Debra

Her days walking in the path of life were many but Debra was still not considered an elder by her community. Did she have to wear a jamboree of white hair? Did she have to walk with a cane or be bent in some informal position? What would it take for her to reach elder status? She remembered her friend Cynthia who looked young all her life because of her black curly hair. Only in the last five years of Cynthia's life did she start to show white hair. Cynthia was full blood Cherokee.

Debra remembered the time when she and Cynthia attended a powwow and caught the bus. The busdriver asked them to move to the back to make room for these other elders walking toward the stop. All white headed. All smiles and giggles. Debra didn’t feel they were old, just full of white hair. But even so, the bus driver asked Debra and Cynthia to move to the back. When the elders got in, they didn’t have the raspy elder tones but light and jovial party accents. Debra would swear they were middle aged like her.

Never would Debra pretend to be an elder. She waited for time to dictate when she became the sign post for the next generation. Though here she was at one of the highest positions in her community. A judge and just what did that mean?

Valentine, her daughter, was the split image of Debra. Valentine even wanted to grow her hair and in friendly competition grew her hair past Debra’s mid back length hair that was becoming coarse. More vitamins? Debra took simple supplements but her hair changed texture that she took in stride. Hair for Native people was part of the culture and some Natives attached a spiritual significance. Debra was removed from attaching any spiritual significance but just loved having long hair. It looked and felt nice to her. It was a part of her and obviously a part of her identity.

One day when Valentine was busy baking bread, Debra was in Valentine's bedroom tidying up. Debra never snooped through Val's closet but today seeing her clothes on the floor prompted Debra to open both doors. A quick look around and she swore she saw a flash of light as if something was trying to get her attention. Don't bother, she thought. I have to keep the girl’s trust, she thought. She backed out of the closet. Better for Val to come and tell her if there was anything she wanted to talk about. Debra refused to barge in and wield a bat in her face out of suspicion. Debra knew what that was like. She did it many times to her younger sister when they were growing up. Stay out of my closet, brat!

It was a crisp morning and dew was forming on the lawn. A fiery red pickup was parked in the driveway. The neighbors curtain was drawn open, every now and then Mrs. Fairhorse would walk past. Peace. Debra knew what peace felt like and she knew turmoil. She remembered seeing women’s liberation marches on TV. It was inspiring. It was a time of women speaking out for their rights and their right to choose. Party time. Debra’s parents didn’t have an opinion but kept their own pace which was a mix between traditional roles of men and women. Though they allowing modern society to come in through the television. They had their own focus and let Debra see the world through two different lenses. Head in the clouds. Pivots of change coming. Little did they know how that could affect their little girl. Life was unchangeable in their house. Debra shed very little tears growing up and there were plenty of laughs. But what happened to her sense of humor?

Trick or treat was a time when the extended family got together. They barely had to watch the kids playing in the street because it was safe. There were no religious overtones, not like Debra recognized now. She didn’t celebrate holidays after learning the roots of where holiday's came from. It always puzzled Debra when she was growing up and she heard foreign people label America as ungodly or as the little Satan. But now that Debra was able to do her own research and she had very worldly friends who sent her articles through email, Debra desired to scrub herself of demonic holidays. Monsters and ghouls. Candy. Spirits. Murders. Innocence lost. These were not the kinds of things that peppered her memory but these issues burned bright in her heart now.

She never felt it before, the urge to pray at midnight. It wasn’t something she was trained to do but this year, as a new judge, as a female, as a mother; she felt it was now her duty to incorporate prayers to the four corners of the earth. For the unborn, the generations to come through the womb of women. She prayed that she would not be drunk with power. She prayed against the idea of over-population. She acknowledged that segregation was alive and well on the reservation. Sometimes Debra wondered if the reservation served as experiments for the government. She prayed for strength to fight. She mourned internally that the value of the human being was at an all time low.

Wool over eyes.

Heads in clouds.

Eyes closed and history written before hand.

Hesitate.