Vacant MC

by Bella Knight

  Henry stripped down, and went to take a long, hot shower. David was already there. David washed out Henry’s hair, then Henry washed his. They kissed in the shower and held each other. David soon realized that Henry was nearly too tired to stand up, and so they settled for washing each other’s backs, then the rest of each other. They rinsed off, and David left Henry standing up against the shower as he reached for a towel. He dried off Henry, then himself, and led Henry to bed. They both put on boxers, and David had Henry sit at his feet while he put the braid back into his hair. They talked quietly in Paiute about the day, the farm, the new pony who was doing much better, the baby rabbits, and how everyone was in love with their fluffy-bunny cuteness. David stood, and got his own hair into a silver clip.

  “I can’t get up,” said Henry. “Perhaps I should sleep on the floor.”

  David laughed. “After the times we were awake for days? Henry, I’ve sung for days. Danced, walked; even. Remember the time the horse went lame?”

  “Remember pitching a tent and camping for days?” said Henry, answering his question with another one. “I remember a sweat we did for days.”

  David helped Henry stand, and they crawled under the sheets. “I remember the first time,” said David.

  “We were only boys,” said Henry.

  “We were,” agreed David. “I knew what I was. You knew what you were. Your mother…”

  “Never understood,” said Henry. “Too much time in the white man’s church.”

  David snorted. “Plenty of church people don’t condemn us. Or Inola.”

  “Inola is doing so well. She is a fantastic mother,” said Henry. “In those dark days, deep inside, when I blamed myself…”

  “You had a cracked skull,” reminded David. “You couldn’t have stopped it.”

  “Then, when I came back, she was pregnant. I wanted to kill him, but you said he was already dead.”

  “Yes,” said David. No one had bothered to tell Henry that Inola had been raped multiple times that night, and that they couldn’t be sure which dead man was the father.

  “Ryder is the best damn thing from that horrible night,” said Henry.

  “There’s more,” said David. “It got you back in my arms. It got me moved in here. It got me into this incredible family. Longhouse family,” he said, laughing.

  “We keep adding members,” said Henry.

  “Just remembering everyone’s name, let alone their stories, their needs, is difficult some days,” said David. “But, I do not regret a single one.”

  “We are so lucky that Gregory took Mimi and the little one,” said Henry. “Running out of room.”

  “Thank the sun,” said David. “Solar panels saved us from the power bills. And Nantan (and now Mike) grow us what we need, and the Wolf Pack all have jobs, and the Owl Pack sell enough to keep them all in their medicines and rent.”

  Henry growled. “I did not ask them to pay rent. It is offensive to me.”

  David smiled and held Henry close. “We use it to pay for food for one million people.”

  Henry laughed. “Feels like one million, doesn’t it?” He turned and kissed David.

  They melted together slowly, gently. Both were tired, but they needed each other’s touch. David held Henry’s face in his hands, and then he kissed him gently. They held each other close, before letting their hands wander down lower. David, with the most energy, was the one to reorient himself, kissing his way down Henry’s stomach before turning around. Henry groaned. They licked, sucked, and nibbled at one another until they both came.

  David rolled off the other side of the bed and smiled as he got some wet wipes. He cleaned them both up, and they put their boxers back on. Henry was already asleep before David slipped in, and he lovingly held him in his arms.

  Henry, Ivy, and Gregory had only one more day for the off-road trip to raise funds to create two new Harley garages. Funds needed to train Soldier Pack people on the list, one in Phoenix, and one in Tucson. They met at the clubhouse, got the route nailed down, got messages out to the Iron Knights, Valkyries, Gearheads, and anyone else who wanted to join in. Some of Henry’s students rode or flew back to participate and raise money for a great cause; they’d met the Soldier Pack firsthand. They would pick up the Red Devils in Tucson and the Road Mamas in Phoenix. The teens were ready with their lists of what was needed for a road trip; Ivy sent the entire checklist to everyone.

