I'm riding in the passenger seat of my grandmas old beat up Volkswagen up the western coast of the United States when the coast and redwoods of Oregon are obscured by dense clouds that disperse to reveal endless expanse of blue sky. I let out a shrill cry of surprise and my Nana cackles beside me. The flying car morphs into a plane that takes a sharp turn and immediately begins plummeting into more blue, this time the pacific ocean. I sit up abruptly in bed wiping away a sheen of sweat from my upper lip. You might think this recurring dream would become less frighting after the tenth or so time of happening, but today its more terrifying than ever. At seven tonight for the first time ever I board a plain to fly across the country. Instead of contemplating why I chose to fly instead of drive I pull my body out of bed and on my dark blue dairy queen polo. I avoid my reflection as I run a comb through my short thick black hair and pop on my visor. the sweltering heat of late summer takes my breath away as I exit my grandparents house and begin my trek to work. I long for the 19 something pile of rust sedan I sold last week. The air conditioner may not have worked but at least it shortened the journey. Every penny counted though. Going out of state for university isn't cheep.

It is worth it though. I have dreamed of living in Seattle since a trip with my grandmother, the fodder for last nights nightmare. Great grandma wanted to make one last pilgrimage up the coast before she was "uprooted from her home and exiled with the rest of the oldies." I still don't understand why she had to move into the elder's home. She was sprite as ever and still is. We went up the coast visiting a few reservations inland until we reached Yakima. She stopped in Cle Elum she said meant swift water in the native tongue. Then we went through a beautiful mountain with a crystal lake and mountains the like of which I've never seen. They were snowcapped despite winter being far over. Then we entered the city. My grandma hates cities, but she felt it necessary for her pilgrimage. It was my first time in a large city, and I was in awe. There were people of all varieties seeming to live in complete anonymity while simultaneously appearing to fit right into the bustle of the city. The height of the buildings was an intimidating wonder. I tried to roll down my window to stick my head out and get a better view, but grandma rolled it back up chastising me. We drove through the city to the port. My grandma looked out at the ocean while I stared back at the city. I was enamored.

"Good morning." Clara greets when I enter through the back of the Dairy Queen.

"Morning Clara." I reply basking in the air conditioning. I go to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face and under arms. I look in the mirror and frown at my porcelain white skin. It's the only thing my father ever gave me. I have my mother's brown eyes, black hair even her nose and lip shape. The pictures of my mother all show rich caramel colored skin. I tried tanning annoyed at the constant reminder of the man who abandoned us, but it doesn't tan just burns. Living in Arizona I'm constantly lathering on sunscreen to counter this.

"Last day huh? I'm gonna miss ya." Clara says when I join her in the front to open up. She is a year younger than me with blond hair and brown eyes. She is a little taller than my 5'5 height but thin as a wisp. She is probably my best friend though I don't think I am hers. We don't hang out at school not because she's younger, I don't hang out with anyone. I used to try but never fit in anywhere. I am an outsider. Not like those cool leather clad guys from the book. No, like a quiet girl who reads to many books and doesn't know how to talk to humans.

"I'm going to miss you too." I say feeling awkward. We open and she heads to the back leaving me to find off the morning rush. Just kidding. It is Dairy Queen. There is no morning rush. I watch the hands on the clock tick by, glancing at the door every few ticks, convincing myself the bell stopped working and someone has snuck in unnoticed.

Ding goes the door, signaling the entrance of a customer. I stand up straight, putting on my best customer service smile. It's a man who looks to be 30, maybe, with brown hair and dim blue eyes. His pink lips frown at me as he approaches the counter.

"Morning." I greet.

"It's almost noon." He answers, looking at me like I'm simple. It is 11:30. 11:29 actually. I just smile harder; the best defense against hostile customers I've learned in the last two years of working here.

"I'll have the number 6 with no cheese." He orders curtly.

I type it into the register. "What would you like to drink?" I ask.

He glares at the little screen that displays your order. "I said no cheese. Do you habla English?" He demands, butchering the Spanish word.

The number 6 doesn't come with cheese, but I know if I say this it will only make things worse. "Sorry, sir." I mutter, typing in the redundant no cheese. I look back at him and he just glares. "What would you like as a drink?" I ask after a moment.

"A sprite. I'm speaking clear English." He replies as if he already told me. He didn't. I type in his request.

"Can I get you anything else today?" I ask too cheerfully.

"No." He snaps, jabbing his card at me. I take the card and insert it into the machine in front of him.

"Please enter your pin when prompted." I request.

"It's a credit card." He barks.

"Thank you. We'll call your number when your food is ready." I say, handing him his receipts when the transaction is complete.

"Yeah. I have been to a fast-food restaurant before. I'm an American." He asserts, turning away from me. I try not to laugh at the pride he shows in the American stereotype of overindulging in fast food. Luckily, he has turned around, so he doesn't see my smile. I go in the back to help Clara with the order. It's nothing new. Racism is alive and well in small town Arizona. If you look like me some people will assume you are an illegal immigrant and your 'taken they job'. Ridiculous, but whatever. I'm Native American, so the irony is not lost on me.

Clara brings out his food and I am happy to not have to deal with the guy.

My shift ends and I fast walk in the afternoon summer heat while the sun attempts to scorch my too white flesh.

"Hi, Lain." My grandpa greets, using my nickname, when I walk through the door into the kitchen.

"Hi, grandpa." I reply, making a b-line for the sink splashing cool water on my overheated face.

