by Nicole Wells
“Hey, you could at least give it to the squirrel. He was a stalwart type, a real Robin Hood.”
“He was gonna thieve it and distribute it to his down-on-their-luck friends?”
“Yeah, we had a moment. We bonded over the crazy lady who shrieks like a wounded mockingbird imitating a bison giving birth.”
I guffaw and smack him on the arm. I open my mouth to argue, but realize it would come out as a shriek. Instead I say, “I don't think we should encourage the wild animals to eat human food. Or you. You can’t be trusted with cooking pots or carrots. I’m sorry to say, I think it’s applesauce for you from here on out, Jacob.”
He sighs, but then smiles and hooks an arm around my shoulders. “Speaking of,” he nods his head towards the door, and we head back to the blanket and our game of Apples to Apples.
I reach for the cards, maybe cheating a little because I can clearly tell which one is his. He didn’t even try to put it in the pile, it was just haphazardly tossed halfway to the pile. I pick that one up first and flip it over, reading “Popcorn.” I look up and he's already shaking with laughter. My own peals of laughter ring out, shaking my head at our craziness.
chapter 15
There is a scientist. Time is running out, and the discovery must be made before it’s too late. I can feel their drive, but also, oddly, their peace. It will happen. There is no room for doubt.
I shirk the feelings like a white coat, letting it fade away. I don’t try to make sense of it. I reclaim the peace of a dreamless state.
——— ———
THE DRIVE TO YELLOWSTONE is our shortest leg for the entire trip, which is good because it can get crowded in the summer. From the Southern entrance, we do the Lower Loop. We hear the parking is the worst around Old Faithful, so we skip that attraction. There are plenty of other sights, including geysers, elsewhere. Jacob and I have never been big on crowds, anyway.
We take our time driving the RV, ambling along and seeing the sights. Jacob spots a brown bear and it feels like such a privilege to see a top predator in its natural habitat. We are treated to bucolic view after view, pulling over and parking when a spot is available. I take tons of pictures, including some selfies, which Jacob grudgingly joins in. I get the sense he’s not into pictures as much, just preferring to take it in rather than capture it.
Being so close together, it's surprising how Yellowstone and Grand Teton each have their own individual flair. I muse while we drive on that I would be Grand Teton — its drama self evident and on display, although for the full experience you need to work for it; and Jacob would be Yellowstone — initially underwhelming and more accessible, but with vastness and depth, with unique features that exist nowhere else in the world.
Jacob pulls into the area for the Grand Prismatic Spring. It is indisputably lovely, with the bright colors of rare bacteria arranged at the edges. Here it's like Nature is playing a practical joke, though, offering beauty with one hand, and a foul odor with the other. I think of the jokes Jacob has played and the way he can be free and silly with himself, and I chuckle to myself, although a part of my mind catalogs that he doesn’t joke with others like that. He’s open and comfortable with me, but awkward with others. It’s weird, I realize, because it’s not like he’s not able to pick up on clues and be charming. He can, he just only does it with a handful of people. Huh. Maybe my gift to him can be helping to bring him out of his shell.
We turn back to the main road, and encounter some traffic. It’s not moving. Jacob puts the RV in park and gets up to investigate out the side window, where he can better see the bend in the road up ahead. “Look, there’s a bear crossing the road!”
Excited, I jump up and join him. I have to get really close to see where he’s pointing. There, I see movement. I gasp, and inadvertently take in a lungful of his woodsy scent. I realize I’m pressed up alongside him, and I take a step away, clearing my throat. “Do you think it's a male or a female?” I ask, refocusing.
He turns his head, looking a little incredulous, and I realize its a stupid question, with the bear so far away. I also realize him turning has brought our faces closer together. I quickly turn my face back to the window. I’m breathing through my mouth so I don’t have to keep smelling him, but it’s fogging up the window. Does he wear cologne or something? Maybe I can ask him to stop wearing it. Is that a weird thing to ask? I think that would be weird. At least it would be hard to explain.
“Enya?” I jump a little when he reaches out and shakes my shoulder, “You okay?”
“Huh?”
“I said, ‘Show’s over.’ And you were kinda dazed. And breathing weird.”
“Um, yeah, I’m fine.” I think.
We get back in our seats and drive on. Several miles later, we’re granted a view of a herd of bison. Appreciating now the interdependence of Native society with this animal, it is a bittersweet meeting. I ask Jacob his thoughts on the future of the animal and the tribes. He looks out over the horizon of golden grasses undulating in the breeze. “The world is changing, Cloverleaf. I don’t think we’ll ever go back to the way it was. But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
——— ———
LATER THAT NIGHT, we camp again. Even though we drove a lot, we also did two days of hiking, and the workout has made the staples from our kitchen delicious. We don’t have a campfire this time but leaning back on my elbows staring at the stars with my belly full is everything I need right now. Jacob plops beside me on the blanket, having finished his ritual of leaving a pile of leaves or flowers at streams or other landmarks.
“I've been meaning to ask, why do you do that?”
“Oh, it's just an offering to the spirits.”
