Soldier Sister, Fly Home

by Nancy Bo Flood

  Lori’s dad was an honored soldier, decorated with medals for bravery shown in battle in Vietnam. Gaby had said she wasn’t surprised when Lori enlisted. Lori was the first of my sister’s friends to join, the first to finish boot camp, the first deployed to Iraq. “Nothing fancy, nothing dangerous,” Lori had emailed. “I’ll help with supplies, help the soldiers who do the fighting. They’re the real warriors. Before you know it I’ll be back.”

  Then the news: Lori’s convoy had taken a wrong turn and come under fire.

  Missing in action: Lori Piestewa.

  Then more news. Lori wasn’t missing.

  My sister’s friend.

  Specialist Lori Piestewa, 507th Maintenance Company, US Army.

  First Native American woman to fall in combat on foreign soil.

  —

  Now, today, this memorial. Everyone, both Navajo and Hopi, had traveled from all the surrounding Rez towns—Shonto, Red Lake, Tonalea, Moenkopi, Tuba City. Lori was half Hopi, half Mexican American. Everyone knew Lori and her family.

  Boom-BOOM. I wanted to run, race far away from death. I wanted to feel the tall canyon walls surround me, solid, not leaving, not changing.

  Boom-BOOM. The beating of the drums would not let me go.

  The stream of people circled the gym. The elders—the oldest veterans—led the procession. My grandpa, a proud warrior, marched with his shoulders back and head high. Then came the younger veterans from other wars. A young Hopi soldier watched from the side in a wheelchair, one leg missing.

  I looked away, stared at the gym floor, newly polished. Only a few seasons ago, my sister stood there, center circle, crouching, waiting for the whistle to blow—ready to take the tossed basketball. Today she was far away, marching, rifle over her shoulder. Today Lori’s mother stood in that circle, wrapped in a dark-purple blanket. Purple, the color of honor. Fallen Warrior. On each side of her stood two little children, Lori’s children. Did they hope Lori would come home and surprise them?

  They must hope that. Mothers don’t die.

  I joined the line of people flowing past, ashamed that I felt glad it wasn’t my sister who was gone. That it wasn’t my mother wrapped in a purple blanket.

  My sister is alive.

  But my sister had enlisted. All she had said was, “We are warriors, Tess. We help our country when help is needed. And we help our families.” She had given me a hug. “Don’t worry, I’m not getting deployed—it’s boot camp and some maintenance company. Perfectly safe. I’ll be back before you even miss me.” She had laughed. “Except when you’re washing dinner dishes!”

  I closed my eyes and pictured the rifle above the door, my grandfather’s solemn face. I saw that raven, limp in the red dirt.

  I didn’t even move.

  My sister left, and I didn’t stop her, couldn’t stop her.

  Perfectly safe. That’s what you promised, Gaby: perfectly safe.

  chapter three

  cowboys and indians

  The next morning Mom drove me back to Flagstaff, back to school. No one asked where I’d been. No one mentioned Lori’s name. Flagstaff was a different planet than the Rez. It hadn’t been my idea to transfer from Tuba City and finish junior high in Flagstaff. But Mom and Dad had said I’d get a better education and have more opportunities, especially in sports. I was breaking school records in both track and cross-country. Maybe I could get that scholarship my sister had lost. I had agreed to give a city school a try because Gaby was in Flagstaff too, a college student at NAU, Northern Arizona University. It would be our year, a year with no parents. We had big plans. Well, maybe not so big—eat pizza for breakfast, rent movies, stuff ourselves with popcorn. She’d come to my cross-country meets, cheer me across the finish line, and every time I came in first, double chocolate malts would be on her.

  But she enlisted.

  Now I was an Indian at a white school and alone in Flagstaff. My sister was hundreds of miles away, marching with a rifle at a fort in Texas. Not exactly how we’d planned our big year together.

  —

  Winter sports had ended. Spring meant track season at school, lambing and sheep-shearing season at home. Then a surprise email. Gaby had leave. She was coming home! In May or June at the latest. One whole week, maybe two—my sister was coming home!

