A Greenhouse In The Snow

The fluorescent lights in the Northern Store buzzed. It was a loud, angry sound. It sounded like a giant mosquito trapped in a tin can. Joe stared at the tomatoes. They were soft. The skins were wrinkled. They looked like old balloons that had lost their air.

The price tag on the shelf said fourteen dollars and ninety-nine cents. For four old tomatoes.

Joe felt his stomach pull tight. It was a sharp ache. He had not eaten since yesterday morning. His mother, Annie, was asleep on the couch again. She had been asleep since Tuesday. The air outside was heavy and hot, peak summer in Kenora district, but inside the store, the air conditioning blasted so hard his arms broke out in goosebumps.

He looked left. The aisle was empty. He looked right. Just a cardboard display of potato chips.

He reached out. His fingers brushed the plastic wrap. He grabbed the styrofoam tray. He shoved it hard into the deep pocket of his oversized jacket. The plastic let out a sharp, cracking noise. It was too loud.

"Hey."

Joe froze. His heart hammered against his ribs. He turned around slowly.

A man in a blue vest stood at the end of the aisle. The manager. He had a thick mustache and crossed arms.

"What did you just put in your coat?" the manager asked. His voice was flat.

Joe backed up a step. His heel hit the metal shelf. A can of beans rattled.

"Nothing," Joe said.

"Take it out."

Joe swallowed. His throat was dry. He reached into his pocket. His fingers shook. He pulled the tray of tomatoes out. The plastic was already smeared with sweat from his palm.

"I was going to pay," Joe said. The lie tasted like chalk.

"Yeah right. Put it back. And get out. Before I call the band council."

Joe moved to put the tray back on the shelf. He felt small. The ceiling of the store suddenly felt a mile high.

"Wait."

Someone stepped around the potato chip display. It was Marie. She wore ripped jeans and a faded black t-shirt. She had a streak of dirt across her cheek.

"He's with me," Marie said.

The manager frowned. "Marie. Your dad is banned from this store."

"I'm not my dad," Marie said. She walked up to Joe. She grabbed the tomatoes from his hand. She looked at the manager. "We are buying these. And some bread."

"With what?" the manager asked.

Marie reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small, orange plastic bottle. The label was torn off. She rattled it. The sound was sharp.

"Rick's back pills," Marie said. "He told me to trade with Frank out back. But Frank owes you money, right?"

The manager stared at the bottle. He looked around the store. He ran a hand over his mustache. He did not say anything for a long time. Then he nodded. Once.

"Leave the tomatoes," the manager said quietly. "Take a fresh pack from the back cooler. And a loaf of the white bread."

Marie tossed the orange bottle to the manager. He caught it. He turned and walked away.

Joe stood completely still. His chest moved up and down fast.

"Breathe, idiot," Marie said.

"You traded your dad's pills?" Joe asked.

"He won't notice. He's checked out. He just stares at the wall."

"He's going to kill you when he finds out."

"He won't find out," she said. She grabbed his sleeve. "Come on. I need to show you something."

They walked out of the store. The summer heat hit them like a wet blanket. The sky was bright, hurting Joe's eyes. The pavement was cracked. Weeds pushed up through the grey cement.

Marie walked fast. Joe followed her. They walked past the old clinic. They walked past the row of identical, peeling houses. They walked into the trees at the edge of the reserve.

The woods were thick. The leaves were bright green. The air here felt thick and sticky. Branches scratched Joe's arms.

"Where are we going?" Joe asked.

"Just wait," Marie said.

She pushed through a thick wall of overgrown blackberry bushes. Thorns caught on Joe's jacket. He ripped it free.

They stepped into a clearing.

Joe stopped. His mouth fell open.

In the middle of the tall summer grass sat a school bus. It was painted bright yellow, but the paint was flaking off in giant scabs of rust. The tires were gone. It sat flat on the dirt. Thick vines crawled up the sides. The windows were smeared with dirt.

It looked like a giant yellow monster sleeping in the weeds.

"What is this?" Joe asked.

"My escape plan," Marie said.

She walked to the folding doors at the front. She pulled them hard. They groaned loudly. Metal scraped on metal. The doors popped open.

"Look inside," she said.

Joe stepped up into the bus. It was boiling hot inside. The seats were all torn out. In their place were row after row of plastic buckets. Black rubber tubes connected the buckets. There were bags of dirt stacked in the back. Water sloshed in a large blue barrel near the driver's seat.

