This is a tribute to my eight years on the Hopi rez, where I lived as the wife of a Hopi artist, immersed in their beautiful culture. While pow wows are not a Hopi "thing," we went to lots of them. And the feeling of Oneness with all of the people not just there but in the entire world, as we danced, is something I will never forget. It's an experience that changed my life, so I wanted Colt and Wyatt to experience it together. And to share it with you, too.

2-7

It got around fast, what had happened out there—I’ll give you the whole story the little Indian women told us in a minute. But Wyatt was the one everyone kept running up to and wanting to hear about back at the village. So I’m going to do a Pulp Fiction on you, and tell you things all out of chronological order.

I’ll start with all the incredible stuff that happened at the pow wow later that day. We were so amped up that we still wanted to go, her and I. So damned near everyone in the village went along so they could sit by us looking all smug like she was kin to them or something.

I mean, you should’ve seen those ladies trying to sit by us and Tia under the arbor like that fry bread fight never even happened. But of course, all the young girls smirked and rolled their eyes the whole time. They couldn’t let her get away with me that easily.

The pow wow itself had been going strong for a couple of days already. But that day, there was a huge Christmas crowd partly because of the good weather and also because of the “big rescue” they’d heard about on Facebook, a lot of them.

I think I’ve told you how Native people are all into Facebooking damned near everything to their relations all over the place. I once heard a pow wow MC warn the audience that “what you do in Vegas stays in Vegas, but what you do at the pow wow goes on Facebook.”

He’s right. It’s like the new moccasin grapevine, Facebook. So Wyatt’s story was all over Indian Country in a flash—the fact that some of those Indians knew her as a teacher gave it a boost, of course. So I have to think that brought out quite a few folks who wouldn’t have been there otherwise.

And that was actually a really good thing, since the admission “fee” was old clothes, canned food, anything you wanted to offer to the elders and the poorer folks in the area. If you didn’t bring anything, there was a donation jar for cash. But it didn’t matter how much you gave. A couple of little kids gave a quarter each, and the women at the little table made a big fuss over them like they’d put a Benjamin each in there.

The elders who started the Christmas pow wow, Alma and Kenneth White Horse, had set aside a whole section for us under the arbor. There were even chairs there already, so we didn’t need the folding ones we’d brought. And as we were setting up, Alma came over to give Wyatt a big hug.

She was a stately sistah with a sugar white braid down her back and not one wrinkle on her face. I couldn’t tell what tribe she was from, but they make some really nice looking women, whichever one it is. I mean, she was more than just pretty. She moved like maybe she’d been a professional dancer once. Very regal, dignified. And the way she smiled at Wyatt made me feel really proud and even more humbled.

It was like they were welcoming her home, you know? Like she was back where she belonged. And that surprised me because I’m usually skeptical about white folks on the rez. But I knew Wyatt hadn’t gone there to be “one with the Indians” like a lot of the New Agey, Rainbow Children types do.

I mean, there’s all these people who want to believe they were Native in a past life or have Indian blood, when only, like, 1% of the people in this country really do have any Native in them. That’s a fact. The people who do DNA testing will tell you that.

But you get all these people going to places like Hopi, especially, wanting to become a “medicine man” or be invited to all the “secret ceremonies” and whatnot. Or to marry a trophy Indian and strut around all cool. But Wyatt never even wore Native jewelry. And I never heard her brag about where she’d lived or being “accepted” by the people there.

Even so, I have to admit she’d made me a little bit uneasy at first. A lot of the people who do what she did have a piece missing or a screw loose somewhere—Wyatt had some definite damage down deep somewhere, too, I’m not going to lie.

But when Alma touched her face so lovingly, I felt like she recognized all the beautiful things I saw in Wyatt. Things Wyatt wouldn’t let herself believe even after what she’d done that day. And I was hoping it would heal that broken parts and help me free her from the dungeon she’d locked herself away in for so long.

She shook my hand in a different way, Alma. Like she was seeing me for the first time, though we’d met a few times before. I knew that was because of Wyatt, too. Like she was honored to meet the man that brave woman had chosen, then I was welcome, too.

She said, “I want to see you dancing out there,” with this little twinkle in her eyes. Sometimes I don’t dance, because I don’t feel it’s my place. But this was the woman in charge telling me to get out there.

So I said, “Yes, ma’am!” And she laughed and rubbed my back.

