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Authors: Maria Rachel Hooley
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Shelly’s so I make two calls, one to my friend, telling her I’ll be right there, and one to Jimmie to let him know where I’m headed before I pull out of the lot.
Like I said, I have a great sense of direction, and Shelly’s instructions are easy to follow. She lives in a house much like the one we’re at, and it’s easily just as dated inside. The color scheme is more earthy instead of optimistic butter yellow. As we pass through the kitchen during her grand tour, she asks, “Are you hungry?”
“No.” It’s true enough. About an hour ago, I started feeling a wretched headache that I can’t shake, and it’s getting worse by the minute, it seems. I think I’ve had one migraine. This is building toward that so I’ll be really lucky to get through some of the project.
Her room is more sedate than mine with white walls and stuffed animals lining a bay window seat. She’s got pictures everywhere, mostly of her family and Bree. A few with guys I don’t recognize.
“So which project are you doing?” She sits with her legs crossed on the bed and leans against the head board where a poster of a cat in a large straw hat covers her wall.
“The miniature Globe Theatre, I think.” I rub my left temple, kind of hoping that will drive the pain back. “Do you have any Tylenol? My head is pounding.”
“Sure.” She leaves for a moment then returns with a glass of water and two pills.
“Thanks.” I quickly take them and down the water.
“I take it you’re pretty crazy about Lev?” She pulls out her English book.
“That obvious?” I reply distractedly. For the first time I’m realizing just how cold I feel. Weird, considering we’re inside and all. Am I coming down sick?
“Just a little.” She tilts her head sideways and grins at me. “What’s it like being….”
“Being an Indian?”
“Well, yeah. I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just curious.”
I shrug. “I don’t really know. I was raised by Jimmie who is white, and every time I tried to connect with others like me, I never really fit in, so I gave up trying.” I know where she is going, and if the question came from somebody else, I might take offense, but I don’t think Shelly really has a mean bone in her body.
“Are there lots more Indians in Dallas?”
I laugh and shrug. “Not lots. We didn’t live in teepees in the middle of neighborhoods or anything.” Laughter thickens my voice.
“I didn’t mean it like that….”
But I can tell by her heated flush and frown that I was in the ball park. I’ve learned not get offended with questions like that. Shelly’s probably lived in Hauser’s Landing most of her life. She really doesn’t know what’s out there.
“It’s okay. You’re not the first person who’s asked.”
“It’s just so boring around here, and you seem interesting.”
Now that’s small-town life. When I look interesting, you know it’s got to be a slow day. Shelly turns back to her book, and we talk about the different projects and how to complete them, and while I’m enjoying myself, I can also tell that the headache which is now stabbing my brain isn’t going to get any better so I tell her I should probably head home. Once I get there, I crawl into bed, hoping sleep will drive the pain away.
Chapter Five
Another nightmare. I jerk upright and try to silence the screams with my pillow. My body rocks back and forth. Back and forth. Tears roll down my face. I ache deeply. I look around the room at all my things to remind me of where I am. My laptop, my books, my compact discs. Signs of this present life, not some dreams which haunt me.
Sweat plasters hair to my face, and the night air chills me. Shivering, I throw the blankets back and pace the small room, hoping the cold night air will really wake me up and take away the emotionless eyes of Lev Walker. He is a
Like I said, I have a great sense of direction, and Shelly’s instructions are easy to follow. She lives in a house much like the one we’re at, and it’s easily just as dated inside. The color scheme is more earthy instead of optimistic butter yellow. As we pass through the kitchen during her grand tour, she asks, “Are you hungry?”
“No.” It’s true enough. About an hour ago, I started feeling a wretched headache that I can’t shake, and it’s getting worse by the minute, it seems. I think I’ve had one migraine. This is building toward that so I’ll be really lucky to get through some of the project.
Her room is more sedate than mine with white walls and stuffed animals lining a bay window seat. She’s got pictures everywhere, mostly of her family and Bree. A few with guys I don’t recognize.
“So which project are you doing?” She sits with her legs crossed on the bed and leans against the head board where a poster of a cat in a large straw hat covers her wall.
“The miniature Globe Theatre, I think.” I rub my left temple, kind of hoping that will drive the pain back. “Do you have any Tylenol? My head is pounding.”
“Sure.” She leaves for a moment then returns with a glass of water and two pills.
“Thanks.” I quickly take them and down the water.
“I take it you’re pretty crazy about Lev?” She pulls out her English book.
“That obvious?” I reply distractedly. For the first time I’m realizing just how cold I feel. Weird, considering we’re inside and all. Am I coming down sick?
“Just a little.” She tilts her head sideways and grins at me. “What’s it like being….”
“Being an Indian?”
“Well, yeah. I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just curious.”
I shrug. “I don’t really know. I was raised by Jimmie who is white, and every time I tried to connect with others like me, I never really fit in, so I gave up trying.” I know where she is going, and if the question came from somebody else, I might take offense, but I don’t think Shelly really has a mean bone in her body.
“Are there lots more Indians in Dallas?”
I laugh and shrug. “Not lots. We didn’t live in teepees in the middle of neighborhoods or anything.” Laughter thickens my voice.
“I didn’t mean it like that….”
But I can tell by her heated flush and frown that I was in the ball park. I’ve learned not get offended with questions like that. Shelly’s probably lived in Hauser’s Landing most of her life. She really doesn’t know what’s out there.
“It’s okay. You’re not the first person who’s asked.”
“It’s just so boring around here, and you seem interesting.”
Now that’s small-town life. When I look interesting, you know it’s got to be a slow day. Shelly turns back to her book, and we talk about the different projects and how to complete them, and while I’m enjoying myself, I can also tell that the headache which is now stabbing my brain isn’t going to get any better so I tell her I should probably head home. Once I get there, I crawl into bed, hoping sleep will drive the pain away.
Chapter Five
Another nightmare. I jerk upright and try to silence the screams with my pillow. My body rocks back and forth. Back and forth. Tears roll down my face. I ache deeply. I look around the room at all my things to remind me of where I am. My laptop, my books, my compact discs. Signs of this present life, not some dreams which haunt me.
Sweat plasters hair to my face, and the night air chills me. Shivering, I throw the blankets back and pace the small room, hoping the cold night air will really wake me up and take away the emotionless eyes of Lev Walker. He is a
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