KOTA

FLASHBACK  

The Ahoka family gather what they can. Furniture and appliances are left in place. The Ford wagon can only hold so much. Only sentimental items are packed into the vehicle. Dy silently cries while carrying jewelry boxes and a bag of clothes. She mean mugs Kota on her way out the front door. Her brother mopes.

This is all my fault. If I hadn't ventured through the crowd and exposed myself, we'd still be living here. I know mom and dad are thinking the same.

"Help your mother, Kota." Matto, who carries out picture frames, directs him.

Odina is in the kitchen. Her teary eyes reminisce memories within the wallpapered room. Kota too recalls the good days. He revisits the times he spent in this kitchen as a kid. He always helped his mother with baking. His chubby face covered in flour. How he snuck finger fulls of chocolate, how he stole peaches from the cobbler.

Kota even recalls him and Dy strapping on their bookbags for elementary school. The two were two peas in a pot, they always packed lunch together. Their happy giggles haunt his ears in an eerie echo. Odina sniffles and wipes her eyes. His mother turns away, grief stricken. "Uyoayelvdi, Unistsi, (Sorry, Mother)."

"No...don't be. None of this is your fault. Life is unpredictable." She cuddles him. "There comes a time when goodbyes aren't pleasant. But new beginnings are welcomed." Is this truly what she wants to say? Is my mother this calm on the inside?? Or is she hiding behind a shield to spare me? There's no way everyone isn't thinking the same.

We're a tribeless family because of what I am. We have no clan, no people. Now...we have no land. No community. Our home is forever gone after we drive away.

She breaks from the embrace. "The dishware and jars are going with us." Kota nods, making his way to pack the pieces into a cardboard box. Odina goes to unhook pictures from the wall. She muffles a sob. Mom is trying to be stronger than she is.

"My father might have a solution for the sun predicament." Matto marches to the wall phone. "There's no way he'll be safe in the car for 12 hours."

Kota stops packing the box. "12 hours? He wonders. "Where are we going?"

"Your grandad offered us shelter in Chicago." Matto dial in numbers.

"Oh..."

His father place the receiver to his ear. "We have little time to pack, please hurry."

Kota picks up his speed, moving faster than a normal human. The countertops are cleared within seconds. So are the walls. Odina shrieks, holding her chest. He regrets this choice. His mother is disturbed by his inhuman motion. 'I didn't mean to....I'm sorry."

"It's fine." She lies, composing her terror. "This is the last box. You can begin on your room."

He lifts the box and walks normally to the front door. The rez officers survey the house from their cruisers. Bly's eyes burn into Kota's with much distrust. Five cop cars line the side of the street. Neighbors sit on their porches, watching the Ahoka house. Dyani sits in the car with her head in her hands, weeping. Kota stacks the box in the trunk, then approaches the back door where she sits. "Are you alright?"

"Just get away from me!!" Her eyes shoot daggers at him. "You ruined everything!!"

The words wound his soul; he winces as an abused puppy would. He slinks away, returning inside with his shoulders slumped. His bedroom is where he goes. Kota views a closet full of clothes. His bed, then his dresser. The dresser is full of peg dolls, painted warriors, and chiefs. Horse figurines, wooden flutes, dream catchers, handmade pottery, feather headdresses.

His brows knit together. He caress the pottery bowls he created. I shouldn't pack these. Or anything in the room. That'll only bring aching memories. Memories of belonging somewhere I can't reach anymore. Kota fixes the bed sheets and tidies up the floor. He packs nothing. His pale eyes mournfully sweep the room before closing the door.

His parents hustle out the house with boxes, Kota helps. This time he's sure to avoid using his speed abilities. The living and dining room is full of taped boxes. He hoists three with ease. Once the house is cleared, he and his father head to the garage. The doghouse he crafted for Dyani is there. "You should give it to your sister, it may brighten her mood."

"I'll leave it..."

"Are you sure?" Matto frets.

"I'm sure."

His father's light brown eyes drop to the floor. "Remember building this?" He stares over the tiny garage.

"Yeah...it took five days."

"Only because you complained about hand cramps." Matto sniggers.

Kota eyes the shelves full of tools. "I wish we didn't have to leave....I wish none of this happened." His voice trembles.

Matto hugs him. "I do too...we all do. But we'll overcome this. Home is where the family is, not where the land resides."