"Your grandma should be back from her book club soon." He informs, returning to making his sandwich. I hope she gets back soon. I promised nana I would see her before I left. She demanded one last chance to convince me not to go.

"Okay, grandpa." I say watching him spread Mayo on his bread. Watching him I feel a little sad. After today when is the next time I'll see him? Holiday break, I guess.

He smiles up at me and I smile back. "Sandwich?" He asks.

"No thanks. I ate at work." I answer. Up stairs I dig through my drawers of reject clothes, the others already packed and pull out a hideous yellow top that at least fits well and a pair of jeans that are a smidge too tight. I'll never understand why they make pants that are to lose around the waste and too tight in the hips.

"Lain." Grandma greets. My mom named me Porcelain and never bothered to tell anyone why. My great grandma,, my Nana likes to say she was a troubled young woman. She blames her death on grandma for moving her off the reservation. Since my mother's death, longer than I can remember, I've spent every weekend on the reservation visiting grandma on her insistence. I don't mind. The reservation is small at 256 people, 90 percent over 50.

My mom died of an overdose when I was 3. I was already living with my grandparents at the time I'm told. She had been clean for a few months trying to put her life together. Grandma said she was trying to get better so she could be my mom, but addiction is a strong thing. It takes away your free will limiting your choices. Every day people choose drugs over those they love. Their brains give them no other choice. I can't imagine it. It was the same for my dad, though grandma doesn't explain it as kindly. He was just an evil man that got my mom hooked on drugs, knocked her up and disappeared. My grandparents are amazing though. I don't agree with Nana that it's my grandmas' fault for moving my mom off the reservation. Reservations are notorious for substance abuse. It is a pandemic. Maybe not ours but there are no opportunities there. Everyone is old and mostly retired. Mom would have been just as likely to run into trouble there and it isn't like there is a school.

Nana says mom wasn't taught the right values. She has done her best to instill those values in me through tribal lore. My favorite is when she tells of the werehyenas. She claims millions of years ago hyenas lived here in the Americas. She told me they came across the land bridge but were wiped out by the wolves that already inhabited the land. It's a great thought. The native species winning out. Then she goes on to tell how humans came across the bridge and faced the same enemy as the hyenas. They hid in the same caves. That late at night the spirits of the hyenas came to the men and offered them a deal. If they excepted their spirits into them, they would be granted the abilities of a hyena. The humans didn't ask for the fine print. They excepted the beast spirits desperate for a way to fight back against the many wolves, with their spears only doing so much against the claws and ferocity of the wolves. The combined strength of the human and hyena was enough to counter the wolves.

"Thank you, grandma." I say, grabbing her keys running out the door. I have only a few more hours before I need to be at the airport.

"Hi, Nana." I greet, giving her a hug while she is still seated then plop down on her bed.

"Lain." Grandma begins, fixing me with a serious expression. She knows I don't have much time, so I guess she's getting right to it. It has been months of this since I told her about my plan to go to school in Seattle Washington. I understand she is worried about me, especially after my mom, but I wish she could be happy for me.

"You're a werehyena." She declares. This was a new one.

"Okay, Nana." I laugh.

"I am a werehyena and once I pass you will inherit the hyena spirit within me." She continues, ignoring my laughter. "I know you are not ready to hear this. You are still just a child, but I am 90 years old and liable to drop at any moment. With your mom gone you will take on the spirit and become the youngest werehyena since the turn of the century." She just keeps on with the jokes, not pausing for laughter. "This book records all the hyena spirits and their traits." She claims, holding up a large leatherbound book she's had sitting in her lap. She flips to a marked page. "This is our family hyena Shima. Not all Hyenas follow familial lines, but Shima does." I get off the bed, taking the book. It is written in a language I cannot read. Likely Navajo.

"Nana, you're worrying me." I say, handing the book back to her. "I am going to get Shelina." Shelina is one of the nurses here. She is the one that inspired me to become a nurse. Watching the kind yet authoritative way she cares for the elders. Her humble confidence is something worth striving for.

"Lain. I need you to understand." Nana persists, getting to her feet. I watch her cautiously, warry of what she might do next in her current state of mind. I never could have guessed her next action.

Fur burst from her pores. She falls to her knees as her bones seemingly reform into that of a beast. The features of her face shift and elongate becoming that of an animal. Within moments where my grandma once stood is a hyena. The animal looks back at me with too intelligent eyes. A scream is caught in my throat. I slowly back up to the door feeling for the knob. The hyena steps toward me releasing my scream. Suddenly the hyena collapses.

"Help." I cry, opening the door. I approach the hyena hesitantly. My brain just can't accept that this is my Great Grandma.

"Lain?" Shelina questions, then she sees Nana and rushes over to her, finding a pulse and checking for breathing. "Help me get your Nana into bed." She says patiently, but in a tone that doesn't allow for argument. I wrap my arms around the lower half of the animal and together we hoist the surprisingly light almost frail creature into my Nana's bed.

"You should go Lain. You have a plane to catch. Nana will be fine." Shelina insists in that same tone. I look to Nana hyena and then to Shelina and then the clock. If I don't go now, I will likely miss my flight. Nana is turning back to Nana, the rise and fall of her chest seeming to slow. I kiss nana on her still slightly furry head and rush out the door and to the car. All of the story's Nana told me growing up are true. I do not have time to process this information. 

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Thank you for reading(: 

What is your first impression of Lain? 

How would you react if your Nana turned into a hyena? 

Please tell me your thoughts in the comments (: