We-Sa

Chapter Three-Fiction

When the Earth is sick, the animals will begin to disappear, when that happens, the Warriors of the Rainbow will come to save them. — Chief Seattle Suquamish

Fair warning this is a work of fiction and in no way reflects tribal issues or convictions.

Speak to me of the flowers growing during spring, flouting out their petals until summer approaches, and I’ll talk with you about the pearls of white falling from the sky that covers us with silence.

I was once again stuck counting cracks on the ceiling inside my Granpa’s house. Everyone was forced to drop their Un-Ne-Ga black devils in a box at the door ( cellphones) before they could sit down at King Arther’s round table. Thirty cracks are my track record when counting the ceiling because I either get interrupted by noise from the kitchen or lose interest. Today, I made it to thirty-eight. Impressive.

Streaks of dawn, and here we were. Mother facing the tribe over a draw. Draws are like getting the short end of the stick. You had to plead your case like a child claiming another stole his lunch money. No one will believe you, but boy will you pour your soul out. They were in a stalemate which is as good as checkmate in chess. All of the elders at the table were scratching their heads. No one wanted to admit voting one way or the other in fear of angering either Paco or Aiyana.

Another problem on the table is arson. Dayami’s home situation had to be dealt with. A problem for both the table and myself. I have a bone to pick with the arsonist. Freshly baked strawberry cake made from Father’s garden wafted into my nose right as the timer dinged from the stove. All fo the elders shifted in their seats for excitement, and I forget about what awaited me back home.

Traditional parkas with slight alterations are the attire for wear during these events. Each elder wore a particular color indicating their status in the tribe. Grandpa wore a multicolored one as chieftain. I often perceived their talks like knights at the round table, but I knew better. Tempers went flying at words better to be forgotten.

Atop the wooden kitchen table sat a glass ashtray ridden with old cannabis wrappers ( made to look purposely like cigarettes) but the pungent smell says otherwise. Our tribe grows herbs for both medicinal purposes and pleasure. Though, Mother is a stickler about touching our “herbs”.

Granpa set down a fully whipped cream frosted cake on his kitchen table. “ Paco treating us to the fruits of his labor again.” Hefted an elder called Jolon. In this tribe, every name had meaning including mine. Jolon meant the valley of dead oaks. Fitting.

“We are Tsa- La-Ga. (Cherokee) Let us eat, and discuss matters after desert.” Granpa’s smile and deliberate wave to me meant the ceiling was no longer my best friend. I grabbed a plate and plopped the cake onto it before meandering back to my seat in the living room.

Our table of elders resumed its serious position. Affliction permeated the air as I sifted through the book that Father gave me as punishment. Sometimes, reading was my secret weapon to stop the boredom of these meetings from driving me insane.

“As I recall Dayami’s house is burned to cinders out of arson. A rare sight among brethren. Only the Un-Ne-Ga ( Americans) have such disdain to their own people. Do we have any suspects Aiyana?” Grandpa never directed questions to my father. It was like admitting he liked the guy while the rest of the tribe wanted him to burn.

Macbeth is a play written by good old William Shakespeare and his words whispered in my ear. “ My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.” My white pages full of words like a cat and mouse game paying little attention to the bloodshed arousing at the dining room table.

“We can rule out any relatives of Dayami, why would Aiyana burn her only supporter’s house down?”

“You are disillusioned to think her brother was a supporter. But still- what would we gain by housing them?” Dad’s words rattled the cobwebs inside my head.

“Son in law, remember the tale of the two wolves? It is the wolf you feed that breeds me worry upon the problems we see.”

After that, Dad and Mom retrieved me from the living room and we left Grandpas. Mom was shedding unkept tears of poison as I refer to them. Her hiccups in-between breathes familiar like the wispy wind. The air on the way home was like dancing swords between us and the three of us were silent as our feet treaded home.

The fresh scent of sage wafted into my nose as I kicked my shoes off in the living room. We have a weird superstition that walking into the house with shoes brings negative energy into the home. To be honest, we didn’t need shoes for that part. Mom in her despair waddled upstairs like a lost child.