But we watched all the dancers enter and go around a few times first. I love Grand Entry, when all the dancers come into the circle together, each type doing their particular steps all proud.

I’m a grass dance fan, so I was watching to see if there were any good ones out there. And I was not disappointed. They got low, those guys.

That’s what they used to do back in the day, the grass dancers. They were the ones who stomped down the tall grass on the Plains, to get it ready for the others. The other male dancers jump and hop and whirl almost up on their toes. It’s about touching the earth lightly—defying gravity.

Grass dancers are different. Their regalia has all this fringe on it, like they’re trying to be grass when they lean way into it--I can’t explain well enough. But the motions are toward the earth, not up and away from it. And if they’re good, you can almost see the grass swaying and them out there dancing it down.

The ones there that day were really strutting their stuff. I think sometimes the pow wows where the dancers come out just for the love of it are better because only the really dedicated ones show up. The ones who dance for the world, as a sacred duty. It lifts you up, you know?

I’ve seen whole crowds get into it like they do at black churches, raising their hands up to the heavens and swaying there. In fact, this Lakota fancy dancer went into almost a trance this one time, blowing his eagle bone whistle and dancing ‘til he almost fainted.

I don’t know what got into him, but all of a sudden, he just started whirling and whistling and with tears rolling down his face. And all the women wept with him, and all the drum groups joined in together to sing for him—people even went out and stood all around him, singing. It was the closest I ever came to really understanding something spiritual, because I felt all that energy flowing through all of us.

It’s like that, sometimes, with Native people. I don’t get that anywhere else. It’s something you will never see anywhere else—that’s probably why all those people come around trying to glom on. Once you’ve witnessed it, it makes you sad to go back to the other way of life where most people don’t really believe what they say they believe.

And don’t get all snippy with me about that—how do I know they don’t believe what they say they believe? Because if we did, the world wouldn’t be so fucked up, would it? Yeah. Ponder that.

The part I started out to tell you about first began after all the dancers been around arena a few times and honored the veterans with the flags and all, like at sports events. We were cracking up at the crazy MC dude, who was wearing this top hat with a feather stuck in it. At pow wows the MC is sort of like the ringmaster at the circus, only ‘way funnier. They’ll say anything, honest to God. But he’s also the guy who passes on important announcements and schedules and all that.

And right as the flags were being retired, ours said, “We got another buncha brave people we need to recognize tonight—one real brave lady, too. Yeah, we’re lookin’ at you, boss man—Imelda! Send ‘em!”

Tia gave me a little shove and then waved to Luis and Carlos. But Carlos wouldn’t get up because he said all he did was push a button. Which is when Tia proved she could move a mountain by just glaring at it. After only about two seconds, Carlos hauled that big butt out of the folding chair and lumbered across the arena behind the rest of us.

We were lined up next to the MC and family members who had called for an Intertribal—that’s when everybody gets to dance. Even white folks or anybody who wants to “step-bounce, step-bounce” around the arena.

They had put out a blanket that people could leave money on for the women we’d helped, not us. The idea was to dance both to honor us and as a prayer for all children, not just the one we’d fished out of that hole.

To a lot of Native people I know, dancing and singing are always prayer. You don’t have to be at a pow wow or sweat or anything to do it, either. I’ve seen some friends go sing to the sun at dawn and when it’s going down in the evening. They used to sing just before they died, too. I think that’s the most amazing thing, ever, that they sang their way out of the world back in the day. Or into the next. Like the others who’d gone over before them would know them by their songs.

And boy, it really got to me seeing all those people strutting around the circle like that. I love a pow wow to begin with, but I never expected to be saluted at one. I totally teared up—Wyatt took hold of my hand and smiled. I think she was finding out some new things about me, too, that day. I could feel us bonding, you know? It was starting to be a lot more profound, what was happening between us. Like it really was meant to be. And maybe had a purpose bigger than just us two.

So after all the singing, they gave each of us a gift. It was only one of a whole lot of giveaways that night, not just for Christmas but because that’s how they do things, Indians. Up on Hopi they have these basket dances where the ladies throw everything from fresh fruit to frying pans out into the crowd—a friend of mine got an IPod at the dances once. One of the ladies lobbed it right upside his head, he said. And then all these kids standing nearby tried to get hold of it before he woke up from the shock, but he hugged it to his chest so they couldn’t get at it.

