped inside a burning house, it is called their duty. When a teacher breaks through to a student, it is called their job. And when we set someone on a mission to become the best version of themselves, we are called Nenaadawi’. You don’t have to be Ojibwe to want to take care of people, you just have to be human.”
I take in the art on the walls of the living room. There are so many paintings, and the people in them look like Native American warriors. Or I guess Niimi would call them the original superheroes. Some are men, some are women; all are proud-looking. They’re beautiful.
There is also a framed photograph of a woman on the shelf, surrounded by colorful beach glass and flowers. I’m guessing this is Niimi’s mother. And in the photo, she is wearing the same mask that Niimi wears now.
The chief gestures to the couch, and I take a seat.
The room fills with a silence that makes me feel like I should say something important. “I’m sorry your wife passed away.”
He nods and touches her face on the framed photograph. “She’s waiting for me, you know? But I can’t leave just yet. There’s so much more work to do,” he says while plopping down on the chair beside me.
“Yeah, I saw your message tree. Looks like you’ll be busy for a long time.”
“Luckily for me, my wife is a very patient woman. She’ll wait for me,” he says, and points out the window.
I follow his finger that leads straight to the moon.
“That’s where she’s waiting for me. On the dibiki-giizis.”
“Does that mean ‘moon’?” I ask.
“No. Moon means ‘dibiki-giizis.’ We were here first,” he says, and smiles at me.
I’m starting to understand where Niimi gets her way of looking at things.
“She’s up there, watching us now.”
“In the moon? I mean, in the dibiki-giizis?” I ask.
“That’s right. And at night, when you see fireflies dancing around, those are her kisses. They’re on their way to find me,” he says. “She’s one helluva kisser, that woman.”
I wonder if my parents ever loved each other that much. I wonder if George’s dad is waiting for him on the moon.
“May I ask what happened?”
“Manijooshiwaapinewin. She fought and won hundreds of battles in life, but all it took was losing one fight to take her away from me.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I admit. There’s so much I don’t know. “Can I ask you something?”
“You want to know if your father has really changed?” he asks.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“It’s what you wanted to know since you arrived. It’s all you want to know. It’s why you’re here.”
“He says he has.”
“Then he has. You should believe him until you have a reason not to believe him.”
Niimi may be like her mom, but she’s also so much like her dad. They look at life like it is a gift. I spend most of mine thinking it’s a bag of crap.
“I’m afraid to believe him,” I admit. “I’m even afraid of believing I can change. I don’t think I can. I think I’m stuck like this.”
“You know what Niimi would say to that?” he asks.
“Yeah, I just gotta let that superhero inside of me wake up,” I say.
“That’s right. Like your dad did.”
“My dad? A superhero?” I laugh. “No way.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret … In life, we go through three stages. The person-that-needs-help stage, the villain stage, and the superhero stage … You get to choose the order. You decide which mask to wear.”
This is like his daughter’s mission statement she made me write down. They are so similar. Natural born healers.
“You remember your dad as the villain. Then he asked for help. I helped him. Together, we fought the villain inside of him. And now he chooses to be a superhero, for his family … For you,” he says.
“Not for me. He left me.”
“But he also brought you back here, when you needed help to slay your villain.”
Are my dad and I really that alike? I accept I was quite the villain. Now, whether I want to admit it or not, I need help … That only leaves one more stage for me.
“Maybe you need to spend some more time outside. Under the family tree. I believe there may be some bottled-up things you need to see,” he says and stands.
I take my cue and head back outside, toward the tree in full bloom. As I reach the door, I see him remove his robe. Under it, he wears a nice vintage brown velvet suit. He walks to his meal, at the table, beside two lit candles. He looks out the window, toward the moon, glowing for him. “Sorry I’m late, my love. I had to save the world again,” he says, and takes a seat.
He looks at the moon the way my dad looks at Wendy. I guess not even death can keep Niimi’s parents apart.
I approach the tree and run my finger over bottle after bottle. I see so many names of people I will probably never meet. So many strangers looking for a light at the end of a dark tunnel. When I close my eyes, I can almost hear their voices. Maybe it’s my mind doing this, or maybe this tree is sacred or maybe this is how messages in bottles work, I don’t know.
But one thing I do know is that the hope I feel all around me is real. The hope to be helped and healed. I open my eyes and glide my hands over the bottles like an eel gliding over coral reefs. What am I looking for? What does the chief want me to see? Then I stop. A green bottle dangles in front of my face. The name on it is Wendy.
Is this my Wendy?
I grab the bottle and tip it upside down, allowing the small note to slip out the neck and land in my palm. I unfold it and read it. I am still afraid to drive. But I will try. Also, I don’t think Benny likes me. But I will try to connect with him again tomorrow. Bear with me.
I fold the note and stuff it back into the bottle. Of course Wendy is afraid to drive. Her husband was killed in a car accident. And I made fun of her. She must have been terrified driving me to the bookstore. No wonder she was driving so slowly … And she cares whether I like her or not? I guess I can see why she thinks I don’t like her. I’ve gone out of my way to hurt her feelings.
