Blackbird: an Online Romance

by Fran Seen

  “I’ll have the pecan waffle, bacon extra crispy, and coffee to drink, thanks,” I told the waitress, handing her the menu I barely scanned. My stomach grumbled, not with hunger, but with dread.

  “You ordered a waffle at a pancake house?” Charlie asked after the waitress left, emptying three creamers into the black pool of his mug.

  “I like waffles,” I shrugged again, crumpling a paper straw wrapper between my fingers. The clink of his spoon serenaded the long silence that followed.

  I shouldn’t have imposed on Charlie. I should’ve driven back to Chattanooga last night, but instead, I texted my sister, telling her that Lou and I were off on an impromptu road trip to Harrah’s Casino. I lied to her, saying that we were having a weekend celebration of our graduation, but I doubted Minnie bought my fib. She could usually tell when I was lying, even via text.

  “I stopped talking to you because I was being unfair,” Charlie stole the wadded up paper from my hand, grabbing my attention. “You wanted to meet. I didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  I caught the glimmer in his eyes fade and the softness leave his expression. He looked me straight in the eye. “I have no interest in Anglo women.”

  Anglo women? As in, Caucasian women? I felt like I’d been slapped. Swallowing hard, I stared down at my lap. If I made a dash for the door now, I could probably reach the casino in ten minutes, check out, call a cab to drop me off at my car, and be back home before midnight. I reached for my purse to pay for my meal, but Charlie read my mind before I was able to disappear.

  “Please, Dolly. Let me explain. I’m not trying to be cruel. The last thing I wanna do is hurt you,” he said, resting his warm palm on top of my clammy hand.

  “You’re not trying to be cruel? You disregard the years we spent building a friendship, and throw it all away the moment I bring up meeting? Because you think I’m making a pass at you?” I choked on my embarrassment and urged back the tears that threatened my vision. “I thought something terrible had happened to you. We’ve been talking every single day for years. You’ve never missed a day. Then you vanish—but apparently, I’m not worthy of an explanation or goodbye because I don’t fit your physical criteria.”

  Charlie absorbed my response, straightening his posture. “The differences between us are more than skin deep,” he gulped, running his thumb across the pad of my hand. “I’m full-blood Native—a rarity these days. Usually folks claim ¼ or even 1/16 to get access to a reservation or trust fund,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I need to marry within the Cherokee nation to continue my family’s legacy, to preserve our culture—to protect our community. I don’t expect you to understand this obligation.”

  “That’s rich, Charlie. Assuming I can’t possibly understand your predicament,” I retracted my hand from his. “The water is not that muddy. You want to marry a Native girl. I get it.”

  The irritating clink of a spoon entered our conversation once more. “I don’t expect you to understand, because mainstream society marries for love. Your race isn’t subject to government extinction,” his sharp tone exacted.

  “‘Government extinction?’” I lowered my voice after the waitress set our food in front of us. She padded back to the kitchen without another word, undoubtedly dodging the intense feud taking place at the back of the restaurant.

  Charlie doused his stack of pancakes with sticky, warm syrup before answering. “After repeated non-Native pairings, the children of mixed race marriages are no longer recognized as Natives. The blood quantum is too diluted.”

  I slathered a glob of butter across my waffle, watching the butter melt upon contact and pool in the crispy cavities. “Maybe I’m not familiar with those specific struggles, but I know a thing or two about expectations and pressure. You’re no stranger to my afflictions. I’ve told you about my life, and you listened and even offered me advice,” I bit my lip, thinking back on all of the times I lamented to Blackbird about growing up in the shadow of my sister’s perfection. “I would’ve listened to you, too, had you been honest with me instead of running out of my life without any notice. Though, I fail to see how your marriage predicament applies to our friendship.”

  “Our friendship began as just that: a mutual fondness for each other’s company, although our interactions were virtual,” he said, sipping his coffee. His posture grew more rigid with each word. “But as we grew older, I started to see you differently. At first, you were an anonymous string of words and clever replies. I enjoyed your quick wit. I guess it was nice to have a point of view from outside of the Boundary. I mean, all my life, I’ve grown up around the same faces, problems, and scenery. I attended the Native school and college,” Charlie’s eyes found mine. “I used to show up at the library, same time, same computer, every day, just to admire the secret colors of your life and share mine with you.”

