Wild, Animal Love

By Erika T. Wurth

“We’re like twins. I mean, I think of us as twins,” Justine said, staring at me earnestly, her beer in hand. “Don’t you think?”

“Sure,” I said, and she looked disappointed.

Justine looked over at the jukebox, and sighed heavily.

“I pictured all of this in my head. That I’d turn on the right music and we’d talk about things, and smoke.” I stared over at her and smiled, tightly. She grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes, “I know you don’t like it when people try to get you to drink, but, I really really need you to have another beer with me tonight, OK Julia?”

“OK,” I said.

“I’ll pay!” she said brightly, and I said no and handed her a couple of dollars, and she said, “No really, I want to pay, really!”

“OK, but I have to feed you and John when we get home,” I said.

“Sure!” she said and I watched her move into the crowd, her body restless and hungry, her hair pouring down her back in one smooth black motion.

At the beginning of the year, I’d started to go to the Indian Center. That’s where I’d met Justine. I’d heard that only Navajos went to the Center and that I’d be ostracized. I was a mixed up, fucked up breed from a small town. I didn’t speak any Native languages. I wasn’t from a rez. And even though I did know a lot of my extended family, I had been raised in a foster home with a bunch of freaks, weirdos and perverts. My friends in high school had been other fucked up breeds and Mexicans, most of who either lived in the trailers outside of town or like me, in large, run-down houses that smelled like baby diapers and old rotten food, the dishes piled up to the ceiling. I had had to learn the hard way my first year of college that my permed, frosted, large-banged hairstyle was no longer something that most people wore anymore. Three thin, beautiful white girls had passed me in the dorm hallway my second week of school and yelled, “Nice hair!” and laughed hysterically. As I raised my hand to my hair, I remembered the night my senior year of high school my friend Treena and I had done our hair together, how we had laughed, the bottles in our hands, Pepsis resting on the bathroom sink, gloves lying on the toilet. I remembered looking in the mirror and thinking, Beautiful, I look so beautiful, my image floating ethereally in front of me. I had long ago rid myself of my high school hair style, the stylist in town looking down at me and shaking her head, her scissors in one hand, asking me how a beautiful girl like me had ended up with hair like mine. I had smiled and looked down at the tile and said, “Just fix it.”

 

The first time I went to the Center I was twenty-one. It was my senior year of college. I turned left, into the doorway that I’d been shown my first year and never passed through. There was a long bank of computers on the wall and a circle of chairs with about ten people in all, either in the chairs or milling around at computers or getting some food from a fold-out table that was set further back into the room. I sat down.

“Hey.” I looked to my left at the boy sitting beside me. He was pretty. Mixed looking with greenish eyes and long hair. Thin. I smiled.

A girl to his left, who looked like she was probably his sister, said, “OK, guys let’s try to get started.” People got their plates and sat down.

“OK, well, welcome to the Native American Center. My name’s Elyse and this is my brother, Keokuk. And we’re Meskwaki, from Iowa. I’m like, the Chair and he’s the co-Chair. He was the chair last year but he’s graduating, so I’m taking over.” Keokuk looked over at her and gave her a funny look.

“Whatever!” she said,

“Cheap,” he said.

She slapped him gently and giggled. Her cell phone rang to the tone of Biggie’s Hypnotize. She picked up. Several people rolled their eyes but her brother looked impassively on, checking his cell phone for messages and then texting for a few minutes while his sister completed her conversation.

“Heyyyyy Brad…”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, totally.”

“Out of control!”

“He said what?”

“Out of control!”

“OK, well, peace out,” she said, and hung up.

“So, anyways, welcome to the Indian Center. There’s gonna be a lot of stuff going on this year, the Powwow of course and lots of other stuff. We’ll have some cool speakers and the Intertribal newspaper is still looking for people. So, like, if you’re into that you should sign up.” A girl to her right cleared her throat noisily.

“Oh, yeah, this is Justine. She’s in her last year here and she’s like, helping me.”

I looked over at Justine. She was beautiful. Almost unnaturally beautiful, her long, black slanted eyes swimming with intelligence.

She looked over at Elyse and said, “I’ll be coordinating a lot of the events. But, why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves?” She looked in my direction and smiled. I smiled back. For some reason, she reminded me of my friends from back home.

“I’ll start,” she said, and laughed loudly. “Sooo, I’m from Canada? I’m Metis and I’m majoring in Anthropology.”

As people went around, it turned out that most were Navajo, with their fantastically beautiful broad faces and purply brown lips. There were however, two Utes, a handful of folks from Oklahoma – a couple of them being Chickasaw/Choctaw mixes like me, an Osage from Denver, an Apache from Tucson and a number of people of multiple tribes. Some of them introduced themselves in their languages, and for the first time in my life I was sad I hadn’t bothered to listen to all of the Indian buzzing around me growing up.

There was talk about the events for the coming year and all of it seemed like it might be fun. What had stopped me from coming to the Center? I remembered my friend Margaritte from back home had sent me a postcard featuring a hilariously romanticized Indian guy with long, flowing hair and a ripped body. The card read, “May your spirit flow through nature like an eagle in the sky.” Inside, Margaritte had written, “Haven’t heard from you. Call me. And go to the Indian Center. I’ve heard he lives there.” I had laughed and then felt guilty. I liked Margaritte but I hadn’t ever written her. I didn’t keep in contact with people.

As things were wrapping up, Elyse took another call, to the obvious annoyance of the entire group, to which she was either oblivious or uncaring. During that call I learned that she and Justine were going to meet with someone at Solids at 7:00.

“That Chris?” Her brother Keokuk asked.

“Yeah… if only he were Meskwaki,” she said.

“So?” he said.

She sighed deeply. “That’s easy for you to say, Keokuk. For you it doesn’t matter.” She looked out at the rest of us and said, “I don’t remember what I was saying. Do you, Justine?”

Justine looked at Elyse with obvious impatience. “You were asking everybody if they had anything to announce.”

“Oh, yeah. So like, anything?” People looked around at each other and then shrugged.

“Well, OK, that’s it then,” Elyse said, her cell ringing again. I got up to go and looked over at Justine. I’d try to start a conversation with her next time.