  The living room floor at Henry’s place looked like a river of camping gear —tents, skillets with their nestled plates and silverware, matches in keep-dry containers, insect repellent, sleeping bags, tarps, and more. Nantan, Chayton, and all four boys were coming too. They left their side under the supervision of Mike and Chogan Little Deer, the medicine man learning from David in exchange for keeping an eye on the Wolfpack. Cocheta Reyes came, ready to rejoin the Apache tribe as one of their elders, her worldly goods stuffed in her saddlebags the night before launch. Bess sniffed it all with her Corgi nose, and thus, pronounced it good. They got the Nighthawks’ equipment divided and stuffed into packs the night before, all except for the sleeping bags.

  They cooked a huge barbecue meal, ribs and chicken, and grilled corn and veggie kebabs. The younger ones got into a spirited soccer game. Babies slept in arms as Vu entertained everyone around the fire pit in the backyard, telling stories as they roasted marshmallows and made s’mores with chocolate Grahams Crackers, chocolate bars, and melted marshmallows. They sang, David’s thrumming voice intertwining with Inola, Bella, and Henry’s.

  Henry had to contend with a sleeping Ryder on his lap, and they passed around Kiya, Colin, Luka and Ivan. The babies were fussy, but soon slept under the stars. Pregnant Killa, Bella, Bao, and Katya were waited on hand and foot. The moms put the babies upstairs, most in portable cribs. They left an exhausted Bella with them, and then came back down to sing some more. They switched to stories of the road, of missing tents, of bears looking for food, of idiots who forgot to pack enough beverages, and the wildlife of the road —bighorn sheep, wolves, bears, antelope, deer, roadrunners, hares, snakes, and thousands of squirrels and chipmunks.

  The only member of their party that was both wide awake and not an excited young man (or young woman), was Ivy. She sang Melissa Ethridge’s Come to My Window, and Callie said, “Anytime!” after the song ended, making everybody laugh. Ivy then slipped into I’m the Only One, stalking Callie with her voice. Callie responded by singing Pat Benatar’s Heartbreaker. Ivy sang Evanescence’s Bring Me to Life, hitting the high notes with amazing perfection. They then slipped into a duet of Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time. After that, all the women slipped into Meredith Brooks’ Bitch, with all of them joining into the bravado of the song. The guys wisely kept from commenting.

  “What does that even mean?” asked a confused Nick.

  “I suggest not hurting your brain,” said Josh. They pushed each other, and Chayton had to break it up.

  Henry took Ryder inside, put her to bed, and came back out with two drums. He gave one to David, and one to Henry. They started drumming, and the dancing began. Inola went in for her drums, and they beat out complicated rhythms. Ivy danced with Callie, a foot-stomping thing that had everyone else gasping trying to keep up. They went into 500 Miles by The Proclaimers, shouting the lyrics and jumping up and down. They went into more drumming and danced by the light of the moon, and under a million and one stars.

  In the morning, they rolled out of their beds and sleeping bags, ready for the ride. They took turns cooking the eggs and bacon, and in reheating the tortillas for breakfast burritos. They ate them with salsa and sour cream and coffee or orange juice at the kitchen table, leaning against a wall, while rolling up a sleeping bag. They were silent, so as not to wake the babies; their leaving would do that, in a wide-throttle Harley roar. They finished packing the bikes with their sleeping bags. Gregory, Ivy, and Inola kissed their wives goodbye, and slipped out into the tiny burst of light at the tips of the mountains. Right as that first spear of lig
ht struck, they left for their ride.

  So, they rode from Las Vegas through Phoenix and Tucson down to El Paso using the US-93 and the I-10, picking up people on the way. It was a long ride, with frequent stops for food, drinks, and sightseeing. At night they spread out, taking up space in at least ten inns along the road and utilizing several campsites, having swelled their ranks with Iron Knights, Valkyries, Red Devils, Road Mamas, and Gearheads. They raised money at each stop, some from ex-soldiers that had done quite well for themselves and wanted to pay it forward. Henry found a bank and deposited it every evening.

