Two thousand, three hundred and six

The world ended when the phone went straight to voicemail.

(It was a Sunday.)

Mia Black Earth set the phone on the kitchen counter and stared at it for a moment. She paced the kitchen, alternating between pulling at her bottom lip and chewing on it.

“Her phone’s probably just dead,” she muttered. Even as she spoke the words, she knew they weren’t true.

Mia grabbed her phone again, swiping through her contacts. “Hey Rita, did you see Misty this morning? Or have you heard from her?

“Oh,” Mia felt her heart sink. “I called just now and her phone is off. You and I both know that has never happened, not even when she got a wisdom tooth pulled.” Mia smiled faintly at the memory, a dental assistant yelling in the background at Misty to get off the phone.

“What’s that?” Mia snapped back to the present. “Oh yeah; she and I left the bar together, but right as we were almost back by my place she realized she lost her wallet. I told her I’d go back to the bar with her to look but-” Mia leaned on the counter, pressing her free hand into her face. “But she said it was fine, that she’d walk the two minutes by herself.

“No, I didn’t see her after that. I waited up another 10 minutes, then I got a picture text from her; she was having another drink with these two guys. She said she was going to stay out a while longer. I didn’t think anything of it, I mean, it’s Piney, but I don’t know, Rita.” Mia sighed. “I just don’t have a good feeling about any of this. Here, I’ll send the photo to you, maybe you know one of those guys?”

Mia switched to speakerphone and opened the photo. Within the walls of the iPhone a petite woman with brown hair pulled back was beaming, her thumb tugging at a tiny heart-shaped locket hanging around her neck, out of habit. Two white men with brown hair stood to her right, smiling, holding three shots between them. Mia stared a moment longer, waiting for the photo to send.

“You got it? D’you recognize them?

Mia closed her eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t either.

“OK thanks Rita. Yeah I’ll keep you posted, you do the same. Bye.”

Mia set the phone down and fought back a sob. She never knew this to happen to anyone personally, but she heard the stories. She knew the ending.

“You can’t give up yet,” she told herself. But still, she knew.

***

Mia threw on a pair of boots and looked up a number. She pulled on a denim jacket, balancing her phone on her shoulder. “Hi, yes I’d like to report a missing- shit,” she swore, as a voice droned on through the phone We can’t take your call. Please leave your name and number…

Mia scrolled around for another number, then left the house and started walking: “Hi, yes I need to report a missing person.”

She kicked a rock, watching it bounce. “I’m just outside the Cheyenne reservation.

“What do you mean it’s not your jurisdiction? I just told you I’m outside the rez.

“Yes, I know the BIA is closed on Sunday.” She cursed internally. “But again, this happened outside, which is why I’m calling you. Don’t you need me to make a statement or something?”

She hung up before the officer had time to finish his excuses and his yawn. She marched on toward the bar, now in her line of sight.

Mia opened the creaky wooden door, unfazed to find it open on a Sunday morning, with several patrons already scattered across the bar and at the slot machines. She flagged down the bartender and pulled out her phone. “Hi, have you seen this girl? Her name’s Misty, we were both here last night.”

The bartender glanced at the photo, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“C’mon, please take a closer look. What about these guys?”

He sighed and looked again. “I don’t know. It was busy.”

“Look,” Mia took a deep breath to steady herself. “Her name is Misty Clearwater, she’s my best friend. I haven’t heard from her and this is the last known place she was at.”

The bartender stared blankly. “I don’t know what to tell you. Nothing bad happened here, that’s all I know.” He turned and started walking toward the back room. “I gotta get back to work.”

“But-”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” he called over his shoulder.

Mia’s shoulders sagged. She glanced around the bar, scanning for familiar faces. Seeing none, her eyes landed on a broken chair, collecting dust in a corner. She felt weirdly sentimental about something so brazenly overlooked.

Her thoughts were severed when the bar door burst open. Mia felt hopeful for a moment, but it was just a delivery guy, clipboard in hand. She scanned the bar once more before leaving.

Mia felt the door slam behind her and gazed out at the open fields, the hills of grass, the big sky. She fought back tears, refusing to let them fall just yet.

I have to go to the station, Mia concluded. It was the only place open on a Sunday that would (that should) take a statement. She began steeling herself up on the walk back home, determined to make officers understand that this wasn’t ordinary, Misty wasn’t a runaway, she would never-

A black dot across the road caught Mia’s eye.

Curious, she crossed over. When she got to the edge of the road, she trembled. It was a wallet.

Shaking, she opened it. Her fear was quickly replaced by puzzlement. There was no ID, no debit or credit card, nothing to indicate whose wallet this was. Did Misty have a black wallet? Mia wracked her brain to remember.

