“With Honour there is Hope”
By Marnie Fossitt, Tied for 1st Place, Fiction
Weazah dabbled the final touches on the 1989 Thunderbird and wiped his paint splattered hands on his coveralls. Ford himself wouldn’t recognize this car. Its original currant red, was now a putrid shade of vellum. He considered it “calf-shit yella.” It broke his heart to remove the fancy wheel covers and replace the black leather upholstery with dirty beige fabric taken from an old Duster parked in his junk yard. Weaz filled, primed and painted the hole where once there had been an ornate hood ornament.
Weazah was born Jimmy Lightfoot to an Ojibway father and white mother in Northern Ontario. After his father’s tragic death, his mother had moved them to Birchton, her childhood village. Away from the familiarity of the reserve, Jimmy suffered racist taunts from the children at his new school. He was ashamed of his simple lunches wrapped in bread bags and sat alone in the cafeteria.
One day, he witnessed a classmate being teased. Hope had a speech impediment.
“Hey, Hopeless, whewe’s yow gwasses?” Kent, a tough guy with blonde spiked hair, yelled.
The kids behind him started laughing as he snatched Hope’s glasses off her tray. Hope began sobbing, “Pwease give them to me. I can’t wead wiffout them!”
“She can’t wead,” Kent snickered, throwing his head back with guffaws.
Suddenly, a hand was on Kent’s shoulder. Jimmy, quietly said, “Give her the glasses. Now.”
The cafeteria became silent. Kent slowly turned, taunting, “Wadd ya say, Indian boy? Gonna scalp me?
Jimmy closed his eyes briefly and pictured beating his hand drum as he called upon his father Niigaanii’s spirit to guide him. He heard the echoes of those words. “Carry our teachings and you will do what is right.”
Jimmy towered over Kent. He increased the pressure on Kent’s shoulder. Kent looked up at Jimmy. Suddenly nervous, he flung the glasses. Jimmy dropped his hands and turned towards Hope.
“You two deserve each other, ya freaks,” Kent bellowed angrily as he stormed away.
“You okay?” Jimmy gently asked.
Hope nodded, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
From that day on, Hope and Jimmy were inseparable. Hope showed Jimmy her tree house where he would scamper up after school to help her with speech exercises. Hope’s mother said that Jimmy resembled a sweet brown weasel climbing trees like a monkey and swimming like a colourful trout. Often the creature is considered sly but Marie told him that weasels are very intelligent and fearless. Jimmy liked the image of being a brave warrior like his father. Hope, unable to say weasel, called him Weazah and it stuck.
Weaz taught Hope about his people while plaiting her long red hair, explaining the symbolism of the braid. The process of braiding is like a prayer representing different things.
“Yike what? Hope asked.
“Well,” Weazah continued, fingering his own long black braid, “For example, it can mean faith, honesty and wisdom. I carry these reminders with me wherever I go.”
As the years went on, Hope and Weazah built a trusting friendship. Hope confided her shame and anxiety when speaking. Weazah quoted Indiginous author Richard Wagamese who spoke of entering a room “skin-first,” explaining to Hope that this was how he always felt. There became a bond through understanding.
After they graduated Weaz secured a loan and bought the garage where he had been employed part-time. Dwayne, taking a liking to the boy, taught him the trade.
Hope went off to college, to become a hairstylist. Her confidence had grown due to the many hours of speech practice but she would have said that it was because of her friendship with Weaz. There were many emails and late night phone calls.
As hard as Weazah worked, he was barely scraping by. Folks were feeling the pinch of inflation and Weaz hovered between small price increases and not risking losing customers.
One day two men came into the garage. Weaz was working on his mother’s car doing an oil change and knowing this would be a freebie. One of the men introduced himself as Brad. He said he had a proposition.
“I’m all ears,” Weazah smiled. “Folks around her call me Weaz.”
Brad and the other man, Todd, explained that they needed work done on their Thunderbird. Weaz followed them outside and whistled, “Wooeee! That’s a nice ride, boys. What seems to be the problem?”
Todd looked uneasily at Brad who spoke up quickly saying that they needed to change the looks of the car.
“Like a new colour? “ Weaz asked.
“Not…exactly. We want it to look…different…old…unrecognizable,” Todd blurted.
“What’s going on, fellas?” Weaz asked, now suspicious.
“Look, we need this done and we need it done fast,” Brad spoke up, his voice louder. “We’ll pay you five grand in cash.”
“That would sure solve a lot of my troubles,” thought Weaz, and without allowing any more thought, he agreed.
As Weazah was finishing up, he heard a familiar voice and turned to see Hope grinning up at him.
“Surprise!” she yelled. I have reading week off. I’m home for a few days!”
In two long strides Weazah had her in his arms. Something shifted. They both felt it and for the first time ever, they both smiled shyly.
“Watcha upta ?” Hope asked, eyeing the sickly looking vehicle.
Weaz quickly explained wanting to get back to this new feeling. But Hope’s eyes narrowed and she looked upset.
“Weaz, you know that this car is probably stolen. You are my warrior, remember? You have always figured out a way. You can keep the garage afloat without dishonouring your heritage.
Weaz was filled with shame. Again, echoes of his father’s words came to him about honour. Images of the day he died flashed before his eyes. Niigaanii had stopped a robber from exiting a grocery store and was stabbed to death. Now here was his son, aiding and abetting crooks.
Weaz knew what he had to do. With honour there was Hope.
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