Saddle Up(23)

“No. They aren’t as active at night. It’s too cold.”

The cooler temperature also magnified the beauty of the night. There was almost nothing he appreciated more than staring up at a canopy of shimmering lights. Tonight, the cloudless, moonless sky, showcased the full brilliance of a million stars.

“Do you do this often?” she asked. “Camping out under the stars?”

“I’ve done it often enough. When I was fourteen, I spent a few days alone in a place a lot like this.”

“Why were you alone?” she asked.

“It was a vision quest.”

“What is that exactly?” she asked. “I’ve heard the term, of course, but I don’t really understand the purpose of it. There’s a film I like called Vision Quest in which one of the main characters pretends to be an Indian, but it never explains what a real vision quest is.”

He stared into the fire. “It’s a rite of passage. When a young man reaches warrior age, he must go away to a secret place until he finds his boo-ha-gant, a kind of talisman to help him through life.”

On his own quest, he’d gone to Crow Heart Butte, the same peak he’d scaled with his grandfather the year before when they’d scattered his father’s ashes to the four winds. He’d remained for three days, immersed in fervent prayer, but no vision had come to him.

“Did it work?” she asked. “Did you find your boo-ha-gant?”

“No.” He recalled his profound disappointment that the Great Spirit had deemed him unworthy. Was it due to his mixed blood, or was it a character flaw? He’d never know. Either way, he was determined that no one would learn of his failure. “I said I had a vision, but I lied.”

“Why would you do that?” she asked.

“For acceptance. I’d been with my adopted family for over a year, but many on the rez still regarded me as an outsider. I was desperate to fit in. In the beginning, I suffered many black eyes and bloody noses, mostly from my own cousins. Although I had lots of practice fighting back home, the rules were different on the rez. I lost often but never backed down. That’s what finally won their respect. My cousin Tonya was the first to come around, deciding that even mixed blood was thicker than water. Eventually, my male cousins followed. After that, they accepted me as family—at least until my decision to leave.”

“Why did you leave?” she asked.

“In the beginning, I was enthralled by my native roots and embraced Indian culture as warmly as my grandparents embraced me, but as I grew older, I began to miss the material things I’d known before. Perhaps the novelty of the native life had worn off. I started to resent rather than revere the old traditions. I found them superstitious and oppressive; so when the opportunity was presented, I left.”

“I can understand wanting to fit in,” she said. “I lied about a lot of things too when I was young.”

“What kinds of things?”

“I don’t even remember now. Just a lot of stupid things that don’t even matter. Wanting to belong can be a painful, sometimes damaging thing. Did you ever see the movie Heathers?” she asked.

“No. Told you I haven’t seen many movies.”

“It’s a totally over-the-top dark comedy about this girl who wants to run with the ‘in crowd’ but gets involved with this cool new guy who starts killing the most popular kids. It won several independent film awards.”

“You seem to spend a lot of time watching movies. Movies are only an imitation of life, Miranda.”

Her lips compressed. “Are you implying that I have no life?”

“I’m wondering why you would prefer to watch other people’s lives than living your own. Why do you hide behind your camera? What are you afraid of?”

“You’re wrong! I’m not hiding, and I’m not afraid of anything…besides maybe snakes and other creepy things,” she confessed. “But I even braved all that to come out here.”

“Why?” he pressed again, suddenly wanting to understand her better. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” she said. “I guess my camera is my view of the world. It’s my eyes and ears and my voice.”

“You think you’re blind, deaf, and mute without it?” he asked, growing even more puzzled.

“No.” She glanced up at him with a shake of her head. “It’s just that I’ve always felt like I don’t matter, as if I mean nothing to this world. Like I’m no more significant than a grain of sand in this desert. I guess someone like you could never understand that.”

The remark irked him. “What do you mean someone like me? You seem to make a lot of assumptions about me.” That fact annoyed him even more.

“I only meant you aren’t like me,” she said. “You’re the kind of person people instantly notice. I’m usually invisible.”

“Maybe because that’s what you secretly want,” he suggested.

“Why would you think that? I’m just stating facts here. I’m not beautiful or brilliant or even funny. I have no athletic ability. I can’t read music or even carry a tune. There’s nothing special about me.” She tilted her head up to the sky, continuing wistfully. “But I want to be special. I want to matter, or at least feel like I do. That’s why I want to tell stories that matter.”