My room a mess from the awakened dead. Chilam sat in the center of my room with her wispy angel hair falling around her face and a black devil device between her ears. I’m sickened at the sight of her. I wanted to rip the device out of her ear like the savages our people are called. But that’s not who I am…a savage.

“Chilam,” I ushered into my room throwing my book at the headboard of my bed-hopping to startle her in the process. “ Can you for one second not make my room look like a Disney princess is living in it?”

“Give me a second babe,” Chilam’s pristine sparkly fingernails set the devil device down, and coal eyes darted my way. “ I was told to make a home here, so I am.”

“That doesn’t mean tear down every single poster in my room!” I began chucking book after book at her porcelain coffee face. The great wolf would feed me poison for this.

“Papa says I will be here a while, and half the room is mine.” An aftertaste of anger shot through my lungs paining me. My stuff ripped from the walls and shed into boxes as if the room no longer belonged to me. Separation issues were about to begin here. I need comfort and the soft and luscious pink comforter was going to kill my soul. I wanted my blue fluffy comforter.

“If half of the room is mine why is my stuff packed in boxes?” I grasped a clear snow globe made of porcelain glass reminding me of my cousin’s face. My hands whipped it at the black devil device as it flipped in slow motion before shattering atop it. Shards glistened on her left hand. Pools of red dripped down her hand. A yelp echoed in my sanctuary as the door slammed open.

“Chilam?” Mom sped over to her niece coddling her like she was me. Roaring in my ears is defiance again. For all the stones tossed my way as a kid, but I bit down on my lip chewing on the sour flavor of my tongue.

“Silska tossed a snow globe at me!” Her shrill voice of innocence felt like daggers my way. The swirls in my rainbow lava lamp looked like clouds as my mother turned her eyes on me.

“How could you throw something sharp at your cousin? What are you ta-li?” ( Ta-li is the number two)

‘No mother. I am not.” I scoffed at her for calling me a toddler. My body turned in a familiar motion for the stairs and living room. Behavior such as this was not predictable. I knew all I did was make the night worse for Mom.

Smoke engulfed my lungs from a cannabis pipe kissed by Dayami’s lips. Fuzzed a little, I plopped onto the couch finding another book strategically placed on it. Someone must have heard my commotion.

“You want to go digging up debris from the fire?” Dayami asked setting up his camping comforter for the night.

“Why? It’s not like anything survived other than you and Chilam.”

“Do you want to fight me on that? I bet ten bucks that you find something worthwhile in my rubble of dirt of a home.” Dayami stopped from laying down to back up and slipped on his sandals with a parka. He waved a finger at me to follow with a flashlight in his right hand.

I followed his footsteps outside into the dark. Not a soul from the tribe would be up. Not a soul would see us. Was I walking into a trap? What did he want me to see?

Owls hooted calling out a fair warning to us. But we kept to the beaten path with a flashlight as we approached the burned cinder blocks of a house. Along the ground, bits and pieces of charred objects littered it. Gleaming light from the flashlight shined on unidentifiable objects. He dug like a dog trying to uncover a bone, flinging grime, and objects into the air.

After a minute of digging, he pulled out a frame covered in sot and dirt. Black and white with a burned frame. A picture of Chilam at three years old, and my burned silhouette. He wasn’t done digging. A flicker of the flashlight due to the batteries running out caught a glimmer in the rubble. “ Jewelry” He mumbled as the shining object lured him to it like a squirrel looking for nuts. Gold glimmered in the moonlight from a ring. Tears dripped down his dace. “ Silska,” Pausing as he dangled the ring between his fingers. “ You can have this. It is a gift before your ceremony that my wife bought you.”

I grabbed the ring wrapping it onto my left hand. It fit. Surprise, surprise, my Aunt knew my ring size. “Is there anything in the rubble you would want to salvage for Chilam?” My words stung like a rattlesnake. Why did I even care for that princess? Hell, she was boxing my belongings…heck if I wanted to bring anything back for her.