  They ate the best Mexican food ever, and they spread out for sightseeing, dancing, drinking, and other fun events. The Nighthawks and their attached Soldier Pack went to the river to their cookouts, fires, long conversations, and intermittent singing. The soldiers told amended war stories, trying to protect the youngest among them from too much blood and guts. They had forgotten how bloodthirsty some little boys were, and their skirting around some details didn’t go unnoticed. That night, no one was awakened by nightmares. The peace of the Nighthawks had penetrated through them.

  Next, they went back up to Las Cruces all the way up to Albuquerque on the 25, collecting funds on the way. Then, they took the 40 to Gallup, and spent some time at the Zuni reservation. They camped out by the river again, and they bought out half the artisans’ silver jewelry and a lot of their tiny, stone, animal fetishes, too.

  The continued all the way through Flagstaff to Kingman, Arizona, being sure to play the Eagles’ Take It Easy when driving through Winslow, Arizona. At Kingman, the Vegas ones split off, and the Arizona ones went in the opposite direction. They went to Lake Mead, pitched tents, and had a potluck, with those that stayed at home now joining them, babies and all. They spent the night there, singing and talking well into the night. In the morning, they took the off-road bikes back to the school and took back their own bikes, and, after a round of hugs and an amazing breakfast that took over two diners, everyone went home.

  Beginnings

  Triesta stood out on the porch in the dawn. Seeing everyone again at the reservation had filled her soul full, despite the meeting with her mother. Naya had grooves so deep they were carved in the earth. She ate the same thing at the same time of day, except at the festivals. Her conversations were the same five, from the weather to the sales of her carvings (never many), to her monetary troubles (many), to the joys of her son (endless), to the travails of having a daughter (also endless).

  Triesta learned from the age of six that her mother wouldn’t change, and she took every opportunity to get a scholarship. She worked hard in school and zipped ahead despite their being no program for gifted students at her tiny school. She had to go to a Navajo university to major in native languages, but it went well. She spent long icy winters and pavement-cracking summers learning crafts in order to learn the languages, and found she had a second calling. She split her fine arts major into silversmithing and glass jewelry-making, and then received a minor in business.

  She worked hard, taking courses, learning everything the elders had to teach her, listening to their words, following their hands to learn to make her own voice in words, and in art. Art worn around the neck, the wrists, in the ears, but still art, nonetheless. Her best seller was a belly piercing made out of stainless steel, with a tiny Zuni fetish encircled by silver that rested in the navel. It became quite the rage in New Mexico for a while. She still sold them on her website. The money paid for her many courses. It still sold in New Mexico and Arizona; she wondered how it would do in Vegas.

  The little wolf was intriguing. A little yellow wolf, smart and strong, with an affinity for animals rare to behold. Yet, the little yellow wolf had spent years locked in her own mind, and still hated loud noises, fire, and discord. Robert was certain to work on his motorcycles when she was elsewhere, in the loving arms of the elders they called the Owl Pack for their wisdom.

  Robert. Now there was an intriguing man. Worn down by war, there were chunks of pain and terror still in his eyes, and a bone-weariness that never really left him, even when he was vigorously hiking on his blade leg and his flesh one, or expertly riding a horse. He was nothing like the wild boy she remembered, always ready to leap and pounce. But friendly, like a puppy. Resourceful, finding games to play in an empty desert. She was three years older than him. A lifetime in terms of children. Nothing, in terms of adulthood. His sister Suni may wail about the separation from her brother, but even Suni was insightful enough to realize that this place was like rain in the desert to Robert. A little girl loved him. And, that had made all the difference.

  She bought the glass kiln from Robert and rented it out to anyone who needed to anneal their work. Robert bought a new kiln, a little larger than the one that had gone with his sister, and a new potter’s wheel. She didn’t need all the space for her glass or her silver and stone jewelry, and there were the pottery drying racks he’d built for his sister. So, she grabbed herself a corner where the light was right, and set up her rock tumbler, bead release, hammers, tongs, wire, silver clay and solder, silver stamps, jeweler’s saws, buffing machine, glass mandrels to be melted into beads and rods on which to twine them, and she clamped her torches to a table.

