Winter Counts(31)
But then I smelled Marie’s perfume. Not just her perfume, but the scent of Marie herself.
It hit me right in the chest, and it seemed that I sensed it with every cell in my body. It was overwhelming, the aroma of her, and I felt desire travel throughout my body. My resolve slipping, I tried to tell myself this was a mistake, that I should leave things as they stood. But, that scent.
I dove off the cliff.
13
The next morning, I awoke in Marie’s room next to her, my body positioned at the far side of the mattress, taking up as little space as possible. In the quiet of the morning, I reflected on the previous night. Maybe we’d made a mistake, moved too soon. She began to stir. Her eyes opened, and she looked at me in surprise. “Oh shit,” she said, and ran into the bathroom.
What the fuck? I’d assumed she’d wake up with some affection and warmth, maybe even desire. Had I done something wrong? We’d kissed at the restaurant, awkwardly at first, then with confidence as we began to remember each other. I’d driven back—way too fast—to the motel, where we continued where we’d left off. The lovemaking had felt effortless. We already knew each other, and there was none of the discovery process necessary with a new partner.
I wondered if I should hightail it back to my room, avoid any further weirdness. But before I had a chance to make a decision, the door opened and she came out. She’d rearranged her hair and was wearing one of the scratchy white motel bathrobes.
“Hey,” she said, “sorry I dashed out of here like that. I needed a moment to catch up. You know, process a little. Also, my hair looked like the Wicked Witch.”
“I get it,” I said, relief flowing through my body. “It just happened, not like we planned it or anything.”
She sat on the bed and took my hand. “I don’t know, maybe we can take it one step at a time; what do you think?”
It sounded good. In fact, that had been my guiding philosophy most of my life. But the awkwardness of the situation hit me. Did she want me to stay here in her room, maybe go for round two, or should I clear out and give her some space? I realized I was completely naked, and my clothes were scattered across the room.
“Lord, my head hurts. You want some Tylenol?” she asked as she started rummaging through her bag. Suddenly shy, I covered myself with a sheet and began to recover my clothes, although I couldn’t find my underwear. I resigned myself to that loss and slipped on my pants.
“How about some coffee?” I said as I pondered whether to kiss her again or escape with no contact. Christ, we’d been together for a long time, why was this so complicated?
Marie made the decision by leaning down and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “That would be great, thanks. I’m getting in the shower. Just set it on the table if I’m not out yet. Thought I’d do a little shopping today before we get started, maybe pick up something for my mom. I’ll take the car, you mind?”
I’d been thinking that we’d go to the café together, but it looked like I was on my own. I didn’t mind that she wanted to go shopping by herself, and I understood why. Her mother had instilled a love of expensive goods in her and was willing to finance her spending, but Marie struggled with this, feeling that materialism was inconsistent with Lakota values. In the past, I’d told her to buy what she liked and not worry about it. But I knew she’d likely beat herself up and end up returning some of the things she’d purchase today.
“And listen, I’ll make some calls while I’m out,” she said. “I’ve got a few people I want to ask about Rick.”
I spent the morning trying to watch TV in my room, but was too distracted to focus on anything but Scooby-Doo. Marie returned, hours later, with some sandwiches and several large shopping bags. While we ate, she told me that she’d gotten a lead, someone in Denver who might have knowledge about Rick Crow.
After eating, Marie and I left the motel. We drove about half an hour to a run-down neighborhood that had numerous pawn shops, dollar-a-scoop Chinese restaurants, and more cannabis dispensaries. I wondered if there was a correlation between the poverty of an area and the abundance of marijuana stores. We pulled into the parking lot of a large building with a well-tended garden in front. The sign read DENVER INDIAN CENTER.
Inside, a young Native woman was at the front desk. We passed through the lobby, where a dozen pamphlets were on display: Signing Up for the Children’s Health Program; Native Americans Uniting to Fight Alzheimer’s; Veterans’ Benefits and Natives; Heart Healthy Practices Start with You! I considered taking one of the booklets to learn how to protect my heart, but realized it was probably too late for that.
“Can I help you?” asked the receptionist.
“We’re looking for Reuben,” Marie said.
“He’s leading the elders talking circle, but they’re almost done. Go ahead and go on in; they’re down the hall in the Thunderbird Room.”
We quietly opened the door and walked in. About ten elder Natives were sitting in a circle. We sat down in chairs near the back of the room to listen. A senior with long silver hair tied in a ponytail was holding an eagle feather and speaking. He glanced at us as we walked in.
“—the white man sticks their old ones in nursing homes, assisted living, whatever you want to call them—I call ’em warehouses, ’cause that’s what they are, a place to stick the old folks until they die. You know Indians don’t hide away our elders, we keep them with the little takojas so they can learn from us. Pass it on to the little ones, that’s what the Creator wants. Well, that’s all for me today. I want Reuben to know I appreciate what he’s doing, high time someone stuck up for us.”