Niimi stares at me with eyes that are happy and sad at the same time. “What you said to George, that was really nice.”
“Well, I have a pretty good teacher,” I say, and approach her, getting as close to her as I was in the garage.
“I guess my job here is done. I should get going,” she says.
“Wait.” Before I know it, I’ve taken her hand. “Everything inside of me is telling me to stay, just so I can be with you. But being here has also shown me how hard my mom has tried, and now I need to show her all the hard work paid off. I need to make her proud of me again, and the truth is, I actually miss her. Is that strange?” I ask.
“Not strange at all. I miss my mom every day. But mine is life and death away. Yours is only one hundred and forty-five miles away. You should go … But you should also come back,” she says.
“I’d love to. If you’re not too busy blooming people,” I say.
“Well … After you talked to my dad last night, I guess it reminded him of what kids need. He spoke to my mom in his dream, and they both decided they aren’t quite ready for me to grow up just yet.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means my dad is going to train someone else to handle the blooming while he remains focused on everything else. It means I’m going back to school,” she says with a burst of joy in her voice.
“So, we can hang out on the weekends?” I say, matching her level of joy.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what it means. But before you go … I’m going to need my bike back,” she says.
“It’s in the garage. Thanks for letting me borrow it,” I say, and lead her to the garage.
But as we enter it and head toward where I left it—it’s gone.
“Where is it?” she asks.
“I … left it right here,” I say, and approach the spot.
Instead of her bike, there’s a Post-it note from my dad. It reads Her bike is in the Jeep. We’re waiting outside.
Niimi follows me outside. Wendy and my dad are waiting for us in the Jeep. “We’ll drop you off at home, but we got to make a quick stop first,” my dad says to Niimi.
“Out,” he shouts, and all three dogs leap out the back seat and take to the field.
Niimi and I climb inside the back of the Jeep. I smile when I realize it is Wendy who is behind the wheel.
“Buckle up, buckaroos,” Wendy says.
We drive down the road and enter the familiar highway. The wind whips my hair as I stare out toward Lake Superior. I feel happy. I slide my hand into Niimi’s hand, and together we both move our fingers across each other’s skin like we are massaging a baby bird.
We aren’t heading to Niimi’s house or the bus station, and instead we pull into the parking lot of Wendy’s bookstore.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“We’re dropping Wendy off, and there’s something I need to grab,” my dad says, and he exits the Jeep.
Wendy gets out and heads toward the front door of her bookshop. Niimi and I hop out to join them. “Back to the scene of the crime,” Niimi says as we enter.
And the boring bookstore I dreaded being in when I arrived in Grand Portage now has a totally different feel to it. Maybe Benny the Thief didn’t like books, but that doesn’t mean Benny the Bear doesn’t. Who knows, maybe I’ll see what all the fuss is about. I’ve never actually read a book before; in school I read only the beginnings and ends. And the way Niimi twirls and sniffs the books tells me that there must be something to love about places like this.
My dad and Wendy head to the back, leaving Niimi and me alone.
“I remember how miserable you were in this place,” she says to me.
“Yeah. You ruined that for me,” I say.
“Ruined it? How so?”
“I can never be miserable in a bookstore again. Because it was in a bookstore where we first met,” I say.
“But I don’t want you to just not be miserable in a bookstore; I want you to love bookstores,” she says as she approaches me and runs her finger along the spines of the books near us.
“How would you make me love bookstores?” I ask, noticing I’m getting more nervous the closer she gets to me.
“Well … the only thing better than having this place be where we first met is for it to be the place where we had our first kiss,” she says.
My heart immediately beats faster. My palms sweat. Did she really just say that? My knees feel weak. And my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
“I do think that would make me love bookstores,” I say, tripping over my words.
She takes a deep breath and reaches a hand to her mask. “Close your eyes,” she says.
I close them. Is she removing her mask? I honestly forgot she was even wearing one. I don’t care what she looks like. I just want to—
“Okay, open them,” she says.
I slowly open my eyes. I see her feet. Red Chucks. My eyes rise a bit higher. Denim jeans slightly faded. One of those belts that look like a seat belt. Cute. Her hips peek out from under her shirt. It’s a black shirt. Long sleeves. My eyes rise even higher. I swallow. I’m so nervous. I see her neck. It’s thin, reminds me of a bird, I don’t know why. Black hair. Long. Two braids. I see her chin. A freckle. I see her mouth. She’s smiling. Lips are shining. Red. As always. White teeth. So white. A little crooked, but in a good way. She has dimples. I don’t know how to kiss. I see her nose. I see her eyes. Large. Round. Brown. Wild. My heart’s beating so fast. I see her entire face. And even though most of her face has been hidden since we’ve met, she looks exactly as I imagined. Mask or no mask. I can’t pull my eyes off her. She is dancing, there is lightning.
