A Different Blue(30)

“People like Miss Sheffield need to be given a hard time every once in a while. It's good for

her. It'll toughen her up, help her grow hair on her chest, develop a little muscle,” I

smirked.

“What do you mean, people like Miss Sheffield?”

“Come on, Wilson!” I moaned. “You know exactly what I mean. Haven't you ever noticed all the

little groups, all the little cliques in your own classroom? Over here we have the athletes.” I

walked to a grouping of desks on the back row. “Here we have the pom poms and the Prom Queens.

” I pointed as I strolled. “The nerds usually congregate here. The bitchy girl – that'd be me

– sits here. And the kids that don't have a clue who or what they are fill in all the spots in

between. Maybe you don't recognize these little divisions because people like you and Miss

Sheffield have your own status. People like you don't have a group because you float above the

groups. You're from England. You should know all about class structure, right?”

“What in the world are you going on about?” Wilson cried out in frustration, and his obvious

upset just spurred me on.

“Jimmy, the man who raised me, told me a story once,” I explained. “It goes right along with

the whole tribal thing we've been talking about. Romans vs. Goths, vs. the Visigoths vs.

everyone else. It's the reason people fight. It's an Indian legend his grandfather told him. He

said Tabuts, the wise wolf, decided to carve many different people out of sticks. Different

shapes, sizes, colors. He carved them all. Then the wise wolf put all the people he'd created

into a big sack. He planned to scatter them all over the earth evenly, so every person he

created would have a good place to live, plenty of space, plenty of food, and plenty of peace.

“But Tabuts had a younger brother named Shinangwav. Shinangwav, the coyote, was very

mischievous and liked to cause trouble. When Tabuts, the wise wolf, wasn't looking, Shinangwav

made a hole in the sack. So when the wise wolf tried to scatter them, instead of everyone

getting their own little space, the people fell out in bunches.”

Wilson stood very still, his grey eyes trained on my face, and I realized I had his attention

now, whether I wanted it or not.

“Jimmy said this explains why people fight. They don't have sufficient space, or maybe someone

else fell on a better plot of ground, and we all want the land or possessions someone else got

– simply by the luck of the draw. So we fight. You and Pamela are the same kind of people.

You're from the same bunch,” I finished, defiant.

“What's that supposed to mean, Blue?” Wilson wasn't defiant. He looked upset, hurt even.

I shrugged tiredly, my anger fizzling like a leaky balloon. Wilson was a smart man. It wasn't

exactly hard to decipher my meaning.

“But if we're all carved by the same wise wolf,” Wilson persisted, using the story to make his

point, “why does it matter where we were scattered?”

“Because so many people suffer while others seem to have it so easy. And it doesn't make much

more sense to me than that Indian legend.”

“So you're angry because of where you were scattered. And you're angry with me – and Pamela as

well – because we grew up across the pond in a life of leisure and privilege.”