  “I made this for you,” he ran a long finger across the delicate chain of my bracelet, tracing the outline of the wooden feather. “And as I slapped the stamp on the package and mailed it off, I got smacked with the sudden realization that you were a real person who might wear this bracelet and think of me—you were person who had a life and story that I, selfishly, wished to be a part of, even for just an hour out of your day.”

  “But the world started to crumble around me when my Pop died. Heart attack. It was sudden and hit my entire family like a ton of bricks. And just like that, I couldn’t rely on my father anymore to speak for me, negotiate our family’s finances, or convince my sister to finish school. It was up to me, the oldest of all my siblings, to represent my family,” his voice trailed off as he reclined back in the booth.

  “An elder of a neighboring clan granted me permission to marry her granddaughter. It’s a big deal. My family’s status will rise when our clans unite. I’ll be eligible for a spot on the Native counsel. It is an honor to be able to further the Cherokee bloodline. My children will know who they are and where they come from. Unlike my siblings and their friends, I want the next generation of Cherokee to be hopeful for the future and not taken advantage of by the government,” Charlie let out an extended sigh. “I can’t marry a Native woman when a piece of me belongs to someone I can’t have.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” I whispered, cutting up my waffle. I pushed the pieces around my plate without taking a bite. We sat like that for a while, allowing the soft chattering of customers to fill the space between us. I threw my fork down, produced a twenty dollar bill from my pocket and tossed it on the table.

  Charlie shoved the money back into my hand, leaving tiny trails of heat across my skin where his fingers had been. “I’ll cover the bill,” he said. Charlie’s confession stirred a hurricane of emotions within my heart. I left the restaurant in desperate need for fresh air. I’d reread our emails over the last month. He’d given no indication of his affection, though our conversations had grown impersonal as our communication tapered after his unwillingness to meet.

  Had I felt the same longing for Blackbird, my favorite internet stranger? My fondness for him had grown over the years, as any relationship does with time. I appreciated the mutual respect we held for each other’s interests, emotions, and beliefs. Consideration and tolerance were unfamiliar practices amongst my own family. If my interests didn’t match theirs, they were disregarded. If my emotions and responses didn’t mirror theirs, they were either downplayed or met with total apathy. If my beliefs challenged the majority, they were shunned. Blackbird embraced my quirks, and I’d learned to find solace in his unwavering acceptance.

  I’d enjoyed an array of relationships since high school, but never fallen in love. My relationships consisted of casual flings and friendships, but never full-on investments. I’d never dwelled on the details or paraded around my feelings. The anonymity of our keyboards hadn’t produced the same tightening in my chest and shortness of breath I’d experienced in Charlie’s physical presence. No amount of online exchanges could’ve prepared me for the man I’d met to
day. He was handsome and kind, honest and righteous, and completely unavailable.

  A flutter in my stomach alerted me to the scampering shadow in my peripheral. The massive, furry outline of a black bear strode behind the pancake house on all fours, making a bee-line for the dumpster, trotting with the sure steps of a well-acquainted guest.

  I attempted to signal Charlie without spooking the bear, but he was immersed in conversation with our waitress standing behind the register. I couldn’t let Ol’ Smokey out of my sight. The bear grunted, having a ball of a time shredding trash bags to pieces. After a few moments, I side-eyed the restaurant. Through the glass front, I could make out Charlie’s broad outline hugging one of the line cooks. He made no move toward the door.

  Shit.

  What if Ol’ Smokey gets away and continues to wreak widespread havoc on Charlie’s tiny town?

  Or what if Ol’ Smokey pounces on an unsuspecting waitress as she unloads the last of tonight’s trash in the dumpster?

  I grabbed the dart gun from the gun rack in the backseat of the truck, double-checked the barrel for a tranquilizer dart, cocked the lever, and thanked my lucky stars that my father was a bleeding-heart conservative who required everyone in his household to possess proficiency in wielding a firearm.