“Anything salvageable of hers is being reconstructed and paid for by paco.” His voice sounded strained when he said it. We clicked the flashlight off before our batteries ran dry. My fingers toying with my new prized possession. ( I still couldn’t see the intricate details of the item.) Hooves pounding among the dirt resounded in the darkness from Buffalo traveling along our safe fields.

Dayami whipped the front door open allowing it to slam against the side of the house alerting everyone we had even left. Naturally, a candle flickered on the living room table as the only light in the house. Dad must have known what we were up to. I could smell the sweet scent of lavender from the candle.

My ring based off the shadows of the candle was a gold ring with a hummingbird curled around a sapphire gem. I slept on the couch with that ring stuck on my left hand.

Dawn broke. Sparkles of pale light stretched across the sky bleeding against puffy white clouds. Aylen wiped her caramel hands against her jeans trying to assuage her nervousness of returning home. Being back on Cherokee land is nothing like the small and clustered state of Connecticut. Wide, expansive, and calming. Nerve-wracking.

Aylen carried three things with her for this trip; a bag full of clothes, a device to text, and one book about mental health. All these things came use to her especially with the man in the other tribe. Friendships among tribes are not unknown. But according to Paco, “ treading too close bears no allegiance.”

Strangely, home is a mystery to Aylen. American paved roads lasted up until the sign that said” Tribal land”. Once the cab met that sign Aylen was dropped off and forced to walk on the dirt roads while watching horses pass by. The good old country. Nothing like home and dust-ridden roads.

Paco’s home is the first house on the residence, and it is there to show how the tribes’ values are being exchanged for profit like so many other tribes who are buying into America still. Profit with many gains and little loss as she witnessed up North with the two Casinos.

Along the path, lights clicked off as bed-time for the tribe presented itself. Then an old burnt house smell wafted into her nose. Waving her hand over her face at the putrid scent. Arriving at home she was met with the reason for the smell. Her home and dumpster of belongings. She stomped her feet in exasperation, and defeat. Great. Just great.

Her face scrunched in disdain. Where did her family go? Dayami must have paired them with his sister whose dangling hatred for her could be seen with just a glance.

Turning on her heels she headed for Aiyana’s household with a scowl. Why couldn’t they just run to Montega’s house? At that didn’t have a woman scorned like the iron that melts metal. Her hands knocked gently on the door preparing for a battle. Words at the ready like a barrel of a handgun clicked when fully loaded.

The door swung open and her husband stood dressed cleanly, and smelling like a fresh shower.” Dayami, go grab your daughter, we are leaving my dear U-lv has done us kindness, and we should not take advantage of it any longer.”

“I’ll go wake her up. Sislka will be ecstatic to get her room full of boxes back.” He slammed the door feeling a bit guilty for siding with Aiyana for the tribal land pact.

Shee stood heaving at the hypocritical air of her tribe. Chilam danced out of the house with a pink ribbon holding her hair up. The trio left for Montegas’ home.

I ran up the stairs the second my front door closed and Chilam became a permanent absence from my room. Boxes stacked like I was packing to move lined my wall, and my bedsheets were made.

Two unusual things. A pink card rested in the center of my bed. I opened it and to my regret words in perfect cursive bleed-

“Dear Cousin,

I know you think I am packing your things like some pariah who is about to overtake your space. It can be overwhelming. But you know the old saying “ It’s better to donate than to accumulate?” I think I got most of the organization done. I’m giving you a few things that won’t clutter the room, and donating them to your closet of need. ( Haha) But the reason I was packing things is to keep it organized. There are sticky notes on where what box goes. On a side note- I am borrowing one of your dresses. I promise to bring it back in mint not burned condition.

Love Chilam

I folded the paper groaning a little. All she did is make me have more work. I flopped on my lemon-scented sheets wiping my eyes full of watery tears aside. Sleep came to me in the form of acid like dreams, and welting despair.