There isnothing quite like a gathering of the tribes.
It reaches right into my soul and stirs up so much pride for our heritage. Will seemed to be stupefied by the huge turnout. There were tents with vendors as far as the eye could see. Crafters from as far away as the East Coast and Canada were here, the various license plates on each truck or camper telling the whole story. Mom and Kenruh took off as soon as we were parked in one of the handicapped slots near the dance ring. Mom went to double check on the new ramps, the food vendors, the sound system, and…well, everything else. Kenruh went in search of his friends, most of whom would be found in the massive canopy tent where the drummers and singers congregated.
“We have an hour before I have to get changed,” I said to Will after I’d signed in, gotten my numbers card, and placed my dance regalia in the changing tent near the roped off dance area. “Want to check out the vendors?”
“Yeah. I’ve been saving up.” He held out his hand. A hot rush of feeling swept over me. Unsure yet so in love I was finding it hard to breathe. I slid my fingers between his. “And now you’re out to the world.” He gave my hand a squeeze then led me off to the nearest craftsperson. No one batted an eye at the interracial gay couple holding hands as they drooled over the beautiful bead working and wood burning items on display. We stopped at a small tent with a pride flag, tucking in out of the sun to chat with the two-spirit man who was setting up a face painting tent. He was a beautiful man, soft-spoken, with two long plaits but a shaved head. He wore makeup and nail polish as well as the dress of his people, the Cherokee he was happy to tell us. Will was his first customer. He got a pan flag on his cheek, which matched his tattoo perfectly. I passed as I’d be putting on paint for my dances.
“So what does two-spirit mean?” Will asked while we made our way down one of probably twenty rows of vendors. We were still holding hands. I wasn’t sure I would ever let go.
“It’s kind of an umbrella term that helps bridge Western and Indigenous cultures. It refers to another gender role that was, it’s believed, to be common among most of all the tribes of Turtle Island.”
“Turtle Island?” he enquired then tugged me to a food vendor selling cold soda and soft pretzels. He got a pretzel and a root beer, and I just ordered water. Dancing with a full belly was not a pleasant experience. I’d wait to eat later.
“North America.”
He fed me one bite of his salty pretzel then kissed me on the lips. Cheeks flaming, I heard the announcement for the grass dance to report to the main tent.
“That’s me.” This time it was my turn to pull someone along like a reluctant pup. I left Will with Kenruh and the musicians then jogged to the changing area. It was balls to the wall to get ready in time. That’s what happens when you’re gawking at your “whatever Will was to me” and lost track of time and space.
The first dance was the traditional men’s dance and would open the festivities. That regalia was yellow and white as the main color scheme. I had about ten minutes to wiggle into a white tank top that was covered with a breastplate and beaded vest, an apron with leather breechclout, fur leg and knee bands, hard-soled moccasins, and the dance bells that are tied around the knees. The yellow and white roach and headband went last. One of the other dancers, an older guy from the Choctaw reservation in Oklahoma, gave me a hand with my earrings. I didn’t wear them much and the holes had to be reopened, which stung like hell. After that it was a swipe of white and yellow paint on each cheek and one across the nose. My entry card number—789—was pinned to my feathered bustle, and I was off.
The sun was directly overhead as we lined up outside the dance circle. I looked to the left and was shocked to see Shepherd and Clayton McCrary with two of their employees tight to their side. Both were Native. One was Milton and the other I’d not seen around here before. They both seemed really uncomfortable. I would be too. How anyone with a drop of Indigenous blood could bow and scrape for such well-known bigots was fucking beyond me. I’d sleep in a cave with the coyotes and eat mice and scorpions before I worked for the McCrarys.
“Welcome to the 58th Annual Shoshone-Arapahoe Fall Festival and Indian Days Celebration,” the announcer said as a soft wind rustled the tents and tarps. The stands were packed with people, which would flood our coffers with much needed cash. We didn’t have a casino yet—it was in the works—so this celebration was a lifeline for our tribes. “It’s a beautiful seventy-eight degrees here today and we have dancers coming in from all four corners. Let’s kick off things with the men’s traditional dance. Show us what you got, gentlemen!”