  I peered around the corner of the stone building, shielding myself from view, only a few yards away from the dumpster, and lined up my shot. The scope was of little use at such a close range. Ol’ Smokey had yet to acknowledge my presence. He was too preoccupied in trying to free himself from the confines of the pancake mix box wedged on his slobbering jowls.

  I steadied my breathing and slowly squeezed the trigger. The dart connected with the bear’s rear-end, and all hell broke loose. Ol’ Smokey spun around with a growl, searching for the source of the dart. I hadn’t considered how long the dart would take to go into effect. I retreated back to the safety of Charlie’s truck, but Ol’ Smokey’s thunderous gallop shook the ground under my feet. His ragged breaths were close enough for me to smell the maple syrup he’d been guzzling.

  “Dolly, what are you—” Charlie emerged from the restaurant as I flew past him with Ol’ Smokey hot on my trail. I ran circles around the parking lot, weaving between cars, out of fear of being mauled to death if I paused to open the truck door. Charlie hopped in his truck and flung it into gear, trying to create a barrier between me and the bear, but before Charlie was able to reach us, a loud thud sounded from behind me. Charlie’s truck lights illuminated Ol’ Smokey’s snoring silhouette.

  “Falcon, code 43, Trading Post Pancake House. You might need a change of pants after you see this,” Charlie yelled into his shoulder mic.

  “Copy that. En route.” The sounds of squealing tires played between radio static. Charlie and I stood in awe over the dozing bear. Foamy spit leaked out of Ol’ Smokey’s mouth. The beast’s paws were as large as my head, and his claws spanned the length of my finger. Charlie nudged the bear with the steel toe of his boot to make sure he was still breathing.

  “I hate to be rude in front of our guest, but are all bears this...portly?” I asked, studying Ol’ Smokey’s protruding belly and thick neck.

  “Only the ones who raid the Chinese buffet dumpster every night.”

  I handed the rifle to Charlie, who still appeared to be in shock. “Take credit for conquering Ol’ Smokey,” I instructed as Falcon peeled into the parking lot. “I’d hate to bring shame to your family, you know, with the knowledge that an Anglo woman bested the infamous beast.”

  I stalked toward the casino, urging myself not to look back.

  “Where are you going?” Charlie called after me.

  “To bed. Hopefully, when I wake up, I’ll realize this,” I yelled, flailing my hands around. “Was all a dream.”

  Rainbow Crow’s Descent

  I awoke the next morning with a bruised rear end and a stiff back, providing enough physical evidence that yesterday was anything but a dream.

  During a moment of uncharacteristic impulsiveness, I’d driven to Cherokee, propelled only by unrealistic expectations, unbridled optimism, and 5-hour energy shots. And in my reckless state, I’d consumed a liquid breakfast, gambled and won $7,000, pissed off a casino employee, tumbled down a mountain, and fell at the feet of my online best friend, also known as the gorgeous man who had no intention of ever meeting me: Charlie Blackbird. To top off the day, I had a debatable brush with an unidentified mystical force who lured me from the safety of Charlie’s vehicle, and I darted a notorious dumpster-raiding, overweight bear-legend.

  And now, I had a gnarly butt bruise and full-body ache to verify my story.

  Even though I’d displayed the Do Not Disturb sign proudly on the door handle, I received a knock at my door before the sun was up. Rubbing my eyes, I limped to the peephole and glanced into the hallway. A devilishly handsome man appeared on the other side of my door.

  “What do you want?” I groaned through the lock. I was not a morning person.

  “I brought you a peace offering. Donuts and coffee,” Charlie announced, holding up a tray of coffees and an inconspicuous, white box.

  “You may enter,” I swung the door open, and Charlie strode past me, making himself comfortable at the tiny table shoved into the corner and pulled a chocolate glazed donut from the box. I shook my head at the sight of him: heavy boots, weathered jeans, and a flannel rolled up at the sleeves.

  Ho boy.

  “I’ll have you know, it took five grown men to move Ol’ Smokey,” he relayed after finishing off the donut in three bites. I shrugged on a hoodie over my t-shirt and tied my hair up in a ponytail, feeling self-conscious over my post-sleep, disheveled appearance, even though Charlie hadn’t cast a second glance my way. While he vibrated with excitement, I stood with my arms crossed and refused to sit on my bruised backside.

  “We relocated him to the westernmost part of Jackson county. I’m sure he’ll struggle for a while, trying to find food in the wild that doesn’t come from a pizza box,” Charlie paused to take a sip of coffee and select another donut. “I stayed around until he woke up, and oh man, Ol’ Smokey was livid. You could tell he was scanning the forest for the Goldilocks who darted him,” Charlie chuckled, glancing up from his coffee to me. His eyes darkened as his gaze traveled from my face to my bare legs and rested on my discolored thigh.

  “Come here,” Charlie’s long fingers wrapped around my wrist. He parted his knees to pull me closer for inspection. “Yesterday, I believed only your spirit took a beating. I guess you didn’t completely elude the mountain,” he told me, tracing the outline of the bruise peeking out from the hem of my satin sleep shorts.

  In the midst of his distraction, I ran my fingers along his stubbled jaw without thinking—an action of pure indulgence. With a single shake of my head, I silenced the thought of his scruffy cheek brushing my inner thigh.

  “Am I how you imagined?” Charlie’s question hung in the air. He trailed his hand from my thigh to my waist and looked up at me, providing me with a view of his full lips and chiseled cheek bones. I dared to push back a strand of black, wavy hair that had fallen loose from his bun. As he closed his eyes, I followed the outline of his tensed jaw down to the hollow of his throat.

  Charlie was taller and broader than I’d pictured. If I had met him without any context, I might’ve been intimidated by his stature and the expansive shadow he casted, but there was a gentleness to him, beneath his solid masculinity.

  “In some ways, you’re much more than I ever imagined. In other ways, you’re not who I pictured at all,” I lowered my eyes to the floor. Our close proximity was maddening. His hands felt too good on me. The room was too small. The air was too thick with all of the things we weren’t saying.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” he said, busying his fingertips with a frayed thread at the bottom of my shirt. His gravelly voice tattooed an ache into my bones, nearly making me double over with want.

  I pulled away from him, unable to tolerate his touch any longe
r. “I—I’m leaving in a few hours,” I croaked. His scarred brow shot up as he began to say something several times but stopped himself before the words materialized.

  I started to tell him that I wished the best for him; that I wanted for him to have a rich, fulfilling life; that I’d never fault him for attempting to find happiness; that I admired his laser beam focus; that he should never have to apologize for his desires. I wanted to tell him all these things, but the only words that escaped my lips were:

  “It was nice to meet you, Charlie Blackbird.”

  Charlie rubbed his palms along the knee of his briar pants, where the canvas material met the nylon of his leg patches. He stood, walking over to me, drawing close enough that our chests almost touched, and he said, “I know it is selfish of me to ask, but please, stay one more day.”

  Charlie’s tires treaded along a narrow dirt path through the thick, dark woods, snaking past a stone well. The path opened up to an expanse of secluded, green pasture, which sprawled across rolling hillsides as far as the eye could see. Cabins lined the outskirts of the pasture, all spaced a great distance apart, with corrals of livestock in between them. Wayah popped through the field of grass to greet us, barking and chasing after the truck until we parked.

  “Is this your home?” I asked, pointing to the log cabin with an intricate stone path leading to the wrap around porch.

  “Yeah,” Charlie beamed with pride. “I built it last year. My uncle and brother helped, of course. I’ll give you a tour later.” He placed his hand on the small of my back and led me behind his home, past a rustic barn with a red metal roof and a vocal rooster out front, herding the sheep around like a grumpy border collie. “First, I’ll introduce you to my family.”

  My stomach twisted with anxiety and bile rose in my throat, threatening to empty the contents of my lunch into the pig trough. I’d spent all day worrying about this moment, from the time he left my hotel room to go to work until he picked me up this afternoon. I had my suspicions that if Charlie wanted nothing to do with Anglo women, his family would most likely echo the same sentiment and not wish for me to enter their home.