The point is, in the real traditional places people don’t have to buy much. They redistribute the wealth literally. Those who have, give to those who have not. It’s built into the ceremonies.

Luis and I got t-shirts and these bad ass baseball caps trimmed with ornate beading all over the duck bill and front part that blew me away. You pay a lot for those things at the trading posts and whatnot. So to just be handed one was a huge thrill for me. I put mine on and struck this rapper dude pose--everybody got a kick out of that. And the MC went, “Let’s give it up for Eminem Jr. over here,” which made everyone laugh even more.

But the best thing was when Alma’s 94-year-old  mother, Annabelle—who was just as pretty as her daughter--stepped up and gave Wyatt this ridiculously beautiful and mad expensive Pendleton star blanket that I’m sure was for someone else. They don’t give those star ones out to everyone. You gotta do something pretty damned special to get one of those.

Wyatt burst into tears the minute she saw it, which is when they realized she understood what an honor it was. So the little woman gave her a big hug, said, “Thank you,” and let out one of those tremolo things the women do—I learned it was actually called “ululation,” that sound. Whatever you call it, she did it real loud in tribute to Wyatt and maybe all of us. But to me it was for Wyatt.

After the Intertribal, they picked up the money blanket and called for an Owl Dance—when they call that all the women start running around looking for men they want to dance with. And a whole lot of men go running for cover, too, when they hear that. It’s kind of hilarious but also heart breaking because you see a lot of women get stone cold dissed in public.

Wyatt looked at me shyly, like she thought I might not want to go out there with her. But I took her hands and got us into the right position for that dance, and we fell in with the other lovers out there, going “step, step, back/step, step, back” with the drums.

And for once, I didn’t see any shame on her face or feel any hesitation in her step. She knew the moves, too. So when I held up her hand she turned all dainty and pretty for me, and then fell right back in step—damn, I loved seeing her smiling like she was right then. It was also amazing to be “that guy who’s with her,” too. Instead of her just being “that woman he brought with him.”

I danced with my other three ladies and with Tia, too, a few times that night—Aisha keeps the beat like a metronome, of course. And a lot of people think she’s part Native because of her hair, so she gets a lot of hot glares from women and flirty ones from the men.

I also took a couple of the other older women out there, too, because they were alone now and you could see the longing in their eyes. None of the men tried to dance with Wyatt except a couple of the older men and Annabelle’s husband, who it turned out was some kind of healer.

He was tall and straight backed and had two real long white braids and one of those Plains faces that you imagine they had back before white people came. He held her very lightly as they stepped, as if he was sort of putting her on display next to him out there. And she held that chin up and stepped lively on those tiny feet.

He told me, when he gave her hand back to me, that she was like a little “feather” on his arm.  He also said, “Take care of her,” looking me dead in the eyes, which is not supposed to be an Indian thing. But he was reading me for a reason.

So I said, “Oh, you bet I will.” And he smiled like he believed me. But also like I’d better.

After that, sort of to get out of the limelight, we went around the booths and bought some things. There are always these tents where you can buy everything from food to fancy jewelry at those things. Although there weren’t a whole lot of them this time. Or rather, there was mostly only food, but it was free. They do that sometimes, mostly for the dancers and drums, but anyone can eat if they want to. And here, they were calling everyone over.

In fact, the girls came running up to us juggling plates full of food from all the booths. I stole Cat’s massive burrito and took a huge bite that almost didn’t even make a dent in it, because the thing was the size of my arm almost.

“Eat the rest of it! She’s had two,” Mike said.

“I came here to eat, drink and be merry,” Cat informed us.

Joie rolled her eyes and said, “Lord, what did we say about those costumes just this mornin’, girl?”

“Just chill—and you can give me back my carne asada, sonny boy!”

I took another bite and handed it back. And she gave me a glare as she took a giant bite where I’d left off.

“God, these women!” Joie cried. And then this guy walked by in full regalia and she went, “Speaking of costumes...”

“You ain’t lookin’ at no costume, you lookin’ at what’s in it,” Aisha teased her.

“Yes, indeedy! Busted and can’t be trusted,” Joie said, fanning herself with a long nailed hand. “So sad being able to look but not touch. They need a few more from my tribe.”

“There’s a bunch of queens in the parking lot,” Cat said. “Throwing shade about everybody.”

“She don’t need none o’ that mess. I want her to fin’ somebody nice,” Aisha said.