"It's a garden," Joe said.

"Hydroponics," Marie corrected. "Mostly. And some dirt pots for the root vegetables. I'm going to grow food. Real food. Not fourteen-dollar old tomatoes."

Joe walked down the aisle. He touched a plastic bucket. It was warm.

"There's no light in here," Joe said. "The windows are too dirty. The trees block the sun."

"I know," Marie said. She sat down on the metal floor. She pulled her knees to her chest. "That's the problem. I need lights. Real grow lights. But I have no money left. I traded the last of the pills today."

Joe looked around the hot, empty bus. He looked at Marie. She looked tired. She looked like she carried rocks in her pockets.

"I know where we can get lights," Joe said.

Marie looked up. "Where?"

"The old grow-op. Out by the highway. The cops busted it last year, but they left all the heavy gear bolted to the ceiling. I saw it through the window."

Marie stood up. Her eyes went wide.

"You want to steal from a busted weed farm?" she asked.

"You wanted an escape plan," Joe said. His stomach didn't hurt anymore. His hands weren't shaking. He felt a weird, fast energy buzzing in his legs. "We need a screwdriver."

Broken Glass

The moon was huge and white. It hung over the highway like a spotlight. The air was still warm, even at midnight. Bugs chirped loudly in the tall grass.

Joe and Marie crouched behind a rusted metal dumpster. The old warehouse sat fifty feet away. It was a huge, grey box. The roof was sagging. Spray paint covered the brick walls.

"Are you sure nobody is in there?" Marie whispered.

"I'm sure," Joe said. "The door is padlocked from the outside."

"How do we get in?"

Joe held up a heavy rock. "We don't use the door."

They ran across the gravel parking lot. The stones crunched under their shoes. The sound was too loud in the quiet night. They pressed their backs against the brick wall.

Joe found a window near the ground. The glass was thick and cloudy.

He swung the rock. It hit the glass with a sharp crack. The window shattered. Pieces of glass fell onto the concrete floor inside. It sounded like ice cubes dropping into an empty glass.

Joe cleared the broken edges with a stick. He crawled through the hole first. The concrete inside was cold against his hands.

Marie followed. She landed softly next to him.

Joe clicked on a small flashlight. The beam cut through the dark.

The warehouse was massive. It was totally empty, except for trash on the floor. Rats scurried away from the light. The shadows danced on the walls.

"Look up," Joe said.

Marie looked up. Hanging from the high metal rafters were rows of long, silver boxes. Grow lights.

"They left them," Marie breathed.

"They were too heavy for the cops to bother with," Joe said. "And the power is cut anyway."

They found a rolling metal staircase pushed against a wall. They dragged it to the center of the room. The wheels squeaked loudly. Every sound made Joe's shoulders tighten.

He climbed up the stairs. He reached the first silver box. It was covered in thick, grey dust.

"Hand me the screwdriver," Joe whispered down to her.

Marie climbed up halfway. She handed him the tool. Her hand brushed his. Her skin was warm.

Joe worked the screws. The metal was rusted. He had to twist hard. His palms sweat. The screwdriver slipped and scraped his knuckle. A line of blood beaded up. He wiped it on his jeans and kept twisting.

"Got one," Joe said. The heavy silver box came loose. He lowered it carefully to Marie.

They worked for two hours. They took down four massive light fixtures. They dragged them out through a side door that opened from the inside.

They sat in the grass behind the warehouse. They were both breathing hard. The heavy lights sat in the dirt.

"We did it," Marie said. She laughed. It was a short, sharp sound.

Joe looked at her. Her face was smeared with dust. Her eyes were bright in the moonlight.

"Yeah," Joe said.

Marie leaned over. She kissed him.

It was fast. Her lips were dry. She tasted like the cheap white bread they ate earlier. Joe felt a jolt run straight down his spine. His ears rang.

She pulled back. She looked at the ground.

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't be," Joe said. He reached out and grabbed her hand. Her fingers were rough and covered in dirt. He squeezed them.

They dragged the lights through the woods. It took three trips. By the time they finished, the sky was turning pink.

They spent the next three days setting up the bus. Joe brought a thick extension cord from his house. He plugged it into an outlet behind the community center, running the black wire through the tall grass all the way to the woods.

