put them in the coin slot and listened to the comforting sound of billiard balls dropping. She grabbed a house cue because she hadn’t even thought to bring her own, rolled it across the green felt, saw that it was warped a bit, put that one back and grabbed another. That one was a bit straighter, if a tad lighter. But it would work. She racked the balls into the familiar triangle. In one fluid movement she removed the wooden triangle, grabbed the cue stick, leaned over the table and sent the cue ball flying into the racked balls, causing three of them to drop into separate pockets.
Shorty leaned on his forearms across the bar, watching Cash play against herself. “You know, Cash, Willie here used to be one of the richest farmers in the Valley.”
“Still am,” interrupted Willie.
“Until he took to coming in here mornings. Soon he was spending more time drinking than plowing.”
“I can still plow.” He leered for Shorty’s benefit, rubbing his thigh again, tipping his glass in Cash’s direction before killing it off. He wiped the beer foam from his mustache with his forearm and pointed the glass at Shorty. “Another. That’s why I had sons. They run the farm for me since my arthritis kicked in. They don’t need a college degree to farm.”
Shorty refilled his glass saying, “Just shut up and drink, old man. Cash, you got a good thing going, kid. What are you doing here instead of at class?”
Cash leaned on her cue stick. She stared hard at Shorty, willing him to shut up.
“Don’t you know Ole and Carl are in here every night bragging to anyone who will listen about how you are going to college. Everyone’s proud of you.”
“Damn straight,” said Willie, lifting his refilled glass.
“Shut up,” Cash said under her breath, sending the 9-ball into a side pocket. To Shorty, she said, “I just don’t know, Shorty. It’s a whole different world.”
“You’re smart, Cash.”
“I don’t think smart is the issue,” said Cash, lining up the cue ball on the 2-ball, sitting three inches off a corner pocket. “These folks talk a different language. Dress different. Sit inside brick buildings all day and think of fancy ways to string words together instead of just saying things plain out. And I think the teachers all think I’m stupid just because I’m Indian. I’m not used to folks treating me like I’m stupid. Being mean, or calling me names or being disgusting,” she said pointing her cue stick towards Willie, “that, I’m used to, but being thought of as stupid just because I’m Indian? Pisses me off.” She dropped the 8-ball into the same corner as the 2. With the table cleared, she put four more quarters into the table and racked the balls.
As she broke and started shooting, she said, “And these beginner classes are dumb. I learned all this stuff in high school. I don’t see why I have to take it all over again. I heard that students can test out of these baby classes, but when I asked, everyone treats me like I’m just a dumb Indian.”
“Are they gonna let you though?” asked Shorty, flicking his rag across the counter again.
Cash stood up from the table and looked at him across the bar. She took a drink of her Bud and a drag of her cigarette. “I filled out the form to test out of English this morning,” she said, with heavy sarcasm. “I’m going to go talk to the chair again tomorrow to find out when he’ll let me take the test.” She shot a couple more balls into the table before continuing.
“Then I’ll go talk to the chair of the science department about trying to test out of his class too. I can already recite the periodic table frontwards and backwards. I know photosynthesis is what makes us rich here in the Bread Basket of the World.” Cash waved her cue stick and beer bottle in a wide arc. “I don’t think I need to be in a classroom, getting a sore ass sitting on hard chairs, smelling some strange oil these hippies wear to cover the smell of the marijuana they smoke, just to have some old guy tell me that corn and sugar beets need sun to grow.” Cash started furiously shooting balls into pockets. “If I test out, I can just take my psychology and judo classes. Classes I might actually learn something in.”
“Can you do that? I mean, do they let students just test out of classes?” asked Shorty.
“That’s what it says in the student handbook,” answered Cash. “If I can test out, I’ll be free for the rest of the quarter.” She swung her cue over the pool table. “And I can get my game back. I don’t think I was cut out to sit inside brick buildings.”
“You’re still driving truck at night, right?”
“Yeah, that’s why I haven’t been in to shoot. School all day, driving truck at night. I just couldn’t take it anymore this morning. At school, they have these big 9-foot tables. I go over there and play between classes, but I miss this,” she said, waving her cue around the bar, taking another drink of beer and a drag of her Marlboro. “Did you hear about that girl from the college who is missing?”
Shorty wiped the bar with his rag, sopping up the beer Willie had spilled while pushing himself off the bar stool for an unsteady walk to the bathroom. At least he was making it there, not using the back booth as was his nightly habit. All the regulars knew never to sit in that booth. Newcomers soon moved because of the stench.
“Some of the folks were talking. Then there was an article in The Forum.”
“Oh? I didn’t see that.”
“Yeah, just how she seems to have gone to the Cities and hasn’t been heard from since. Her folks are all worried.”
“She’s in my science class. Was.”
“Whaddya think happened?
“I don’t know. I talked to Wheaton last night. He’s asking around.” Cash cleared the table of all the billiard balls. “I s’pose I better go back.” She returned the bar cue to an empty slot on the wall rack. “Guess I’ve missed my English class, but I can still make science and then this afternoon, my last class is judo. Soon I’ll be able to kick fools off bar stools.” She pantomimed a sidekick in Willie’s direction.
“Keep your nose in the books,” Shorty hollered as the bar door closed behind her.
Back at campus, she lucked out and pulled into a parking spot just as another car left, right in front of the main buildings. She grabbed her science book and papers off the passenger seat and went to class. The stream of students passing in the halls from class to class made her feel claustrophobic. She was used to the open fields of the prairie. The crush of human bodies, people rushing with no regard for the space around them or the presence of another being, made it hard for her to breathe. She clung to the brick wall and sidled past folks in a hurry, not wanting someone else to grab her seat at the back of the class.
This classroom had old-fashioned wooden desks, leftovers from the ’50s. The English Department had newer metal desks and plastic chairs. These desks had names and chemical formulas carved into the wood, which meant you had to write your notes on top of a book or your paper would end up with holes every time you hit a carved indent.
Mr. Danielson was at the front of the room, erasing the previous teacher’s scientific equations from the chalkboard. He was wearing blue jeans with a white shirt tucked in. Close to six feet tall, he had his pale blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, loose strands escaping the rubber band. Cash supposed he looked “hot” in a Rod Stewart kinda way. He started writing notes on the board.
Sharon
