deepconnections - Tumblr blog

deepconnections · 4 years ago

Text

The Bonds We Tie

My name is Citlali (Seet-laa-lee). It means star. My parents told me the stars were bright and plentiful the night I was born on the reservation. I am surrounded by constant love and compassion. My father worked at the local power plant after graduating high school. He learned all about engineering from his grandfather. Eventually, my dad became the leading manager. My mom is a skilled medicine woman. Almost everyone on the reservation visits her before seeking a traditional western doctor. She learned from the best our tribe has to offer, people far and wide seek her help. Thanks to them, nothing is ever broken on the reservation, and no one is ever sick.

For middle school, I attend Saint Covington’s private school. I am not thrilled about leaving school on the reservation. I know my parents work hard to send all my siblings to a good school. I still receive traditional Navajo lessons weekly, and everyone on the res speaks Diné, our traditional language. Even when kids are mean to me in school, I know I will come home to my loving family.

“Welcome home, Citlali. How was school today?” my mother asks in Diné.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know what will cheer you up. Aunty Mary is six months pregnant now, and I am mixing her vitamins and herbs for the month. It’s a lot of work. After you take a shower, finish your homework, and have one of your brothers or sisters check it, you can help me out and tell me all about your day,” She says with a smile.

“Okay! Don’t finish without me,” I yell as I excitedly run down the hall.

I know I couldn’t just rush through my shower or homework. My siblings would snitch and tell mommy. Even if they didn’t, mommy would smell me and check my work. I knew it was better to do it right the first time or never get to help.

This is the best part of my day with my family in the kitchen venting about school. Sometimes I feel out of place because most students and teachers don’t look anything like me. I am not sure I will be able to make any friends. It has been two months, and I still don’t really talk to anyone.

My older brother ruffles my hair and reassures me that all my siblings struggled at first to adjust.

“It is never easy meeting new people. Especially when those stuck up preppy kids have known each other since birth. But don’t let that keep you from being open and kind.”

My family always gives me the best advice to make me feel better. As we finished packaging all of aunty Mary’s herb and vitamins. Daddy came home and helped us take it to her house. After, we set dinner on the table and ate. My siblings went to their rooms to do homework, talk to their friends, or sleep. Daddy and my older sisters set out to the living room to work on their science fair projects. Leaving mommy and me at the table. I got up with my plate heading toward the sink.

“Citlali do you know a girl in your class named Kimona?” she asks. Looking through her orders to deliver and clients for tomorrow.

I take a seat back at the table. “Yes.”

“Okay she has an appointment tomorrow. Is she a nice girl?”

I take a moment to think. Kimona is a quiet girl in my class. I would consider her one of the nice kids.

“Yeah I guess so.”

“Okay. Do you want to come with me on my runs tomorrow?”

“Yes, but why did you ask me about her?”

“Sometimes kids are mean, and I don’t want to put you in an awkward position. Who knows you two may become friends.”

Saturday Morning, I woke up to the smell of Canadian Bacon, kale, and eggs. I made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a shower. After I got dressed in my overall jean dress and red polka dots sweater, I walked into the kitchen to eat breakfast. Packing our hot lavender tea for the road, mommy and I left a sleeping house. Together we dropped off packages of herbs, drinks, creams, and various concoctions to people all around town. Our final stop before visiting her last client of the day, Kimona, was the post office to mail off the packages to be delivered out of state and internationally.

We drove through the suburbs, where all the houses looked the same. I could understand why anyone would live in a house like this by choice. Then mommy pulled into the driveway of a yellow honey house with a flag waving in the wind that I couldn’t recognize. My mom told me to ring the doorbell while she gathered her bags. I approached the door, and a handsome black man answered. He smiled at me, and the smell of good food from the house wafted outside.

“Hello little one. Are you the medicine woman?” he asks, clearly joking.

I couldn’t help but smile back. He had a melodic accent and a beautiful smile.

“No sir. My mom is getting her bags,” I reply with a giggle.

My mom walked up behind me and shook his hands. We walked into a beautiful home filled with green plants, delicious smelling food cooking, and music playing with a similar accent to what he speaks.

“Mr. Fletcher good afternoon. I see you have met my Citlali. Is your daughter ready to meet with me?”

“Yes, ma’am I brought her down. She is resting on the couch waiting for you. I just want to say how glad we are to have you here. None of these yankees know a thing about natural healing. They wanted to put her on birth control! She is only twelve!”

“Yes, your wife told me how upset you all were. I am more than happy to help. I am a big advocate for natural medicine being a better substitution for our health and over all wellbeing.”