“Life is a trip, isn’t it?”
“It’s a boot camp,” I reply.
She smiles. I smile back. We stare at each other, not as superheroes, but as boy and girl. As friends. As something more than friends.
I offer her my hand. She takes it. Our fingers intertwine like runaway vines. Our palms begin to sweat together. She’s nervous too. She pulls me closer as I pull her closer. Our bodies touch. I wonder if she can hear the marching band in my chest. Then our eyes close and … we kiss.
This is my first kiss. And it’s so real. Not like the fake kisses you see in movies. Or the kind teenagers brag about. They got it all wrong. This kiss is the first of its kind. There’s never been a kiss like this. It’s a superhero kiss.
Our faces separate. I still taste her on my lips. She smells like wild strawberries.
WAIT! Is this how my dad feels about Wendy? Is this how Wendy feels about food? I reach up and touch Niimi’s face, to make sure she’s real. To make sure I’m not dreaming. I remember the first time I saw her here. She walked into my life like she was dancing. I didn’t know it then, but that was the moment lightning struck. And it’s been striking me ever since.
“She Is Dancing. There Is Lightning.” I say her name.
“Benny the Bear. I’m glad I am the last person you stole from,” she says.
“I never stole from you,” I say.
“But you did,” she says and puts my hand over her heart. “From right under my nose.”
I smile. I can’t believe I love a superhero. I can’t believe a superhero loves me.
With one hand, she puts the mask back on. “Baby steps,” she says.
“As long as we keep taking ’em, we’ll get there. Wherever ‘there’ is,” I say.
“I should get going. I have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on,” she says, and walks toward the front door.
I need to say something. Even though she already knows I like her, our last words in person should be memorable.
“Miigwech,” I blurt out, remembering one of the first Ojibwe words my parents ever taught me. A very important word. Maybe the most important word … thank you.
She smiles. “Giga’waabamin,” she replies.
“What’s that mean?” I ask.
“Figure it out,” she says, and walks out of the store.
I watch her grab her bike out of the Jeep and ride off toward her house.
And the farther she gets from me, the more I feel a heavy pain in my heart. It’s not the hole in my heart I had when I first arrived. It’s the pain of my heart now being whole. It’s the pain of giving my heart to Niimi.
“That’s why it’s called a crush. Because it hurts,” my dad says from behind me.
I turn around and see him and Wendy standing there.
“Were you guys there the whole time?” I ask.
“Us? What? No. We were reading. In the back,” Wendy says.
“Yeah, we definitely did not see any kissing,” my dad adds.
“None. Whatsoever. But I am thrilled to hear that you love bookstores now,” Wendy says.
“You did see everything!” I say.
“Relax. Our first kiss was in this bookstore too. But we were in the next aisle over. The adult section,” Wendy says.
“No, it was in the last aisle. You wanted it to be near all the cookbooks,” my dad says.
“Oh, yeah. That’s right. Now I’m hungry,” she says.
I laugh … But after I do, the pain returns.
“I’ve never felt like this before. Does it get easier?”
“Easier? You kidding? It gets harder. But in the best way possible,” my dad says.
“I’m going to give you two some time to talk. Benny, this isn’t a goodbye hug, it’s an I’ll-see-you-soon hug. Got it?”
“Got it. And thanks for everything, Wendy,” I say.
“And who knows, maybe when you’re a bit older, there’s a summer job here waiting for you,” she says.
“I’d like that. I have a feeling I’ll be here every summer.”
“I do too,” Wendy says as she walks back toward her office.
My dad turns to me. There’s so much we need to say to each other … But neither of us know how to begin. I guess we are a lot alike, after all. We just stare at each other and nod. But I know the perfect way to get him talking.
“You got a joke? Maybe that will get my mind off her,” I ask.
He smiles. “How did the phone propose to his girlfriend?” he asks.
“How?”
“He gave her a ring,” he says.
I laugh … “I’m going to miss this place.”
“This place is going to miss you too.”
I smile. He nods. I have a happy dad again. He has a happy son again. It only took seven years to get here, but what can I say? We’re slow learners.
“I want you to take this book home with you,” he says, and wipes his eye as he walks over toward the back wall and plucks a book from the shelf.
Is he crying? “Which one?” I say, and start walking toward him.
He hands it to me. It’s a book on the Ojibwe language. And I don’t know how to explain it, but for some reason this book makes me so happy.
“I was hoping we could pick up where we left off. I was teaching you our language when you were young. I’d like to continue that, if you like?”
“I’d like that. Do I need to buy this? Because I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I put my shoplifting days behind me,” I say.