When he plugged the lights in, the bus transformed.

Bright, intense purple light flooded the metal tube. It spilled out of the dirty windows. The whole bus glowed in the middle of the green forest. It looked like a spaceship.

Marie planted the seeds. Radishes. Spinach. Carrots.

Every day, they met at the bus. The purple light was warm. It hummed quietly. Outside, Joe's mom drank and slept. Outside, Marie's dad yelled and punched the walls. But inside the bus, it was just the purple light and the smell of wet dirt.

Two weeks later, the dirt moved.

Tiny, bright green stems pushed up through the dark soil.

"Look," Marie whispered. She pointed at a radish bucket.

Joe leaned in close. The little green leaves were perfect. They looked fake.

"It's working," Joe said.

Marie smiled. It was the biggest smile he had ever seen on her.

Then, the purple lights flickered.

They flickered again.

Then, with a loud click, the lights went out. The bus went pitch black.

Outside, the humming from the community center stopped.

The Dark Cold

The power was out. All over the reserve.

Joe walked out of the bus. The woods were suddenly very quiet. The air felt different. The sticky summer heat was gone. A sudden, sharp wind cut through the trees.

"What happened?" Marie asked. She bumped into his shoulder in the dark.

"Grid failure," Joe said. "It happens. The transformer up the highway probably blew again."

Marie looked up at the sky. Thick grey clouds moved fast over the moon.

"It's getting cold," she said.

It was true. A freak northern cold front was blowing in. The temperature was dropping fast. In Kenora, summer could turn to winter in an hour.

"The plants," Marie said. Her voice went high and tight. "They just sprouted. If it drops to freezing tonight, they'll die. The metal bus will be like an icebox."

Joe rubbed his arms. The wind was biting now.

"We need a generator," Joe said.

"Where do we get a generator?" Marie yelled. She was panicking. "We don't have money. We can't buy one."

"The clinic," Joe said.

Marie stared at him.

"The health center has a backup generator out back. A small portable diesel one for the medicine fridge. They only use it if the main power is out for days."

"Joe, no," Marie said. She shook her head. "That's for the clinic. That's for sick people."

"My mom goes to that clinic," Joe snapped. "They give her pamphlets about drinking. Pamphlets don't help. Food helps. We are doing this."

"It's stealing from the sick!" Marie yelled.

"We stole the lights! We stole the tomatoes!"

"That was a store! That was a weed farm! This is the clinic, Joe!"

Joe stepped closer to her. He grabbed her shoulders. "Do you want the plants to die? Do you want to go back to eating nothing?"

Marie squeezed her eyes shut. A tear squeezed out and ran down her dirty cheek. She shook her head slowly.

"Come on," Joe said.

They ran back through the woods. The wind was howling now. It whipped the branches against their faces.

The clinic was dark. The whole town was dark.

They ran behind the building. The small red generator sat chained to a metal post.

Joe found a heavy iron pipe on the ground. He shoved it into the padlock. He leaned all his weight onto the pipe. His arms shook. The metal groaned. With a loud snap, the padlock broke.

"Grab the handle," Joe ordered.

They lifted the generator. It was incredibly heavy. It smelled like old grease and diesel fuel. They carried it between them, stumbling through the dark grass.

Their arms burned. Joe's chest hurt. The wind blew colder and colder.

They finally reached the bus. They set the heavy red machine down in the dirt by the front doors.

Joe plugged the thick extension cord into the generator. He pulled the starter cord. It sputtered. He pulled it again. Nothing.

"Pull it harder!" Marie cried.

Joe braced his foot on the metal frame. He yanked the cord with everything he had.

The engine roared to life. It was loud. It spit black smoke into the air.

Inside the bus, the purple lights flickered, then blazed back to life. The heat from the lamps instantly started pushing the cold air out.

Marie ran inside. She knelt by the buckets. The little green sprouts were shivering in the draft, but they were safe in the warm purple glow.

Joe stood in the doorway. He was breathing hard. His hands smelled like diesel.

"We did it," Marie said.

Then, a heavy footstep crunched in the brush outside.

Joe spun around.

A tall man stepped into the purple light. He looked thin and sick. He wore a dirty winter coat over a t-shirt. His eyes were wide and twitchy.

It was Rick. Marie's dad.