The eldest dancer from our tribe, Roy Running Fox, led the dancers out as the drums began. The female singers joined in with the interior ring of male singers and drummers, and soon the air itself was vibrating with the songs and sounds of the First People of America and Canada. Filled with pride, I lost myself in the movements and sounds, my great-great grandfather’s jawbone tomahawk in my hand. As we moved around the ring at a slow pace, I twirled around and spied Will standing beside my mother. They both waved. I lifted my hand and nearly fell over a young White boy of perhaps six who had decided to join the circle. He smiled up at me and I took his hand. All were welcome to dance. Thirty minutes later, the drumming came to a halt and there was a tight concentric curl of dancers in the ring. The people in the stands all clapped as the judges, seated under a blue tarp, lowered their heads together to confer.
“I want to get bells too!” my dance partner announced. His mother wiggled through the throng of dancers, smiled at me, and then took her son back to their seat. I hoped he got his bells someday. He didn’t have a grandfather to pass his regalia down to him, poor kid.
When the winners were called my name wasn’t among them, but I hadn’t expected it to be. I only did this once or twice a year. My technique was crummy, but my heart was pure. I’d done my best. Kenruh and Mom would be thrilled with my performance even if I had almost plowed a small child over. I weaved my way to the drummers’ tent, stopping to talk with people from the rez and those I only saw at the powwow. By the time I got to Mom and Will, the next dance was beginning.
“You did so good!” Mom shouted over the thump-thump-thump of the drums. I bent down for a kiss on my sweaty cheek. “Now go spend some time with your boyfriend. I thought I’d have to find him a bib the way he was drooling over you out there.”
I blushed hotly. Mom laughed then pushed me toward Will. I handed over the tomahawk to my mother for safe keeping. It was too valuable to carry around and too dangerous as well with all the children racing all over the grounds.
Will gave me a slow, sinful perusal. Hot, tired, and thirsty as I was that look went right to my dick. Unable to really talk over the singers and drummers, I gave my grandfather a nod of my head then led Will out of the tent and into the sun. He rushed ahead, pulling me into the shade of a lemonade stand. We nodded to Landon and Montrell as we waited in line. They were shoving frybread tacos into their faces but waved anyway. Nate and Kyle had been in the crowd watching the dancers I had seen, as had several of the hands from Prairie Smoke. Since there was only a skeleton crew back at the ranch, it meant once the grass dance was over at three, I’d be heading back to relieve the guys who’d stayed.
“Two please,” he said to the young woman behind the counter. Then he turned to me. “You look fucking hot.”
“I am. Fur and leather doesn’t breathe well.”
Will sniggered. “No, asschomp, I didn’t mean you look overheated…I meant you look hot, like sexy hot, like I want to peel all those clothes off you and lick every bit of slick skin I uncover.”
“Oh.” My cheeks flushed and my cock swelled. I liked the idea of Will and me alone licking each other. I wanted that and more. I wanted to fuck him, to have him fuck me, to taste the crack of his ass and have his cum on my tongue. I wanted—
“Dudes! Like holy hell!” We craned our heads around to see Tootch—aka Lance Gaylord—pushing through the crowd, grinning at us like a drunken mule. He threw his arms around us as if we’d been lovers separated by war. Will pulled free, paid for our drinks, and then gave Tootch a shove westerly.
“What are you doing here dressed like an Indian?” Will’s pudgy, pock-faced buddy from juvie asked.
“Uhm, I am an Indian,” I replied as Will chortled into his drink. Tootch wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box it seemed, but he had given us some info about the dinosaur bone theft a few months ago. He’d been roughed up by some Native with a chipped tooth who’d been desperate to get rid of those fossils. The information he’d given us hadn’t panned out sadly, but the guy had helped so that meant something.
“Really? You don’t look it.”
I rolled my eyes. Will slipped in before I roughed up Tootch as well. Maybe the Native guy with the chipped tooth had been told he didn’t look Indian enough either.
“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t stray from Watson City?” Will asked, jerking his chin at me to drink. I did. The sour drink made me pucker but it did cut my thirst.
“I had to move along. The local police and I had a few misunderstandings. Lost all my stock. Figured I’d come out here to see about a job at your ranch.” Tootch looked around the brim of his ballcap at Will. I choked on my lemonade.