“I’m learning so much about you. You’re so different out here versus in school.”
“I think I am a little different. I feel more able to be myself when it's just the two of us. Like, to practice things I've learned about Lenape beliefs.”
“It's interesting to see this side of you, knowing you're also such a geek about science and everything.”
He shrugs his shoulders and I can tell he’s a little uncomfortable, so I change the subject.
“Tell me about the stars. You must have some stories about them.”
He lays out alongside me and tells me multiple traditional stories, with lessons on hope and courage. I feel like I will need both.
"I finished my dad's notes, including the zip drive with his scientific research."
“By your tone, I take it you didn't find it so helpful?”
"It's underwhelming and overwhelming at the same time. There are a lot of theories, a lot of rabbit holes to explore. Who knows if one of them holds a key for me? It was a lot of work just parsing out the science. And even knowing the theories, it's not like I can do much to nudge the research along. I'm more inclined to explore integrative medicine. It's a bigger unknown and because of that perhaps a possible bigger benefit. And that I can especially explore and take action with."
"Well, of course, that's who you are. You see things differently and want to do things differently. You should be no different in this. Your greatest strength is being yourself."
“Really, Jacob. Hallmark cards. Or fortune cookie writer. Consider it.” I smile at him, letting him know I appreciate his insight. “Well, speaking of being different, there’s something I've been meaning to share with you.”
He straightens up, seeming to know already this is an even more serious conversation.
"Well, you know I've been meditating five times a day religiously, and more if I can work it in. So, a few days ago I started noticing spots in my vision when I meditated. Like little lights, like stars or sparks. And they were different from stars I get from feeling light-headed but similar to these lights I'd see when I thought I was dreaming. But looking back now, I'm not so sure I was dreaming." I let out a deep breath that I didn't realize I was holding. "It's occurring pretty regularly now, sometimes even when I don't meditate."
/> “Oh, like earlier today, when you zoned out the window?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. All different times.”
“When did it start?”
“I think it started after I got my diagnosis.”
He looks at me gravely, like he's assessing and judging. It's not a look I'm used to from him. For a moment, it feels like he's one of the tribe Elders, or like a medicine man.
“What do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know.” I fiddle with the rock from Yellowstone. It fails to ground me. “The memories I got sometimes with the sparks, they felt very real. But now it’s just the sparks, and I feel peaceful when they come. Maybe because they tend to co-occur with meditating?”
"Possibly. I knew a guy once who got ringing in his ears. The doctors couldn't do anything for him but reassured him it wasn't doing any damage. He decided to call it the Spirit talking to him. Someone else might have spent a lifetime bemoaning their ailment, trying cure after cure. He let it bring him closer to God."
“But what if this is a symptom of something important?”
He pauses like he’s searching for the right words to say.
“If you’re concerned about that, you should get it checked out, definitely, and we can detour so you can do that. But I suspect you already googled it, right? And you didn't come across anything concerning?”
"Yeah, I know Dr. Google is not reliable, but it helped to see that no disease fits what I've been experiencing. It's getting more frequent, but I've not had any other symptoms. The fact that I feel totally fine otherwise is reassuring. And that I've had it for over a month and nothing bad has happened.
“From what I can tell, most likely it's a new type of headache like a migraine or something. I still wonder if it could be Huntington’s, but I also read that’s pretty common for Huntington’s patients to over-analyze any symptoms they get.”
“You want to know what I think? I do think it’s something important. If you were Lenape, we would take this very seriously. It would be treated like a gift from the Heavens.” He looks at me like he believes I’m more than I am, which is a look I’m used to from him, but this time I’m starting to believe it a little too, myself.
“If you're worried we really can stop somewhere.”
"No, you're right. I don't get the feeling it's something that's a problem. Just something remarkably unusual." I skirt the topic of it being a gift. I just don't know what to make of that yet, and I haven't been having any more memories or dreams with the sparks, anyway.
“Thanks for being my sounding board.”
“Always. It's kinda what I’m here for.” He winks, and suddenly the air is not so heavy. I smile back, glad he was my medicine man tonight.
I stare back out at the stars, fishing for a change of subject. “I like the idea of spirits being around. I think most people would be uncomfortable with that. But not me. That’s kinda odd, huh?”
“You’re asking the wrong person, Cloverleaf. Choir, preacher,” he finishes, pointing back and forth between us.
“I sometimes think my dad is still around. I talk to him, too.”
“How do you feel when you talk to him?”
“Surprisingly, I'm not mad or bitter. I feel peaceful. I just tell him mundane stuff, like I used to when he was alive. That sounds crazy, huh?”
“I think your heart is always your greatest guide. It will never lead you astray. The voice of love doesn’t know how to yell or get your attention the way the voice of your mind will, but if you give it a chance, it guides you when all other ways are lost.” He looks up at the sky again. This boy and his Elder-speak. He just keeps surprising me. “Like the guiding stars. Like their spirits. You just have to believe. Keep that hope and courage.”
——— ———
> hey girl. whatcha up to?