Mrs. Fletcher was in the kitchen, stirring a pot. She looked stunning like an adult version of Kimona. She spoke in the same accent as Mr. Fletcher too. Kimona laid on the couch with a compress on her stomach and forehead. Her eyes were closed, and an empty bucket was near her on the floor. I sat on the couch and watched my mom work her magic.

“Alright Kimona I am Willow and today I am going to give you some drops and teach you about how much to take when you are menstruating. I also have them in loose leaf form for you to take as a tea or add to your water. I know you are familiar with chaste berry. Your parents told me you love to garden so I brought you some seeds to grow your own. I wrote down instructions on how much to take and when on days leading up to, during, and after your cycle. Your mom can get in touch with me too if you need it. Do you have any questions?”

“No ma’am. Thank you for coming over and bringing plants.”

“We ran out of all the herbs we brought from home,” Mrs. Fletcher comments from the kitchen.

My mom gave Kimona half a milliliter of liquid herbs of thistle, lavender, and chaste berry to help with her period symptoms and balance her hormones. After she was done and resting, I followed the adults into the garden in the backyard. It was massive like they had every plant in the world. My mom asked me to help them pick out what we wanted to buy to take home. After picking the fruits, vegetables, and plants to take back, the fletchers went to wash and pack up the produce. My mom went to sit down in a rocking chair and rest before the drive home. I walk inside and sit near Kimona.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, way better. Your mom is good. Do you want to see my bunny?”

“Yeah!”

She grabs my hand, and we take off our shoes before going upstairs to her room. It has sky blue walls, brown wood dressers, a bed with pink floral sheets, and covered in stuffed animals. The corner on her desk by the window is all kinds of cactus and succulent plants with pictures of her family and other people wearing or waving a flag like the one outside. On the other side of the room was an animal bed that looks like a tiny house. It was cute. Inside the house, she picked up her black bunny and sat down on the floor.

“His name is Shrek. Do you want to sit down and hold him?”

“Yes please!”

I put him on my lap and stroked his soft fur.

“Are you ready for fall break?”

“Yeah. I am going to finish the homework packet the first day. What about you?” I ask

“My family is going to volunteer at a food bank and homeless shelter in the city a couple of days. I am going to bake cinnamon rolls to sell in front of the state capitol to raise money for the disadvantaged kids in my country.”

“What country is your family from?”

“We are Jamaican, or my family is, but I was born here so I call myself a Jamerican.”

She gets up to play music on the radio. I put the bunny on the bed since he fell asleep.

I walk around her room, looking at her décor. On her bed, one of her dolls is wearing a green, black, and yellow dress and hat, and on the walls are wood carvings of animals and trees. By her pink radio are several old looking records and a dusty record player in the corner. “That is really cool. I am Native American. We live on the reservation outside of town and do not celebrate thanksgiving. Does this record player work?”

“It is really old needs a tune up or something my parents are trying to find a specialist. My family doesn’t celebrate thanksgiving either. My mom taught me about the abuse and colonization of indigenous people just like slaves. Instead during the holidays, we try to volunteer whenever we get the chance. I like to help others here and in Jamaica. You should volunteer with us during the break.”

“That would be really fun. Do you have any tools around the house? My dad is a mechanic and shows us how to fix things like this.”

“Wow, do you really think you can fix it?”

“Well my dad would probably do a way better job than me. I can let him take a look at it for you.”

“That would be amazing! Thank you Citilali.”

That evening, I told my family all about Kimona, her bunny, and Jamaica. During dinner, I asked if it was okay to volunteer with the Fletchers during the break. My parents thought it was a good idea. My siblings wanted to help too. Me and my dad worked on restoring Kimona’s record player. When we went over her house to return it, she was so happy. We spent the day listening to old reggae and jazz records of Bob Marley, Buju Banton, Ella Fitzgerald, and many more greats.

During the fall break, my family and I volunteered at the food bank with Kimona. I also baked blueberry cornmeal pancakes to sell raising money for the preservation and protection of indigenous land and resources. Together Kimona and I were successful in selling all 100 of our baked goods in one day. Each donating $150 to charities. I was happy to go back to school and see Kimona. She is my first friend at Saint Covington.

I continued to attend Saint Covington in high school. Eventually, by then, I had adjusted well. I joined the art club, photography club, yearbook, and literary magazine. Whether it is cooking, sketching, painting, or sculpting, I use my hands to create beautiful things. I found ways to incorporate who I am in my art by using my experiences, symbolism, and other traditional elements. I still love to come home, especially on stressful days, to my language, and helping around the reservation in my free time. I never got used to the school food, I learned how to make Navajo dishes. I got so good my friends loved days I brought dishes for everyone.

“Damn Citlali, this is so delicious,” my friends say.

“Thank you.”