  The time crawled by like I was waiting for Christmas. The day finally arrived. Dad picked Gaby up at the Phoenix airport and drove directly home. I kept pacing, inside the house and out, staring at the wide empty stretches of sage and sand. A big old raven swooshed over my head. It seemed as if it was looking right at me. I glared back. Are you bringing good news? My sister’s coming home. For two whole weeks. Nothing’s changing that.

  Just after sunset, I finally saw car headlights turn off the main road and bump from sagebrush to sagebrush down our drive. My sister was home!

  I ran out of the house and stopped. I remembered that Gramps and Grandma should be the first to greet Gaby. That would be the proper Navajo way. I took one quick look to make sure it was Dad’s truck and that it was still coming up the drive, and hurried back into the house.

  We all stood in the kitchen—Gramps and Grandma, Mom, me. The door swung open. No one moved. No one said a word. Gaby stepped into the room and stood there, stiff and straight. She looked different, decked out in splotchy army fatigues. And there was something else. Her hair. It was sheared short. Hair that she had vowed she would never cut, dark hair that had hung past her waist, gone. Her face had changed too, sharper somehow. And serious. There was no silly grin or teasing sparkle in her eyes. Gaby looked from one face to the next. She greeted Gramps and Grandma, and she stepped toward Mom.

  “Gabriella!” Tears glistened in Mom’s eyes. Gaby dropped her duffel, rushed over to Mom, and hugged and hugged, both of them crying. It scared me. Mom never cried like that. Tears at Lori’s memorial, but not many. Mom was always so Navajo about not showing much emotion. Finally Gaby let go of Mom and looked at me.

  “Tess, you…you’ve grown. Not just taller. You’re not a kid anymore.”

  “Your hair…I didn’t know about your hair.” What a stupid thing to blurt out.

  “Oh, I forgot.” Gaby ran her fingers through her hair and sort of smiled. “Seems like ages ago.” An awkward silence. “Sorry. I don’t know what to say. It’s a big shift leaving base and being back here. Bigger than I thought.”

  Something broke loose inside me. I rushed across the kitchen and wrapped my arms around my sister. I needed to hold her, to make sure she really was right here. My sister was different, even smelled different. I let go and stepped back. We were both crying—happy, sad, maybe even scared. So many feelings, all jumbled.

  I wiped my eyes with my sleeves and stuffed my hands in my pockets. Gaby glanced at the clock. A few minutes ago my head had been full of questions. Boot camp, what was it like? Tougher than anything she’d ever done? Were any of the other recruits Navajo? Did she get teased about being half Indian, half white? Did she miss the Rez? Did she miss us? So many questions, but I didn’t ask even one.

  Blue whinnied from the corral. Gaby grinned like her old self and looked out the window. “Guess someone else needs a hello.” She glanced at Dad. “Is it OK if Tess and I go down to the corral?”

  “Sure. We can talk later.” Something was troubling Dad. I could tell by the way his jaw was working from side to side.

  “The serious stuff can wait. Come on, Tess.”

  “What serious stuff?” No one answered. Something didn’t feel right.

  “Come on, let’s have a little sister time.” Gaby was already out the door, calling to Blue, and he was already whinnying back. This part of my sister hadn’t changed—she loved her horse.

  Gaby flipped the switch that lit the yard. Blue nickered as she rubbed his nose and gave him a handful of feed. “Here, Tess, make friends with Blue. Offer him some sweet oats, his favorite.”

  “No, thanks. Blue and I aren’t exactly on the best terms. Blue hates me.”

>   “No, he doesn’t. He smells that you’re afraid, and that scares him. Here, try this.”

  Gaby gave me a handful of grain, and we both held out our hands, side by side. Blue sniffed Gaby’s arm from her elbow down to her fingertips, snorting and sniffing until Gaby was laughing. He did the same to my arm.

  “See, now he knows we’re friends, that I trust you.”

  Blue ate both handfuls of grain and bobbed his head as if saying thanks.

  Gaby laughed again. “Want to ride double?”

  “It’s dark.”

  “I love riding in the dark. It’s like flying. Don’t worry. Blue knows his way. Two sisters under the stars, riding across the desert. Come on, Tess, do it for me.”

