There used to be a jail there...

My grandmother said there was a jail there. On the beach. By the boarding school. On our reservation. My grandmother never talked about her past. I was shocked she’d uttered that much. I couldn’t say anything, for fear that she would stop talking. She didn’t say too much about the jail, just little bits and piece, but even as a child, I knew from my cultural teachings that when an elder was talking, you had to listen.

Their wisdom was sacred. It would someday be my wisdom.

My grandmother said there was a jail there. Her voice never wavered though she was soft spoken. The words were like glass and I could feel them shatter from her lips. My grandmother said the naughty kids were placed in the jail until high tide. It was less like a jail and more like a holding cell. Enough room for one or two kids, but my gut instinct told me more could be shoved in there if needed.

I wondered how she knew about that.

My grandmother said there was a jail there. For children. Her family had lived near the old boarding school. She said there were many orchards there. Her eyes were wistful. My grandmother wore so many masks but her eyes gave everything away. Things had not been kind for her, nor had they been kind to her parents. She mustered up enough strength to tell me about this jail. It might be the only thing she ever gave me.

They were just kids… She was just a kid…

My grandmother said there was a jail there. When the tides came in, any kid in that little cell almost drowned. Sometimes the kids were forgotten. They were left in there without food or water. What torture! My grandmother would say this with a face devoid of emotion. She never said how she knew. I was only a kid when she told me this, not old enough to question my elders, but old enough to know that she was probably around my age when she found out about the jail, however she did. I wondered if I had been in her shoes, would I have talk about the jail with so stoic a face.

She could see that I could see her, so she smiled.

My grandmother said there was a jail there. But that was a long time ago. It happened a long time ago. It’s not the same as it used to be when she was a little girl. That’s all I needed to know. My grandmother looked out the window. I could see something brewing within her. Maybe it was pain. I was a young kid at the time; I didn’t know how to comfort my grandmother against her traumas because I didn’t know how to comfort myself against my own. I think about this conversation all the time, as we approach the tenth anniversary of my grandmother’s death. My grandmother was such a delicate creature, but she was made of stone and nothing could topple her. I have so much more questions for her now. I have so much more love to give her. I want to tell her that I get it now. I want to tell her that I am ready to receive her teachings. I want to tell her that we can heal together. I miss her words, her laughter, her voice. I could never forget these things, but someday I might. Right now, I hold her memory in my heart. That is all I have left from her. But I know…

There used to be a jail there…