All Over Again

| Chapter Three |

"Uncle Rickey?" Ruth hollered into the small house, eyes sweeping over the worn-out furniture and running TV with Rez Dogs playing in the background. "Katimma chia?"

Uncle Rickey, having been nowhere in sight, yelled that he was in the kitchen and prompted her to come inside. Having missed most of her growing up, he loved whenever his great niece took the time to visit a few times a month. Jana and Terry were a bonus whenever they'd come with her to visit, but his Honey-Bee was different, as he loved to remind her. Ruth was the child of his closest nephew, a reminder of his lost brother; Ruth's grandfather. So imagine his delight when Ruth decided to move back to Oklahoma for a few years.

When Ruth rounded the corner of the kitchen, she should have suspected the long hug that awaited her. Muscular arms wrapped tightly around her body the instant her foot stepped into the kitchen as he lifted her into the air. She laughed out loud and squeezed him just as tightly back.

"Well, if it isn't my Honey-Bee," Uncle Rickey boasted, setting her back on her feet. He ran a hand over the top of her curls and messed it up, earning a loaded glare in return.

"Hey!" Ruth protested, swatting his hand away. She sturdily propped herself up on the counter next to his stove so her legs dangled. "My hair is finally getting used to the humidity!"

He chuckled. "It looks fine. Now where the hell have ya been? You flew in this morning, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I've just been busy running around. Got a Frito pie, drove around to find a Whataburger, and then ran to get some stuff for the apartment. The usual."

"You got a Frito pie? And you didn't offer your Uncle Rickey one?" he scoffed, clutching his chest.

Ruth smiled, guilty. "Sorry, Uncle. I got you next time?"

"I'm getting old, Honey-Bee. I can't keep feeding myself."

"Oh, stop. You aren't getting old, you're only like . . . sixty?"

"Only like sixty," he mocked, changing his pitch to a higher tone with a terrible impersonation of her. "Vlla tek, sixty is old."

"Sixty is not old," Ruth said, laughing.

"Point is, you need to think about your starving Uncle Rickey when you're out buying those damn Frito pies. Ome?"

"Ome." Okay.

"Good. Now shut up and try my Tanchi Labona."

Tanchi Labona was a traditional dish that had been in their family as long as NDN, frybread tacos have. Mixed into a delicious concoction of pearl hominy corn and pork backbone that brought a delightful warmth to anyone's bellies, she absolutely adored it. Uncle Rickey made enough of it to feed everyone within a five-mile radius of them, but being that he lived with six other people — his wife, eldest daughter, and her three kids, it never lasted for very long.

He scooped the corn into a small wooden bowl for Ruth and she grabbed it out of his hands, her eyes alight with a childlike eagerness. She shoved a bite of the Tanchi Labona into her mouth and melted at the bursting flavor on her tongue. She removed one of her hands to give him a big thumbs up, which he chuckled at, and then ate every bite until there was nothing but the residue of seasoning at the base. Uncle Rickey most certainly did not spoil his favorite nieces; there was no way. None whatsoever.

"You're the only person I know who outdoes the same meal every single time you cook it," Ruth teased, hopping off the counter to go to the sink. She grabbed a sponge, poured some cheap soap on the side that didn't feel like sandpaper, and washed her dish thoroughly.

"Glad you like it," Uncle Rickey said, pleased.

For the next hour, the two of them debated about nothing and talked until the sun set into globs of cotton candy across the orange sky. Her great Auntie Carolyne and their daughter, Rosalyn, were going to be there soon with her kids and as much as Ruth wanted to see them, she knew she had to get going. Jana and Terry were waiting on her, and she knew she couldn't keep them waiting any longer.