Kimona usually studies during lunch. As she frustratedly looked over her notes for a quiz she would pass flawlessly, I heard her stomach rumble.

“Mona you need to eat before lunch is over.”

“Mhmm I know. I just want to make sure I am ready.”

“You are going to do fine.”

“If you don’t mind, can feed me?”

I felt my cheeks warm, and my heart pound loudly, I became a little lightheaded. No one else at the table seems to notice my reaction or care what she said. They were too occupied in studying or talking. I picked up a fried plantain with her fork, and without looking at me, she instinctively opened her mouth.

“Thank you, you are the best! Don’t forget your pancakes please.”

I fed her while she studied until the end of lunch.

During art class, Kimona and I always sit near one another. It is one of the few classes we have together. When I sit next to her, I like to count the curls in her hair, but I lose count when she moves ever so slightly. Kimona looks at me and flashes me with her bright white smile as she looks over at my easel.

“Lali! This is breathtaking.”

Flustered, I reply. “Thank you, it’s just an idea I have been practicing at home. The landscape turned out much better than I thought.”

I painted a cemetery full of vibrant flowers, trees, animals, and visitors happily greeting their deceased loved ones. Some bringing offerings or talking to the dead. There was no black or gray in the painting at all. Instead, the tombstones are painted gold, silver, or copper.

“I really like that they look happy and no one is wearing black. Americans always make death seem sad. It’s like they don’t how to celebrate the life of the dead. Are you gonna add that to your portfolio?”

“I don’t know, do you think I should?”

“Oh my god, yes, I can envision that in the Louvre or somewhere else grand. You are so talented.”

She smiles and turns back to finish her jewelry before the end of class.

Kimona is one of the most incredible people I know. For the past six years, we continually volunteered and campaigned for causes like education, poverty, and women of color rights. She is also gorgeous. Her beautiful chocolate like skin is radiant year-round with black thick curls that crown her head. A week never goes by without some girl or guy making a grand gesture to ask her out.

I remember once during junior year, a senior decorated her entire locker on valentine’s day with red and pink roses and cut out paper hearts. I, for sure, thought she was going to say yes. He was a foreign exchange black student from England, had a 4.5 GPA, and very handsome, I adored his accent for weeks, but to everyone’s surprise, she said no. This crushed him, but I saw him laughing and holding the hands of another senior girl a week later. I made my way over to Kimona’s locker.

“He moves fast doesn’t he,” I say.

She looks over to where I am looking.

“Oh yeah David. I set him up with her. They have way more in common.”

“Really but what about you? He is so cute.”

“Don’t get me wrong he is such a catch I just… I don’t know waiting for something more.”

On graduation day, my sisters helped me get ready. I was the last girl in my family to graduate from high school. They painted my eyes gold and lips pearl. My grandmothers gave me Moccasins shoes, Najas earrings, and Conchas belt to wear. My mom brushed my hair for hours, even in the car, and with each stroke said a blessing. My brothers carried me over the grass so I would not ruin my robe. The entire reservation was at the ceremony. When they called my name to walk across the stage, my whole family stood with their hands outstretched to me. I felt their love, sacrifice, pain, and pride. I walked proudly with my ancestors in my heart.

I watched all 138 of my classmates walk across the stage. After the ceremony, we took photos outside. I invited my friend, family, and favorite teachers to my graduation party with explicit instructions not to bring any gifts. I have more than enough; instead, I want a letter to remember each of them by.

At the party, there was so much food and people. We danced and sang forever. Most of my classmates placed an order for my mom to send them care packages full of herbs, vitamins, and teas to last them through the first semester.

Kimona never showed up and I never got a text or call. I assume her family is busy celebrating her. I wish she was here. By 3 am, slowly, people finally started to go home. As I got ready for bed, I sifted through my letters, and a glittery blue one from Kimona was there. My stomach dropped my palms moistened. Had she stopped by, and I missed her? As I nervously opened the letter, pictures fell into my lap. For some reason, I began to sweat profusely. She wrote:

Dear Lali,

One of my favorite memories of you is in freshman year, you brought homemade chocolate-covered marshmallow animals to homeroom. Since that day I have never tasted anything quite as good. To this day, when I eat chocolate or marshmallows, I think of you. You trust me with your deepest thoughts, and I trust you with my life. You would come to my cheer competitions whenever you could and support me. At every dance or party, you would dance to all the songs with me. Even the songs we didn’t know. And last but OBVIOUSLY not least as we walked to our seats at graduation, you noticed I was shaking and held my hand until it was time for me to walk. You are so compassionate and kind. I will be forever grateful to know a sweet soul like you. I’m not sure if it was nerves or what, but you helped me through it. Thank you so much for everything you are. I love you, xoxoxo.