  Gaby didn’t wait for an answer. She slipped on Blue’s halter and swung herself onto his back. “Stay right here. I’ll give Blue a warm-up run, and once he settles, I’ll be back for you.”

  She clicked her tongue and gave Blue a gentle swat with the rope. Blue half-reared, trotted a few yards, and switched to a steady lope. Gaby let out a holler, kept Blue at a steady pace, circled the corral, and disappeared into the dark. A couple of minutes later they reappeared. Gaby was smiling her old silly grin.

  “Hey, little sister, Blue’s ready.” Gaby reached down, and I grasped her hand, quick-counted to three, and leaped as she pulled me up. I wrapped my arms tight around her waist. Suddenly Blue took off. My stomach lurched, and the world became a dark swirl of stars above and hoofs thundering beneath me. I started getting dizzy and then remembered—breathe! Gaby started singing some crazy Navajo song, sometimes giving a whoop or holler, and talking to Blue. I gripped tighter, breathed deeper, and closed my eyes. Now I could feel the smooth rhythm of Blue’s steady galloping, galloping. I squeezed my sister and let myself fly.

  Two sisters under the stars, riding across the desert.

  Out of nowhere a coyote barked. It sounded close, as if it were right next to us. Another one howled from the other side, and then another. They sounded like they were all around us. Blue bolted.

  Gaby yelled, “Hold on, hold on!” Blue ran full out. The coyotes’ yipping and howling fell behind.

  Gaby started talking low and steady, “Easy, boy, easy. Let’s slow this race down.” Blue swerved around a tumble of boulders that I could barely see. Gaby kept talking to Blue. I felt her leaning back, tightening the reins, and slowly, slowly Blue’s pace slackened. Finally Gaby kept him at a gentle trot.

  “Where are we?” I couldn’t see lights anywhere.

  “I have no idea. Blue does.” Gaby patted Blue’s withers, stroked his neck. “Home, Blue, take us home.”

  Gaby loosened the reins, let Blue have his head. He veered to the left and trotted along some unseen trail. A few minutes later we topped a small hill, and I could see the welcome glow of the yard light.

  Gaby turned around and called over her shoulder, “Nice ride!”

  And then we were at the corral.

  My arms were still shaking from holding on so tight, and when I slid off Blue, my legs felt like rubber.

  “Hey, want to go again?” Gaby turned around. She looked plain happy. “You did great. Remember, if something ever goes wrong, give Blue his head. Trust him. He’ll take care of you.”

  “Trust that horse? Never. Not unless you’re holding the reins.”

  Gaby didn’t say anything, just raised her eyebrows. She led Blue back into the corral. She held his head in her hands, put her forehead to his. Talked to him in Navajo. Funny, I swear he understood. It seemed like they always understood each other. Then Gaby became all business and gave him a quick rubdown and another handful of grain.

  She closed the gate and stood and looked at Blue for a moment. “Maybe someday you and Blue will be friends.” She started walking toward the house. “Come on, sis. It’s time for me to talk with the folks. I promised Dad we’d have some time alone.”

  “Talk? About what?”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  “I guess that means I’m not invited.”

  “I guess you guessed right. Sorry about that.”

  Gaby’s mood had shifted. She was focused on whatever the big talk with the folks was about. Her face was unreadable.

  —

  I trudged up to my room—our room—sat cross-legged on my bed, and pulled out a few comics. I stared at the covers. In the kitchen below, Mom, Dad, and Gaby were talking, so softly that I couldn’t make out any words. Mom’s voice was sharp, asking Gaby about something. There was a lot of silence. No one was moving around fixing dinner or getting coffee. My sister was home. For two weeks. No one was laughing. Something wasn’t right.

  chapter four

  change of orders

  I stared at my sister’s empty bed. We had always shared this room. Until she left for college. Every night she wore her silly Mickey Mouse pajamas, bought with the money she’d earned watering corn and squash in Grandma’s field. Twice a day she had carried two big buckets and given each plant one dipper full. At the end of that summer, our family had made a special trip to Disneyland, celebrating Gaby’s “Best Runner on the Rez” trophy. Gaby had had just enough money to buy those pajamas after she got me a stuffed Pluto puppy. Pluto’s head never stayed upright, flopping over onto his tummy, but I didn’t care.