Rick stared at the glowing bus. He stared at the loud generator.

"Well, well," Rick said. His voice was scratchy. "What do we have here?"

The Harvest

Marie stood up inside the bus. She walked to the door.

"Dad," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Rick said. He walked closer. He kicked the side of the red generator. "Where did you get this?"

"We found it," Joe lied.

Rick laughed. It sounded like dry leaves scraping on concrete. "You found a brand new Honda diesel generator in the bushes. Right. This is worth five hundred bucks down at the yard."

Rick reached out. He grabbed the handle of the generator.

"No!" Marie screamed. She jumped down from the bus. She pushed her dad's chest. "Leave it alone!"

Rick stumbled back. He looked shocked, then angry.

"Don't touch me," Rick snarled. He pushed Marie back. She fell hard into the dirt.

Joe didn't think. He just moved.

He threw himself at Rick. He hit the older man in the stomach with his shoulder. They both went crashing into the tall grass.

Rick yelled. He swung his fist. It hit Joe in the cheekbone. White light exploded behind Joe's eyes. Pain shot through his whole head.

Joe scrambled up. He grabbed a heavy rock from the dirt. He held it up. His arm was shaking. His chest heaved.

"Get away from her!" Joe screamed. His voice cracked. It was louder than the generator.

Rick sat up in the dirt. He looked at the rock in Joe's hand. He looked at Joe's wild eyes. Rick wiped his mouth. He suddenly looked very old and very tired.

"Crazy kids," Rick muttered. He stood up slowly. He didn't look at Marie. He turned and walked away into the dark trees.

Joe dropped the rock. His hands were shaking violently. He touched his cheek. It was already swelling up.

Marie crawled over to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist. She buried her face in his jacket. She was crying. Loud, ugly sobs.

Joe held her. He felt terrified. He had almost hit a man with a rock. The violence felt heavy in his hands.

They sat there while the generator hummed and the purple light spilled over the freezing grass.

Three weeks later, the power was back on in the town. The freak cold front was gone. Summer returned, hot and sticky.

Inside the bus, it looked like a jungle.

The green leaves were huge. They spilled over the edges of the plastic buckets.

Marie dug her hands into the dirt. She pulled.

Out came a radish. It was small. It was bumpy. It looked a little deformed. But it was bright, bright red.

"Look," she whispered.

Joe smiled. His bruised cheek still hurt a little when he smiled.

Marie wiped the dirt off the radish with her shirt. She bit into it. It made a loud, wet crunch.

She handed the other half to Joe. He ate it. It tasted like dirt and water and spicy heat. It was the best thing he had ever eaten.

They harvested a basket full of spinach leaves and twisted carrots.

They walked back to Joe's house.

Annie was awake. She was sitting at the kitchen table. She looked pale and sick. She was sweating. She was trying to stop drinking again. Her hands shook as she held a glass of water.

Joe put the basket on the table.

"What is this?" Annie asked. Her voice was weak.

"We grew it," Joe said.

Annie looked at the weird, bumpy vegetables. She looked at Joe's bruised face. She looked at Marie's dirty hands.

She picked up a green leaf. She put it in her mouth and chewed slowly.

She didn't say it was a miracle. She didn't say she was magically cured. But she looked at Joe, really looked at him, for the first time in months.

"It's good, Joey," she said quietly. "It's really good."

The next day, a white car parked near the woods. A woman with a clipboard walked through the brush. She was the social worker from the band office.

She found the bright yellow bus. She saw the purple lights. She saw the plastic buckets.

Joe and Marie stood by the doors, waiting to be yelled at. Waiting for the police to come.

The woman looked at the setup for a long time. She wrote something on her clipboard.

"You built this?" she asked.

"Yes," Joe said.

"It's illegal to steal power," she said flatly.

Joe looked down.

"But," the woman continued, "there's a micro-grant for youth agricultural projects. If I help you fill out the paperwork, the band might pay for your electricity. Officially."

Marie's head snapped up. "Really?"

"Maybe," the woman said. She tapped her pen. "I'll bring the forms tomorrow."

She walked away.

Joe and Marie stood in the humid summer air. The bus hummed behind them. The sky above the trees was bright and clear. Joe grabbed Marie's hand. He felt a weird, fluttery feeling in his chest. It felt like a tiny green sprout, pushing up through the hard, dark dirt.