“There is a darkness that follows some people,” the words echoed in my head as incandescent light from a nearby Esso sign threw haunting glows on the January night. I could do nothing but nod to myself in perfect time with the belabored ford engine.

It’s true in more ways than one, evoking memories and words from others that I have known. There are those who dwell on the palatable void in the world. They are compelled to look over their shoulder and gaze at the looming darkness. Johnny Cash said that through his life there was a black dog that followed him, bringing the haunted and the painful experiences that characterized many of the low points in his life. I can point to a time where I saw my own black dog nipping at my heels, reflecting not what I could build but destroy.

I do not remember my exact age but I couldn’t have been more than seven-years-old, it was an experience that defined my relationship with one of the most important people in my life.

My family made a pilgrimage to Regina, Saskatchewan every so often. Our life in a town, population seven hundred, required escape every now and then even if the destination was less than two hours away.

We didn’t really fit in there, Broadview. The name of the location evokes some terrible puns because in retrospect it seemed quite narrow minded. My father was a preacher, not at the white Baptist Church on Main Street but on the Reserve. Not one, but two churches that were bounded Sakimay, Ochapowace, Kahkewistahaw, and Cowessess. Though my father had his native family, I never felt like I fit in.

I was a white boy on the Reserve and in Broadview I was a home-schooled anomaly, lacking social skills or more than a couple of friends. Juvenile jeering bound many experiences made from pop culture references that I didn’t even understand (being called “Flanders” doesn’t mean much to a child who was not allowed to watch The Simpson’s). But I was not alone; I had my family and most importantly my brother. We did virtually everything together. When he was being mocked, so was I, the Woodstock to his Snoopy. I could not imagine my life without him. This is what made this instance all the more sordid.

The waterslide, we were going to the waterslide. The 7 Oaks Inn had a waterslide. Aside from being somewhere else, which was exciting enough for the Judy children, this particular hotel contained a corkscrew of plastic saturated for speed and ecstasy. When you got there in the evening you could get at least five or six good runs in before you had to call it quits. Then the intrepid rider would awake at precisely 9:30 am, work past the unpleasantly cold swimming trunks to make it down in time to be the first one on that leviathan of pleasure. This was the opiate of the sheltered prairie child and it had me hooked.

Traversing Canada’s highway number one in our Mazda MPV we talked of the waterslide in excited tones. I cannot pinpoint what I said; I remember most clearly what I thought. As my brother and I were discussing the fun we were going to have he expressed that it was great to be together as a family and his joy that we loved each other. A sincere expression of the bonds that we held together and that time spent as a whole was better than apart. Yet this is what crossed my mind: I could hurt him. My brother, my most beloved companion not because he had angered me but because he loved me. I could approach him as boldly as a surgeon does his patient. Taking a screw in hand and in plain sight twist it in him until he bled, cried for mercy. I had this power because he had given it to me; we were intertwined, relying on one another for everything.

I do not remember the exact words, and I am glad. I know that as Cail was expressing his joy I began to allude to the fact that it was questionable as to whether or not I would have a good time. My doubt, the first weapon at my disposal. I then escalated the conflict, words of rancor sparked out of my own desire to wound. My bold incursion, my victory cry in the night rang to the effect of, “I don’t love you.”

I had done it, I had finished the argument I had started with words that could not be any stronger or painful. I had stormed the open gates. The black dog was close; his breath bristled the back of my neck in a manner that was far too comforting.

Driving in the Prairies on any given night feels like an eternity. The reflection of the interior bounces off the glass and concentration is required to see beyond. Yet, on a cloudless night the landscape offers little to see and no variation. Though the passage out of the silent abyss I had created was not far. Arriving in Regina, Saskatchewan is like a crescendo in a mediocre orchestra. You pass through a number of hamlets starting with Balgonie and building towards White City; eventually you reach the full height of the piece and find yourself in Regina. This is not an advantageous position, unless you aim to ride a waterslide or check out the Science Centre.

Cail and I did not speak the rest of the drive, we avoided eye contact, I had made my position clear. What really frightens me about the whole affair was that I felt good about what I had done. I had confirmed my wicked hypotheses and was pleased with the results.

We headed straight for 7 Oaks, The span of time between the van pulling into the parking lot and when I reached the pool didn’t happen. I don’t remember it, I didn’t want it to be there, so I opt for appearing at the water’s edge the moment of our arrival. I held my ground with my dear brother, after all I had principles, we were raised in a Christian home. If I were committed to something I would not be swayed. I was Joshua at Jericho, I was Moses parting the Red Sea, I was Paul treading blindly to Damascus, and I was Lucifer at the fucking fall.

I was going to enjoy the slide as much as ever, but I would do it alone.

Cail ran ahead of me and his back disappeared in the circular staircase. I reached the top and climbed in. Rapture. I raced through the light, intermittent through the tunnels and quickly emerged at the bottom. I had my first hit in so long I’m sure my pupils were dilated twice their size. I saw Cail looking at me from across the pool at the entrance to the slide. We could go on like this, taking turn after turn in a tandem cycle of avoidance. Always just getting on as the other got off,

But he ascended the staircase slowly this time.

Maneuvering around the pool, I reached the stairs and quickly rushed up. My bare feet slapped the wet tile in a rhythm that was neither strong nor weak. I reached the top and there he was, waiting for me.

I looked at him, my older brother and I could not tell you what I was thinking.

The water from the slide was thundering and he was waiting for me, it wouldn’t be the last time. I didn’t make the first move; he dug my offending article out of his flesh and gave it to me. A peace offering, covered in fictitious blood, waiting for my hand to divert the drops away from the floor.

Stories of redemption are never grandiose; there is just a lot of embellishment involved and liberties taken with small but powerful instances of ordinary grace. God never spoke in the storm.

This time we were not two boys but brothers, regardless of the darkness at my back I have and will always be more than myself when I am a part, not the whole. He turned to me as we were preparing to embark on the second run with words that have never left my mind, “It’s fun being buddies.”

Then it was time to go, to get our fix not chasing any dragon but riding alongside it, on it, over it. There is not much to do but smile and let the water take you where it will.

I forget sometimes, most times, about the good and being saved by the ones that you hurt the most. It is easier to look over the shoulder, knowing what will be there. I still look for that void, I feel it is the only consistent part of me, but that isn’t true. There are those who I walk with, who lead me. I often forget the power in their words and in their eyes.

I will let that black dog get close, nip my heels, howl at my door and though he will never claim me he does forever follow.