Many times.
But the truth is, I actually do like Wendy. As much as I don’t want to, I realize she’s pretty awesome.
I see George’s bottle. Wendy must have made him one. I open it and read it. I see Lulu’s. Oh Gawd, she was asking for help and I stole from her. I’m awful. I read her note too. I see Hank’s bottle. Ugh. I stole from him too. I see Alex’s. I read them both. Then I see my dad’s bottle. I don’t need to open his. I know what it says. It helped him get sober. He really did ask for help. He did his boot camp.
And beside his bottle is mine.
My dad made me a bottle. Niimi answered it. She has been trying to bloom me, and I’ve fought against it the entire time. I’ve mocked her. I’ve called her names. I’ve even accused her of being a fake. I’m such a butthead.
I see why she says I have a hole in my heart. All my actions since I’ve come to this place have been heartless.
I don’t need to look inside my bottle either. I know what I need to do.
As I turn to leave, another bottle catches my eye. A bottle hanging at the edge of the tree, away from the rest of them. It’s a red bottle with Niimi’s name on it.
I grab the bottle and hold it, not sure if I should read the note inside. Even though I’ve read the others, Niimi’s feels too personal to read, like I’m reading from her diary. I release the bottle and watch it sway back and forth.
“I may be wearing a mask, but I have nothing to hide.”
I turn around and see Niimi standing there, under the tree.
The way the moonlight passes through all the hanging bottles makes me feel like she’s an action hero on a stage, disguised in her mask and reflecting every color from every bottle across her body.
And even though I don’t know exactly what she looks like behind the mask, in this moment, it doesn’t matter. She is the most beautiful person I have ever seen. “Niimi, I wasn’t going to read it,” I say.
“It’s okay. I want you to,” she says.
“You do?”
“You may be leaving tomorrow. You might as well get the answer to that burning question of yours,” she says.
“Why you wear the mask,” I say.
“Read it aloud,” she adds as she catches the swaying bottle and pulls the note out and hands it to me.
I look down at the piece of paper. “Out loud?”
“Loud enough for my mom to hear,” she says, and points up at the moon.
I unfold it and clear my throat. “Dad, I tried to take it off today. I really did. But then her smell left me and I panicked. I don’t know how to let go of her. I miss her so much. It makes me feel close to her, but you’re right. She wouldn’t want me to keep wearing it. I need to find the courage to take it off, for good. I’m just not there yet. Bear with me.”
That’s the end of the note. I fold it and put it back in the bottle. My eyes drift back to Niimi’s, which are now glistening.
“She wore it every day for the last year of her life. Her illness attacked her skin. She said it ate away her beauty, but she was still beautiful to me,” she says.
“I’m so sorry, Niimi.”
“I guess, over time, I just got used to seeing her in this mask. And when she left this world, wearing it was my way of holding on to her. She was my superhero.”
All the awful things I’ve said. I wish I could take them all back. I wish “I’m sorry” wasn’t such a two-word throwaway line people say to each other when one is sad. I wish there was something better to say … But I have no idea what that would be.
“Has your dad seen this message?” I ask.
“People come and update their bottles as they move along their journeys. We’re all works in progress. I came out here to leave my dad a new message. I guess you can read this one too,” she says, and hands me a folded piece of paper.
I unfold it and read it aloud. “Dad, I think I failed with Benny. I need your help with this one. He’s stubborn, rude, untrustworthy, and highly uncooperative. But there’s also a really sweet boy buried under all that.” I immediately tear the strip of paper in half.
“Why would you do something like that?” she asks.
“Because, Niimi … You were right about everything you said about me, but you did get one thing wrong.”
“And what’s that?”
“You didn’t fail with me. I am just a very stubborn, rude, untrustworthy, and highly uncooperative work in progress,” I say, smiling.
She’s silent. Then she smiles.
“Something I said made you smile?” I ask.
“Maybe. You’re smiling too.”
“I’m smiling because I realized something just now,” I say.
“And that is?”
“My body is a world. In that world there are three warriors. A superhero, someone who needs help, and a villain. But there can only be one leader of my world. I’ve been listening to the villain for a long time. I’m ready to shut him up and listen to the other guy, but I need your help,” I say.
Her eyes glisten. “You memorized it, kinda,” she says.
“Yeah. I think I know what I need to do now. But I can’t do it alone,” I say.
“You want me to convince your dad and Wendy that you’ve changed so you don’t have to go back home and face the judge?” she says.
“That’s why I came here … But there’s something else now.”
“You want to be a superhero?” she says, with sparks of excitement behind each word.
“I don’t need to be a superhero. At least not yet. I just don’t want to be a villain anymore.”
“Well then, Benny. What do you need?” she asks.
“Directions to Lulu’s house and Hank’s house,” I say. “And I need to borrow your bike.”
Niimi pulls out her notepad and writes down the directions, then stuffs them into my pocket.
“Your fight has begun. Remember, fear is a coward,” she says, and points to her bike, which is waiting for me near the front door. “Good luck.”