  Men and women like Tanis Grey Horse and Rutherford Talmates came and went, renting space and kiln time, throughout the day. Trucks would drive up, unload into the kiln at dawn, and vanish, not to be seen until dark. Those that worked came and went in silence, with the occasional request to join someone in drinking a glass of lemonade. Then, it was the simple conversations of nations and family lines, of the desert heat and the health of the horses, or the latest project each one was doing.

  Her apartment was small, but lovely. It looked out over the paddock and some genuinely happy horses. Robert kept some of the money from her rent, and all the people that used the shop and kiln went to fund his purchases of dead bikes and new parts, but most went to Henry for rent.

  Triesta hung her jewelry on racks, photographed it, and kept the shipping company busy with shipments going out three times a week, and with incoming silver and glass. She went to the tattoo parlors on her Harley, her favorite places to do business, and sold silver piercing jewelry by the box. The little, Zuni, fetish, navel ring was still her best seller.

  Robert was still awakened by the little yellow wolf to help feed the horses. Triesta wasn’t foolish. She rose as well and learned how to feed the horses. Her arms got a lot stronger as she too learned to haul hay with hay hooks, and to fill up feed bags. The little wolf now saw her as part of the background for her life and so she knocked nearly silently on her door if Robert was away, for help.

  Triesta found every day to be a strange cross of res life and living on a college campus. Bright-eyed, young, First Nation people were always moving around, helping with the horses or the rabbits —the baby rabbits were cute to the extreme. They went back and forth to the Big House for meals. They worked with Robert, taking apart and putting back together the bikes. They came and went on motorcycles, trucks, and on horseback, all throughout the day. They took their lessons anywhere they wanted —in the cool of the barn, laying on hay, or on the porches of their house and/or the Big House, or upstairs with the Owl Pack.

  Their Owl Pack had some amazing minds. They had stories, wonderful stories. Triesta put forth many happy hours in the heat of the day, when it was too hot for torches and kilns, and sipped peach tea and flavored waters while making her jewelry. Richard was often there, translating stories, reading new ones in Zuni. She became his female voice now that Robert’s sister Suni was back on her res, telling tales of Coyote and summer birds and rabbits. She recited the women’s stories, adding to his collection, and Vu paid her for every minute. That woman had more stories than Ana, her mother’s sister. Triesta wondered how two women could be so different. Triesta called Ana on Skype to recite her wonderful stories, and they had many happy, high-summer hours listening to the stories of their youths, and to the many Zuni women’s
stories.

  The Nighthawks and Soldier Pack went on many wonderful rides. They often went to the Red Rock Loop to see the climbers and walk the trails, to Mount Charleston for a sweat and feast, or to Lake Mead for fishing, cooking the bass and catfish for dinner, and long nights with songs rising into the sky, filled with a million and one stars. They would end up with Chayton and Nantan’s boys on the back of their bikes, or, increasingly, Hu and Grace. Damia stayed home, and there was always someone to stay with her.

  David was their medicine man. He had strong medicine. He sang over her twice, once when she had a fever, and once when she did too much and became exhausted in the heat.

  She felt calm with David around, not confused or misdirected. She felt… at peace. Which was strange. She didn’t feel truly at peace around all the Dine (Navajo), and the heavy reliance upon teaching their language. Although they were incredible artisans, the Zuni were different in ways that seemed so hard to speak of, but something she knew in her bones when she was on Zuni land. Here there were Paiutes, Hopi, Apache, Dine, Zuni, and more, speaking in a polyglot of languages, often switching languages mid-sentence. The songs sung to the horses were many, from many languages. But, the medicine here was good. Here she felt more… herself. She could be an artist, and not be that “Native artist,” or that “Zuni girl.” She was simply one of the tribe. A tribe made up of many tribes. It sounded strange, but it worked there, on Henry’s farm. It just did.

  Triesta spent a happy hour playing with three babies —Ryder was beginning to speak. She loved Kiya and Aiden, and would sing to them, and make up stories, and spent hours on the floor playing with them. Triesta would sing as well, and Ryder would clap or dance, and the babies would chortle, or cry if they were hungry or wet. Triesta, familiar with res kids, could change a diaper with no tears involved on anyone’s part.