Jacob is driving Belinda this time, taking the four and half hour stint to the Fort Hall reservation in Idaho, so I’m hanging out at the table, my laptop open, but I’m on my phone instead. My idle hands itch to text more. Luckily, Yasmin texts back right away.
Just reading. <
I got a copy of the syllabus for Intro to Lit from Mandy. <
She took it with the same professor last year. <
I figured I’d get a head start. <
> shouldn’t u be living it up or something?
> before school starts?
What do you think about a Lit major? <
You know, the pen is mightier than the sword and all. <
> u already like Shakespeare
> so that’s like knowing the secret handshake or something
> right?
Choosing to read classics instead of partying. <
Using whole words and punctuations in text. <
I think that says something. <
> isn’t mandy a lit major?
Yeah. <
I can picture her with a tender look on her face. If there was a word cloud of Yasmin's thoughts, "Mandy" would be front and center in size 48 font. Mandy arrived early to the dorm too, so it was bound that they'd find each other. As a Junior in the College of Literature, Science, and the Arts, she's taken Yasmin under her wing. Yasmin has been very protective of her privacy, so I have gleaned little from her texts, but I get the sense that Mandy is estranged from her second-generation Puerto Rican family, and that's why she settled in early.
> u are going to make the world a better place.
> u can’t help but be a champion for other people.
> i’m sure whatever major u choose you’ll do that.
> and u have tons of time to see which fits.
I know. <
That’s why I want to get the jump start. <
If this one isn’t right, I won’t have wasted too much time. <
> well, you’ll get a good sense of it from mandy
Yeah <
> she’s there isn’t she?
How do you know?<
> because even though you're texting
> you're not saying anything about her
We’re just hanging out together. <
She’s reading too. <
> well, I'll let u go then.
No, it’s totally fine! <
> i know you don't like to text when she's around.
> you're self-conscious around her.
> although u know u can just be yourself.
It's so weird seeing Yasmin be anything but confident.
She replies with a rollercoaster of emojis that should qualify for a psychiatric disease. At least she’s confident in her rebuttals. I send her kisses and sign off, even though I feel a bit peeved. I meant what I said about her making a difference in the world. I guess it's just weird because I always thought I'd catch up to her. Now she's got her own big sister figure. And I feel like I've fallen even farther behind.
It’s great she’s finding her way, and that she’s got someone there. It's what I wanted for her; she's always been so brave but so alone. She deserves for things to be easy, and I hope college will be for her. No unnecessary trailblazing or heartbreak.
I fiddle with the power cord on my computer while I force myself to lean into this uncomfortable place, mentally poking at the sore spot. Jealousy. It’s not just that she’s got someone guiding her, it's the complete college experience. The excitement of starting that next big chapter in life, when you discover who you are and all that you are capable of.
I try not to fight or deny the feeling, and just be with it. I know resisting it won’t help it transform. There’s a childish refrain in my mind, “It's not fair.” I work to not dismiss the whine. But giving it voice unplugs the dam. It wasn’t fair that my Dad killed himself. It’s not fair I’m left with a Mom I’m not as close to. It’s not fair I don’t get to start my happily ever after, that I have to settle for a future of suffering. It’s not fair my life got taken away from me. It’s not fair because I always did everything right. Why bother when life isn’t fair?
I don’t want
to hear these thoughts anymore. I know from a spiritual perspective it’s important to not judge my thoughts or myself, but I feel like I’m backtracking, like I’m just a little girl again.
Damn, I wish I could just go for a run and clear my thoughts. I look out the window, but the stretches of land just taunt me. It’s about time for my meditation, anyway. Maybe I’ll travel with my mind if I can’t with my body.
I pull out my red rock from Wind Canyon, rubbing it's now familiar surface. In a well-worn routine, I place the flint in my left hand and bring it to my heart with eyes closed. Spine straight, I let my shoulders ease and my breath sink, the tension draining away.
She is beautiful. I know this even though I only see her from behind. She radiates a glow and serenity that brings me peace. She is picking yellow flowers in a field. I can feel her smile. I can tell she is murmuring to each one she picks, greeting them like they are friends, talking of caring for them, appreciating them, loving them. I feel like a little kid, unsure and unwanted, intimidated by a big world. I want to make all my ugly feelings physical, so she can pluck them out and replace them with the pretty yellow flowers. And just like that, I feel it. This wave of love that she radiates. It's an embrace that is pure and holy. The absolute lack of judgment. The absolute acceptance of me, who I am. She doesn't pluck my ugly emotions. She loves them. She loves me.
She turns.
She is me.
chapter 16
WHEN WE ARRIVE AT THE FORT HALL RESERVATION in Idaho, it's a whirlwind tour of this reservation, home to Shoshone and Bannock tribes. We stop in the quaint museum, appreciate the artistry and beadwork the Shoshone and Bannock are renowned for, and drive around the reservation a bit, taking in the wild lands. This stop at Buffalo Meadows RV Park in the Fort Hall reservation, however, is mostly a layover to let us recharge for tomorrow’s long drive. Taking full advantage of the showers and laundry in the RV park, we take it easy before the hard trek.