"How can you be so sure there's hope?"

Matto breaks away, resting his hands on his son's shoulders. "Because you're not a lost cause...you're just lost. We will find a solution. Your mother and I promise you this. So does your granddad."

"I'll never belong anywhere...no matter where we go, people will react the same as the town did."

"As long as you have us, you'll have normalcy." His dad declares with certainty. "Speaking of normalcy. Your grandad and mother have an answer for the sun. An emblem. Once we're done clearing the garage, the mark will be placed on your skin." It doesn't take long to clean out the garage, since only tools are within. They load each into a large box, then tape it up. Kota tapes sideways as his father does down the middle. This is the last package to hit the trunk. Dyani still pines in the backseat, wiping her red eyes.

The cops examine them from their jeeps, keeping note of Kota's actions as if he's a bear ready to pounce. They all watch from the windows as if hunting in the woods. They're cautious and alert. The officers trace his every step. A few even hold shotguns across their laps. Kota eyes the triggers. Odina follows his line of sight, noticing the gun triggers. "Come, walela (hummingbird)." She calls for her child. He joins her on the porch. "Aren't you taking this?" Odina points at the mailbox he crafted for her. "I'm sure it took hours. We could hang it at grandads."

"We could." Matto agrees. Kota grins faintly. His mother removes it from the porch wall and hands it to him. "Let's begin the marking. Come on inside." His parents lead him to the dining room. There are two smudge bowls on the table, full of crushed herbs and dark liquid. "Have a seat." Kota sits. The clinging from the bowls fill the room; the gentle sound eases him.

I wonder what the symbol will consist of. I've seen sun markings before. I'm not sure a normal one will aid my skin. Wouldn't it draw more sun? I hope this goes to plan. I trust grandad. After all, he was once a Speller...meaning his knowledge has to be factual.

The touch of the dark liquid on his skin is cooling, not painful. He's thankful for this, the last smudge burned him. Kota breathes softly. The ringing and the cold massage on his skin are comforting. Matto and Odina use their fingertips to paint a complex sign upon his skin. A bold circle marks the center, from it, an array of uneven lines expand. The art resembles a cross with a hollow middle and jagged wood. The design cut off is clean and bold.

Come midnight, they leave their home. Matto shuts the door, locking it. He lingers for a good while; separation anxiety devours him. He blinks away tears before turning away. Odina and Kota buckle into the wagon, while he steps to a cop car. Bly rolls down the window. Matto hands over the house key. "The spare is-"

"On the third windowpane...I haven't forgotten."

"Right..." He gives a long face. "I guess this is farewell."

"It is...." Bly rolls up the window. "Farewell."

Matto glides to the wagon and straps in. The street is touched by hazy moonlight. The roofs of the cop cars glisten under the pale shine. Matto adjust the rearview mirror, then reverses from the driveway.

The tires roll on the gravel towards the street. The five officer cruisers whirl the sirens twice before the engines are revved up. Matto steers the wagon ahead, his chin held high. The neighbors exit their houses to watch the exile. Elders, adults, teens, and children. They all bear the protective arrow symbol on their faces. The quiet is forsaken. Their disgust is immovable and crippling.

One police car swerves around the wagon. The chief drives with a partner. He bans the family with a glower, then speeds ahead to lead the way. The other four cars cage the side and back of the wagon. Odina takes hold of her husband's hand as he guides the car forward. Dy cries, hugging her arms around her legs.

Kota catches sight of the residents through the side mirror. All of them linger into the street. Surveying their departure through the peak of the midnight moon. The small mountain town fades away in the distance, swallowed by farmland. The cops trigger the siren lights, which strobe the wagon in red, white, and blue.

His father keeps his chin high to appear tough, Kota knows he's just as emotional as his mother. Especially when the car passes a horse field. The majestic animals graze the grass in dim moonlight. All of their attention go to the galloping animals, recalling all of their riding games.

It all seems to appear vividly before Kota. Capturing the flag from one another while on horseback. His human days. When his skin was as it should be...not comatose. When his sister loved him. When his mother wasn't weeping. When his father wasn't scared. The flag waving through the wind. How it was passed between their hands in competition. How warm their hands were.

He stares down at his dead, cold hands. Tears fall past his porcelain cheeks. The plain fields stretch as far as the eye can see. There's no escape from how he and his family ran through the tall weeds, playing hide and seek. Or the picnics they hosted in the tall grass. The fun. The joy.