  Our beds had matching tie quilts Grandma had sewn from Blue Bird flour sacks when Gaby started junior high and I began first grade. I chose the quilt with a bluebird singing in every square. Gaby chose the one with the words “Enriched,” “Bleached,” and “Cortez Milling Co., Inc.”

  Gaby had kept it a secret from our folks that she could barely read. Night after night she had traced the letters across the quilt, saying their sounds. Then she’d slowly read an Archie comic. I had taught myself to read, but that was my secret. One night I opened a brand-new comic and started reading it to her. Gaby burst into tears. She had been getting ready to start junior high, and I could already read better than she could. So we had made a deal. Every night we would read a different comic together. That was the summer my sister learned to read.

  My hair never grew as long as Gaby’s. I loved her hair—black, thick, and smooth. Just like Mom’s. My hair was boring brown like Dad’s and never grew longer than halfway down my back. After our evening showers, Gaby would sit on the edge of her bed. I would sit behind her and brush her hair until all the snarls were combed out. Gaby had said she’d never cut her hair. Never.

  Finally I heard my sister’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

  “Ready for a talk, Tess?”

  “Sure.” My sister looked tired, and something else too. Determined?

  “There’s plenty of stuff I want to explain.” Gaby pulled the door shut. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I’ve got some hard news, and I want you to hear it from me.”

  My heart began racing. “News about what?” All kinds of thoughts started jumping around in my head.

  “Be patient with me tonight, OK, sis? Words keep getting stuck in my throat.”

  I stared at the bluebird singing away in the middle of a quilt square.

  “Mom told me about Lori’s memorial. I know it wasn’t easy for you. Thanks for being there.”

  I yanked loose a piece of yarn from the quilt and twisted it around my finger. Twist, untwist.

  Gaby hesitated, then started again. “Remember how every November on Veterans Day Grandpa rides horseback across the mesa with all the other veterans? How proud he is dressed in his Marine Corps regalia?”

  I frowned. “If you have bad news, then just say it. Why are you talking about this other stuff?”

  “Dad told me Grandpa led the procession at the memorial.”

  In my mind, I saw those two little children standing next to Lori’s mom. The purple blanket. I felt the beating of the drums inside me.

  “Remember how Grandpa would take out his war medals? Let us watch when he polished them? He was a hero. A Code Talker.”

  “Stop t
alking in circles, Gaby. Whatever it is, just say it!”

  My sister didn’t answer. She just sat on her bed, slowly tracing every letter in “flour.”

  “You’re still mad that I enlisted.” She looked at me. “I want to explain—”

  “Going to college. Becoming a doctor. Those were your dreams. Healing people, not killing them.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  I bit my lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Losing that scholarship was hard, Tess. Really hard.” Gaby looked at me, her eyes angry. “Not being able to run and win. Mom and Dad having to pay my tuition and everything because of that stupid accident. I hated it.”

  “It was Blue’s fault. Why didn’t you get rid of him?”

  “It was never Blue’s fault. I pushed him too hard. I didn’t trust him, and he knew it.”

  That nightmare moment came back as if it were just happening. Rodeo finals, barrel racing. Blue had refused the turn. Gaby had flown right over him. The crack of bone. My sister’s leg twisted at a terrible angle, her face in the dirt. I had run into the arena, but someone pulled me back. Ambulance lights flashed, and a stretcher had carried my sister away. One broken leg, a smashed ankle, and all her dreams of being a track star, her scholarship, gone.

  “You didn’t have to drop off the team.”

  “I couldn’t win, Tess. Couldn’t even place.”

  “But quit college?”

  “Plans sometimes take a detour, Tess.”

  “Detour! Joining the army is not exactly a detour.”

  “Would you please shut up and listen—”

  “You can’t make Lori come back.”

  “Listen to me. Just listen! This has nothing to do with Lori!”

  “Then what does it have to do with?”

  “It has to do with another change.” Gaby stopped, stared down at the quilt. “My unit is being sent to Iraq, Tess. Deployed.”