I could feel Wyatt wanting to say, “You, too” again. But she just held onto my arm a little tighter.

“Who is this one, honey? Starin’ a hole through your woman,” Joie asked.

She’d spotted this hella tall Indian walking up to us. And he for sure only had eyes for Wyatt. He was real good looking, too. Kind they would’ve picked to be in one of those Dances With Wolves movies. The long black hair, perfect body, all that.

I felt sort of jealous, to be honest. Only, he’d been drinking a loooong time by the look and smell of it. Smelled a little weed on him, too. She wouldn’t leave me for someone like that. I hoped.

When he got to us, he said, “You again,” to Wyatt. Sort of smiling. But it wasn’t an entirely friendly smile. I mean, I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or warning her.

But she smiled when she said, “Tonk?”

And he smiled a little nicer and said, “Still alive. Yeah.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

“Yeah? I thought you’n’ me were on the outs.”

Something passed between them that I couldn’t read. But they both seemed to relax after that. And Joie gave the “vamonos” nod to the girls—they left with her, but kept looking back like they didn’t really want to. They love them some drama. And it was obvious we were about to get a big helping of it.

Wyatt said, “I understood. How you felt. How everyone felt.”

And he went, “Water under the bridge, beauty--hey, boss man,” and stuck out his hand to me.

I shook with him—a white folks’ shake, not an Indian one. He did it on purpose, like he was teasing me.

And he said, “You’re the shit up here, huh? Damn, them are some fine fillies you got, too. These poor women, they can’t talk about nothin’ but you’n’ you got all these Victoria Secret lookin’ bitches at home, right?”

“That’s scary,” I said.

And he said, “Sheeeit, wouldn’t be scary to me. I’d be pimpin’ hard, man—no offense or nothin’, Miss Wyatt, but...”

“Honesty is the best policy,” she said. And the look said he had definitely told the truth.

He went, “True dat. True dat,” and then he winked said, “White guy. Learned your lesson finally, huh?

She gave him a look and said, “Have you?”

Tonk grinned when she said that. And said, “Nah, you know me. I got this Pima woman on my back down here.”

Wyatt smiled and said, “That’s a lot to carry,” and he laughed. A lot of Indians I knew made fun of how fat the people in others tribes were—especially Pima women. But they were all getting to be pretty big, as long as we’re being honest.

And getting diabetes like mad, too, now that they don’t eat their traditional foods as much anymore. The Pimas have been part of a big diabetes research thing for decades. So at least they’re putting all that extra weight to some kind of good use. I’m just sayin’.

But this Tonk guy wasn’t from AZ, though. I could tell. Plains, probably. Or maybe Kiowa or something. They’re a pretty unique bunch because they speak a Pueblo language but migrated up to the Plains for a while and then back down again. So they’re a combo plate. You really could see it in him.

And he looked at her real direct and said, “He don’t know about Trent, right?”

And I got all protective then.

“Her past doesn’t interest me,” I told him. “It’s just us makin’ memories now.”

He went, “Is that right?”

And his smile cut me like a knife through butter—I’ve never seen an angrier smile. I stood my ground, but I knew whatever this secret was, it had cut through him like that once, too. And for the first time, I was sort of scared.

But then the smile got a little less angry. And he looked at Wyatt and said, “C’mon let’s you’n me go ‘round the circle for old time’s sake. And then we’ll let bygones be.”

I hadn’t noticed they’d called an Intertribal. But I was glad when Wyatt smiled sort of smug and said, “I don’t want your woman on my back, thank you very much.”

It was enough of a hint for him. He winked at me and said, “Hook, line and sinker, huh? Didn’t think that one would ever get caught.”

“She caught me,” I said.

“Nah, she’s into it. I saw that right off. It’s good, though. She had some hard luck along with them lessons we been talkin’ about.”

“Is that your lady friend?” Wyatt asked. She nodded very slightly in the direction of this circle of Indian women that had stopped in the middle of all the foot traffic by the booths and all. Among them, this rather large woman with almost Asian features was really watching us. Kept tossing back this lock of hair that fell in her eyes with a little more force each time, as if she was projecting all her anger on the hair because she couldn’t do a damned thing about Tonk.

Tonk glanced at her in a way that told me our whole conversation had been mostly about making her mad. I figured he wanted her to pick the fight he’d use to get away relatively clean.