He laughs. “I bought it the day your mom called me and asked for help. It’s been waiting here for you,” he says.
I don’t know what to say. We need to say so much more to each other, but that’s okay, because now we have time. “We should get going if we want to make the bus.”
“I was hoping you’d let me take you home.”
“Really? You want to drive me all the way to Duluth?” I ask.
“I do.”
I smile. “That’s a lot of Beep Beep Jeep. You sure your arm can handle it?”
“Only one way to find out. Let’s go,” he says, and walks toward the front door.
I carry my book with me as I step outside and walk toward the Jeep.
I take one last look at the bookstore. The scene of the kiss. This place feels like home to me now. Maybe not the home where I’ll live most of the time, but my home away from home.
I climb into the passenger side and realize that I just didn’t get my dad back, but I pretty much just gained an entire family.
We don’t say much on the drive to Duluth. I guess we we’re both taking in everything that happened. Maybe we’re both afraid if one of us opens our mouths to speak, it will release the dam and we’ll spend the entire drive crying. Dad turns on the radio, and it is still on the R&B station. We must listen to fifty love ballads. This time we both laugh.
As we enter Duluth and pull up to my street, he reaches over and puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Benny.”
I don’t know why, but those five words nearly erupt me in tears. They are simple words. Nice words. Words that shouldn’t make someone cry, but the moment I hear them come out of my dad’s mouth, they hit me like those were the five most important words that I’ll ever need to hear. He’s proud of me. My dad is proud of me. And the truth is, I am proud of him too.
“I forgive you, Dad.”
He nods. It’s something I thought I’d never say to him, but by his glistening eyes, I can tell it is something he has dreamt of hearing for the last seven years.
As the Jeep idles, he points to two crows sitting together atop a telephone wire. “You know what they call two crows that are always together like that?” he asks. “Velcros.”
I laugh. That was one of his better ones. Even he’s laughing.
I reach over and hug him, and as I’m in his arms, we both let it out to get it out. Not a loud dramatic cry, but a good cry. A goodbye cry. A cry so many parents and children share on the curbs when being dropped off.
“Give your mother my best,” he says after finally releasing me.
“You don’t want to come in and say hi?” I ask.
“Baby steps. I’m still a work in progress.”
“I get it,” I say, wiping my eyes and exiting the Jeep. “Maybe next time I’m up there, we can go see that really old cedar tree?”
He smiles. “I do believe you’re ready for that. Oh, and say hi to that handsome judge for me,” he says as I pull my suitcase out of the back.
“I don’t plan on seeing him again,” I say.
My dad laughs. “Oh, you’ll be seeing a lot of him.”
What! Oh … no. It can’t be …
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, after your court date with him, your mother had her own. Then another one,” he says.
“Mom is dating the judge?” I say in disbelief.
“Guilty,” he says, laughing.
He reaches under his seat and pulls out something wrapped in newsprint. “This is for you, but don’t open it until you’re in your room,” he says, and hands it to me. “Oh, and before I go, I need to tell you a secret,” he says.
Is this the advice that I’ll take with me for the rest of my life? Is this wisdom passed down from an Ojibwe father to his son? I lean in and await his words.
He whispers in my ear, “Beep Beep Jeep,” and punches me in the shoulder and points to another Jeep parked across the street.
Ouch! As I pull back, he laughs and speeds off.
I smile and rub my shoulder. For a changed man, some things about him haven’t changed at all. And I hope they never will.
I walk toward our apartment and it kind of feels like I’m walking on clouds. So much has happened here. I became a superhero. Of course I am going to make mistakes and not be perfect, but I know I won’t steal anymore. No matter what that villainous voice in my head says. Those days are behind me. It won’t always be easy, but that’s okay. Nothing worth anything ever is. But the best part about this trip is … I have a girlfriend now. My mom is going to flip out when I tell her. We’ve never once talked about girls. And I predict I now won’t be able to shut up about her. I can’t wait for them to meet one day. Niimi needs a mom in her life. And I have a great one.
I enter my apartment and head toward my room. My mom is still at work. And even though this place is much smaller than my dad’s house, it feels so good to be home. I sit on my bed and place my Ojibwe book on my pillow. I look at the present my dad got me. I smile and peel back the corners of the paper and tear it open. I wonder what it is.
It is a ceramic bear, painted to look exactly like the stuffed bear that sent me here. The same bear my dad left for me so many years ago. A note is taped to it: Thanks for Bearing with me—Dad.
He made this for me. And I’m in bed, in my room, exactly where I was when I was given the stuffed bear seven years ago. But this time, I’m not tearing up the note and throwing the bear away. Instead, I set it on my bedside table, where it will stand proudly.