The sense of belonging. Kota shuts his eyes to end the memories playing out before him, droplets of tears continue to fall. The ride is quiet all the way to the state line. The chief's car circles around to join the other four. Each car shields the border, uniting side by side to show force.

Matto survey the vehicles through the rearview. A frown is present on his handsome face. His brown eyes reveal how forlorn he truly is. He inhales and exhales. The wagon pass on through a lonely country road. Odina looks back at Kota, concerned. She reaches a hand back to hold his. His mother doesn't jump from the iciness of his skin. She tolerates it.

Hours pass. The wagon travels through open fields. The sun begins to rise. Kota opens his eyes to view it. The golden rays no longer buzz violently or set him aflame. The voice is no longer present. He hears nothing from the fiend that once corrupted him. The marking worked. He's bathed in sunlight without any discomfort. The paleness of his skin glimmers instead of burns. He almost looks human. The orange lighting gives an illusion of his normal complexion.

"Any pain?" His father glances back at him.

"No...there's no pain."

"Good." Matto sighs in relief. His mother's hand still embraces his, although she's asleep. Dyani is resting too. He attempts placing his hand atop hers, yearning for sisterly affection. But halts. His temperature will only scare her awake. He withdraws his hand. "Give her time."

His son sighs. "How much?"

"As much as she needs...and take as much as you need. That's all we can do." His father eyes the divided sky, half dawn, half night. Stars are still visible. "Remember the game we used to play?"

"How many stars."

"Try counting as many as you can."

This was a way his dad got him to fall asleep as a kid. He'd tuck him into bed, then open his bedroom window. Kota recalls this as if a movie rolling on a screen. His father always says, "tell me how many there are in the morning." He starts counting in his head...knowing now that he's older that it's impossible to get to the end. There are billions of stars in the galaxy. He uses this game to rest his mind. The explosion of white dots distract him. 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10. 11.12.13.14.15.

Kota closes his eyes again. He doesn't sleep, he just sees darkness. No dreams come. Only wind rushing against the metal frame of the car. He reflect on the sounds. Hoping to find balance, but all he finds is his stomach sinking into an endless pit.

By sundown, the farmlands are gone, the skyline of Chicago engulfs the horizon. Towering skyscrapers made of white lights. Yellow streetlamps. The fresh scent of Lake Michigan. The expressway guides them to congested buildings. The streets are compact. Kota notes the drastic change in scenery. There's little nature. Concrete blocks out the ground where there should be grass. The trees are skinny and frail. The trash filled pavements show no unity.

People walk with paranoia...not trusting each other. This place is colder than his dead soul. I don't like how dangerous it feels. Or the depressing atmosphere. There's no community, like back home. Everyone are strangers...nothing more. There's no unity...the littering is proof of this.

The homeless camping on the sidewalk stings his heart. The sight is never ending. Every corner host those down on their luck. This place is a prison. The air smells like coal. There must be factories nearby off-loading toxic smoke. Kota activates his super hearing to isolate the sound of machines hissing fumes from factory chimneys.

The dark city is barely illuminated. Dark side roads and alleyways line the roads. Glass shards shatter the asphalt of the street. Burned down apartment complexes. Torn down brick buildings. Abandoned churches with boarded up windows. Kota eyes the stained glass, the multicolored hue portray artwork of angels. I guess their god forsaken them the same as mine has done me. This is where the hopeless end up. A hell on earth.

His sight goes to the electrical lines that stretch from pole to pole. The static noises prick at his ears. Endless clouds in the sky dampen his spirit. Where are the stars? In Oklahoma, the night sky is a firefly show. Here...it's black. How can that be? Even the moon is foggy, instead of crystal clear.

A brick home is where the car pauses. Matto parks the wagon on the petite street and powers off the vehicle. The headlights fizz off, surrounding them in darkness. "Wake your sister." He tells Kota, as he gently shakes his wife awake.

Kota decides he can't do the same. Dyani will hate his touch, so he speaks instead. "Dy, wake up. We're here." She mumbles awake, wiping her eyes. The front door of the house opens. Kota looks to the porch. His grandfather wears an orange poncho and brown denim jeans. The old man's pie face is sweet and inviting. The grin he gives is warm.