“She’s pretty,” Wyatt told him.

And when he looked over as if he was trying to see what the hell she was seeing that he hadn’t, the woman in question came sort of stumbling over and draped herself over his shoulder and went, “I gots to see dis bitch—you that one ere’body talkin’ about, right?”

She smelled like a brewery, no lie. And Tonk shoved her arm off so hard I had to catch her before she fell on her face. And when she looked up into my face she said, “And you the finest mutha fucka alive, son. Swear to God!”

“Girl, leave that man alone,” Tonk growled, hauling her up off me kind of rough.

Which is why I slid on in there and asked, “You from over here?”

And she smiled and said, “I’ll show you exactly where I’m from, honey. You can creep in my tipi anytime!”

Wyatt and I laughed, but Tonk gave her this little shove I really didn’t like and said, “Go on back over there wit them bitches you went lookin’ for! Why you botherin’ me now?”

I glanced at Wyatt to sort of clue her in that I was up to something, and then I reached for the Pima woman and said, “C’mon out with us, girl! Make all these dudes jealous—What’s your name, anyway?”

“Della Mae.”

I offered one arm to her and said, “Well, c’mon let’s do this, Miss Della Mae,” before offering Wyatt the other one.

And Della Mae looked at me like she thought I was as drunk as she was and said, “For reals?”

“Hurry up, before they’re done,” I said. And she sort of settled in, though she was sort of stiff at first.

But I have to tell you, once she’d gone around a couple of times, she was my extra special gift that night. Cause once she got used to the idea and loosened up some, her black diamond eyes glittered so pretty for the people that they all started watching us. Or her, not us.

I’m serious. It was like somebody had flipped a switch somewhere inside her and the lights went on. She steadied those legs and bopped on around with us while her girls stood there giggling and pointing at us every time we passed by.

When the song ended, she gave me the sweetest little girl hug—you know how they sort of burrow into your chest, little kids? It was like that.

And then she looked up at me with those diamond eyes and said, “Stay sweet, okay?” And then she smiled at Wyatt and said, “That’s a real man you got there,” before taking off the join her lady friends.

And it got even better. Because she walked right past Tonk like she didn’t even know him and he stood there looking all confused—refused to look at us, though. Just sort of smirked and stomped off in the opposite direction with as much purpose as he could put into it. So it would look like a mutual dis, I guess.

Wyatt rubbed the small of my back and said, “I am so glad we came now—thank you for that.”

I was glad, too. We’d had a better Christmas without real presents than most people have with an avalanche of boxes under the damned tree. The point of Christmas is love, right? Things you can’t put in one of those damned Tiffany boxes or anything like that.

So I decided we would have that kind of Christmas every year. I’m not saying we wouldn’t give each other gifts, just that we’d put it off a day or two, maybe—I hadn’t worked that out yet. But I wanted Christmas day set aside for things ‘way more precious than store bought stuff.

Like black diamond eyes glittering with pride maybe for the first time, ever.

And things like the last few minutes before we left the pow wow, when I looked up and saw Wyatt out there in the arena holding Taylor on her hip and Ty by the hand, patiently teaching him how to step to the drum.

He started stomping around like before, of course, but everyone just laughed and either stepped around him or took him with them ‘til Wyatt stepped up and got hold of his hand again.

And she looked like the proudest mother in the world out there with the other mothers and fathers taking their wee ones around, letting them get the feel of the heartbeat that brings all the people together. Even if you’re not dancing, you can feel it. And you’re part of it.

She knew all those things, right? All the deep, soul stuff Native people remember that a lot of other people have never felt and don’t even know they’re missing, she knew. Because she’d lived with it so long that it was part of her.

I wanted to live with it, too. I wanted to live that kind of life, that knows and notices those things. I wanted it for my children, especially. Even if they didn’t totally get it, just being raised that way would make a difference, probably—no, definitely. And they deserved that.

She deserved to be happy, though, most of all. To have a Christmas that kinda lived up to all the hype for once—one she’d be glad she hadn’t slept through like she usually did. In fact, I wanted to make her whole life something she’d want to be wide awake for, instead of zombie walking from one day to the next just sort of waiting to die and be done with it.

Ty ran to me grinning like a lunatic when the drum stopped. And then when I picked him up, he leaned toward Wyatt with his little arms out like he just couldn’t let her go yet.  

And her eyes turned to diamonds, too.