6. Beautifully broken
Downtown
It's true. Your DNA is the direct link between you and your ancestors. For some of us that choose to "not go on" we get the privilege of watching you in high definition. We can't touch you. We can't talk to you or even make ourselves known. It's impossible but the cells that once made us up linger and toil in your veins. The ancestral genome connection is our opportunity to be the invisible puppet masters guiding you and giving you that unrecognizable warning signs, "tread softly". Most of you do not heed our apparitions and you fall, decompose, ending your linear tangible assets.
"I have no home." Liberty Rose cries.
Sitting on the cold concrete steps outside of Carnegie Hall the young woman weeps. She fears looking around, too scared to make eye contact with anyone. She thinks she's sat there for hours but it was only moments in the freezing rain -- making her muscles tight and angry, morbidly stiff. She resists the pink streaks breaking the black sky, snapping her eyes closed she bows her head. She can't take any more. Losing him. Losing auntie. Then the worst punch line of her life was losing her Gran. This is it she believes. This is her life that she was meant for. Slowly she unzips her coat and pulls out her satchel. Sonny's man purse. Inside it sits her last hope -- a bottle. Invisible fists pound her hard causing her face to grimace. So young she is, tragedy bears its witness all over her caramel skin stamping fine lines between her eyes. We lunge towards her, sister and I. "Shield her" sister screams.
"Hey. Jump in. We're going to a party. Come with." He yells at my niece all sly with sweet illusions.
Liberty lifts her head up peering through her messy crown. Slowly her fingers crack the seal. The travel size tequila bottle squeals with delight. She always swore she would never drink a drop of alcohol. She hated her step-father's drinking ways so much she wanted the opposite kind of life. My sister is on her knees begging her grandchild to listen. Liberty unscrews the lid off the threaded bottle and stands up. The streets are quiet and lonely. No one is there to witness what is about to happen. No one to stop this young girl from making the biggest mistake of her life. She steps forward passing through my sister. Liberty stops and closes her eyes. She remembers the scent of her granny's sweater...a mist of freshly laundered clothes drying outside on a clothesline. Pain reminds her that is in the past and she lifts the bottle to her sweet butterfly lips. "No child." I stand beside her and whisper in her ear. She takes her first sip. Then he appears. My husband. He is wearing the traditional Coast Salish headdress and holds a deer skin hand drum. His eyes are on Liberty too. Kneeling beside my sister, holding her up, never giving up on her is my son. Sonny too is here to support his cousin. Holding no drum he pounds his chest to the beat of his father's drumming.
"Hurry up. Get in. We got more of that stuff." He sneers lighting a cigarette smiling at our girl.
Together we call out to her spirit. We tell her she is loved. We sing to her she is cherished. We pray to Creator and ask for her release.
She takes swift steps to the side walk. She notices the traffic light turns green. Hastings Street is a scary place. She remembers her cousin. Liberty throws the bottle of booze to the pavement. It doesn't shatter. She wraps her arms around herself tightly. My sister embraces Liberty comforting her core. We run to the idling car and scream. "Leave her alone." Husband jumps in the car causing the driver to react by instinct, his body chilled, and hair on his arms stand straight up. The passenger continues to yell at our girl "get in".
"GO AWAY!" Liberty Rose screams over and over again.
"BITCH. Don't want no stink squaw anyways." Passenger yells as the driver pulls out back onto the proper lane.
"Hey. You that girl looking around for your family, eh? Still here. Living here now?" The familiar native woman asks our girl.
"UM. Yeah. Do I know you?" Liberty ponders.
"Yup. I helped you and your elders look around for the lost boy. I found that cell phone. I found that purse. Shit. You look like crap."
"Oh." Liberty shivers.
Looking around the little native woman pulls out a cigarette from her black garbage bag. She looks right at us and nods her head. She lifts the tobacco up in the air and turns her body acknowledging the four directions. She gives thanks to Creator for her friend, Liberty. She lies the tobacco offering down into a crack in the pavement. She smiles. Behind her roars the powerful sunrise...giving our girl some more hope. She walks to our girl and takes her hand between hers and rubs it warm. She gently kisses our girls little hand. "You know. You've got those powerful grannies fighting for you, eh?"
"Really?"
"There are two handsome chiefs with them too. They be fighting for you too. You all look alike. So I am not messing with those fucking grannies. You come stay with us at the Women's Center."
"OK."
"Oh. My name is Joyce. Glad to be your friend, lil sister."
#MMIW #MMIM #MMICHILDREN
YOU ARE READING
Where The Wild Strawberries Once Grew
Short StoryBook two of the DIARY OF THE WILD FLOWER series.