The card inserts were loose, stretched. These were full at some point, Mia observed. She carefully peeled through each remaining item. A faded punch card to a sandwich store in Billings. A Visa gift card, no name. A bright orange card made Mia’s heart jump with recognition—it was for a nearby library.

She flipped it over to find the Sharpie signature she was looking for and gasped. The name was completely faded except for two spots: a capital M at the very beginning—one that Mia had seen on 15 years of receipts and birthday cards—and a lowercase R at the end.

Mia rummaged through the remaining contents and let out a small shriek. She carefully pulled out the cause of her shock: a Cheyenne Rodeo ticket stub, July 9th, 2018.

Mia grinned, then caught herself, horrified. She started shaking, then tried to fight a sudden wave of nausea. She bent over and dry heaved.

Mia slowly stood back up, breathing deep until the shaking subsided. She started walking, then began jogging home, wallet in hand. She ran inside her home, grabbed her car keys, and sped off to the station.

***

The Piney police department looked more like a small accountant’s office than it did a police station. There were only three desks that Mia could see, one of which was occupied by a male officer. She walked up to his desk.

“Excuse me,” she said. The officer turned toward her and looked her up and down. He turned back to his papers. “Bureau of Indian Affairs can help you.”

Mia’s blood boiled. Through gritted teeth, she said, “I am here to report a missing person. This person went missing off-rez. I wouldn’t be here if it had happened elsewhere.”

The officer sighed. “Listen, lady; nearly all ‘missing persons,’” he said using air quotes, “are actually runaways. Whoever you think went missing is probably living it up in Bozeman or didn’t tell you they were moving.”

Mia saw red and tried to steady herself. “I promise you that’s not true. My best friend is missing, her phone is off, I just saw her last night—I need to make a statement.”

“We’d be happy to help,” a voice rang out across the hall.

A man with a cowboy hat and strong jawline walked over. He removed his cowboy hat, revealing a thick head of silver hair. Who is this, Richard Gere? Mia thought, as the man said, “Ma’am, I’m Deputy George Abbott, though Officer Abbott will do just fine. I see you’ve already met Officer Fitz.” Mia nodded.

Officer Abbott returned the nod. “Let’s all take a seat,” he said, shooting a disapproving glance at Officer Fitz.

Mia felt a wave of relief as he took out a pad of paper and pencil. “Tell us what happened,” said Officer Abbott.

***

The sun was starting to set. Mia was finishing up, black wallet in hand.

“So on top of the library card, there’s this rodeo ticket from July 9th, 2018, see. I remember the date because it’s my birthday. I’m sure this is her wallet, and again it was right outside of the bar.”

Officer Fitz had a puzzled look on his face. “Can I see the photo of the guys again?”

Mia handed him the phone. He squinted, then his eyes bulged. “George, didn’t we see these guys last night?”

Mia’s jaw dropped. “What?!”

“Fitz,” Officer Abbott warned.

“Yeah,” he said excitedly. “We saw a car swerving and pulled them over, Officer Abbott here told me to stay in the car but I saw them in the rearview, I wasn’t even supposed to be on-”

“Fitz, shut your fucking mouth.” Officer Abbott’s voice barely raised a decibel, but the resounding silence was almost terrifying.

Officer Abbott responded more gently, seeing the concerned look on Mia’s face. “I apologize for the language, Ms. Black Earth. We’ve uh, we’ve had some… issues in the past in terms of jeopardizing other cases, and we don’t want to make the same mistakes again, do we?” He shot a look at Officer Fitz, who was now looking downward, face turned red.

Officer Abbott sighed, then continued. “I believe you, Ms. Black Earth. I know that issues like this for uh,” he cleared his throat, “Native women haven’t always been taken seriously in the past. But I assure you we will do everything we can to find Misty.”

Misty felt her shoulders drop. Her eyes welled up, and felt like she could breathe for the first time all day. At last, someone else was here to help. It wasn’t just her.

The tears started flowing as they all stood up. Mia could barely get out a “thank you,” as she walked out the door. “We’ll call you as soon as we find something,” Officer Abbott promised. “For now, get some rest. You’ve done all you can.”

She didn’t trust him fully. She knew it was never that easy. The pains at which it took for anyone to care about Indigenous women were almost as damaging as the trauma they experienced. Her people had already lived through an apocalypse. No one cares about you in a dystopia, lest the people who caused it.

But she sat in her car, crying, mourning, and yet surprised to feel hope’s faint glimmer. Misty might still be out there, Mia thought.

Back at the station, Officer Abbott watched as Mia put her head on the steering wheel for a moment, then turned the ignition and drove off. He stayed standing, looking out the window, then put his hands in his pocket. His left hand felt around for something until he found it. Between his thumb and index finger, he slowly brushed aside a chain and rubbed a small metal heart.

***

As of 2020, it is estimated that at least 2,306 Indigenous women in the U.S. are missing.