-Mona

As I finished reading, I realized I am smiling so hard my face started to hurt. Kimona included pictures of my chocolates, us at school, prom, and graduation. There was one picture I couldn’t remember taken of me: my caramel-colored skin and long dark hair in a green dress and black shiny combat boots. I was intensely staring at a modern recreation of The Maiden by Gustav Klimt. I need to text her. There is a lot I never got to say. Before I could unlock my phone, it began to ring, it was Kimona. I looked at the clock it was now 5 am. I took a deep breath and answered.

“Hey, Mona, it’s crazy you called. I was just about to text you.”

“Hi!” She said, surprised. “I was actually going to leave a voicemail. I didn’t think you would still be up this early. I am sorry I could not make it to your party. I saw on your page how much fun it was. My family from Jamaica, England, and all over came to celebrate, and there was no time for anything else. The party just ended like an hour ago. I hope you got my letter okay. I gave it to your mom after graduation when I couldn’t find you,” she replies.

“Wow, no please don’t apologize. I understand and yeah, I just finished reading it. Thank you so much. You are just incredible, you know that.”

“Oh my gosh, don’t mention it you are pretty great too,” She replied.

A brief silence passed. It was now or never. Don’t punk out.

I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date. With me?”

She sharply inhaled, and my stomach dropped.

Had I made a mistake. This is bad. Maybe I can take it back. Pretend I was joking. No, none of that would work. She’s not an idiot!

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

She laughed. “Yes, Citlali, of course, I want to go out with you. I have been waiting like forever for you to ask me.”

“What! Are you serious?”

“At first I was not sure because we have been friends for so long. I value what we have created, but all I want to do when we are together is touch you. It was something I couldn’t ignore anymore.”

“Wow I can’t believe this. For a while I felt like I was going crazy. You make me so nervous, but you have always accepted me for who I am as an indigenous woman. Do you think it’s the wrong time since we are going to college soon?”

I started to second guess myself.

“No, we already know how we feel about each other. I know what I want, and I am not interested in anyone else. Let’s just see how it goes.”

“I’d like that. Do you want to get brunch around noon? “

“Yeah, I need to get at least six hours before I have to face the world. I can pick you up if you’d like.”

“That would be really nice.”

“Okay, See you soon”

“Good night Mona”

“Good nigh Lali”

As I hung up the phone, I felt weightless. Did that just really happen. I can’t believe I am going on a date with Kimona. I shot up out of my chair and swung the door open. My family was sitting in the living room, eating cake, and laughing. I ran in, jumping up and down.

Then my dad asked, “So what’s the verdict?”

“She said yes,” I screamed.

“Of course, she did. I love that girl she is so beautiful inside and out,” my mom exclaimed.

I was so excited it was almost impossible. My sisters had laid out my entire outfit. My brothers clean up my room, which was covered in open presents. I was grateful to not worry about that and get some sleep.

Eventually, I did fall asleep after drinking my mom’s sleep tea mixture. I dreamt about Kimona and I sitting in her car making out. Our hands all over each other. As I kiss her neck, I say, ‘I love you’. Suddenly she shoves me away and screams for me to get out. As I fall out of the car, I am startled awake, sweating, and shaking.

I could tell I slept way too long. Why the hell did no one wake me up? And what did that dream mean? Maybe this is a bad idea, after all. I shot up. Grabbing my phone, it was 2:33pm. Oh god, I overslept. Then I saw someone sitting at my desk. I almost fell out of bed, it was Kimona, and she was sleeping. There was a letter in her lap. It says Open Me.

Dear Lali,

I came over at noon. Your mom told me she gave you some sleep aid tea. I drank some too and decided we should sleep a little longer and have dinner instead of later tonight. Xoxoxo.

Yours Truly,

Mona

I looked over to where she was sleeping. I folded the letter and put it with the other one. Her and the letter instantly put all the worries out my mind. She would never react that way to me even if she did not feel that way about me now or ever.

I gently picked her up and put her in my bed. Laying down next to her, I covered us both in my blanket. Then I set the alarm to wake us at six in the evening. When I turned over and faced her, her big brown eyes stared back at me. My heart thudded loudly in my throat, and I stared at her, unable to breathe. She leaned closer, touched my cheeks.

“Thank you for tucking me in. I love you Citlali”

Without hesitation, I reply, “I love you too Kimona”

We kissed. Her body pressed into mine, and our legs intertwined. Every part of my body got warmer until I became burning hot. I don’t know how long we kissed. It felt everlasting. We stopped, breathing heavily, our hands intertwined. Smiling, we snuggled close and slowly fell back asleep.

Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6taYwfh5pSc4EUs5gXiAAZ?si=n-0Gu2mURCC14neydUQ_og

2 notes · View notes