“We stand as one. United! We are all one blood!” They repeated this over and over and when he looked down the way at Martha, she was beside herself. Someone was holding her, kissing her cheek. The song came to an end, and the curtains were drawn.
Moments later, the curtains opened and people got on their feet, applauding. Giving standing ovations.
Soft music played as Kim, all smiles, her face glistening with sweat, took the microphone.
“I want to thank each and every one of you for coming tonight. What began as a little idea to help my friend, my sister Martha, bloomed into something that surpassed my wildest dreams and imagination. I discovered that Fairbanks, Alaska has been underestimated.” Some people began to cheer and whistle. “I discovered that talent abounds here, and people just needed the opportunity. The platform. The chance. We pour money into sports, but not enough into education and the arts. The arts of storytelling, singing, and dance have been used in most cultures to relay a history since the beginning of time—to show the youth where they’ve come from, and where they can go. It’s edification. It’s a road map of life. A tale of vivacity and love. Of struggle and triumph.
“There are 151 federally recognized tribes here in Alaska. 134 village corporations, 12 regional organizations, and 12 regional nonprofit and tribal consortiums that contract and run federal and state programs. I stand here, as a Black woman from out of state who has moved here to share this beautiful land with you, and to tell you that tonight is not about the color of our skin, but about character and truth. It’s about awareness, and the bond of real sisterhood. I stand with the Native people. I sing with the Native people. I dance with the Native people. I support you. There is strength in numbers. The murders must stop! Speak on everyone you’ve loved and lost, tell it from the highest mountains, and never stop! You are not alone. We hear you! We’ve taken action. We are now an army and prepared to fight.” Each child screamed out names of missing Native women. When the last name was called, the drums began to bang.
The crowd erupted in applause.
“We are a family. When you hurt, we hurt. When you’re victorious, we all are. Thank you! We’ve danced another day, Fairbanks! Prayer works! Good night!” Kim took several bows, as well as the smiling children on the stage as the curtain closed on them. Jack sat for a long while as people clapped and whistled, then moved around him, vacating their seats, amped up from such a stellar performance and show of support. After a short while, he noticed a courier man enter with a bouquet of red roses—the ones he’d ordered for her. She’d receive them when she retired to her dressing room backstage. Once the space got quieter, his brain felt like it would explode when the reality of the night came crashing down around him. He leaned forward, cradling his head and rocking himself.
Chad! Chad! Chad! There you go, trying to save the world again. Shit!
He tried to save a woman. He died trying to help someone! I believe everything that girl said. Some people knew, but just weren’t talking. This hurts so bad… God! It hurts so bad!!!
He kept rocking, head down. In his mind, he could hear the Native Indian drums beating. He could see the spinning, dancing, and singing children. He could hear the haunting lyrics to the music, and smell death and new life in the air. Gold, turquoise, and red blurred together. Blood in the snow, and the howl of the wolves.
He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. He looked up to see Kim standing there, holding the flowers.
She smiled at him so sweetly, her eyes moist with unspent tears. She asked him no questions, but simply sat next to him, cradling the bouquet. They grabbed each other’s hand at the same time, and held on for dear life…
Dance on the black ice
Challenge accepted—
The Native Land is cursed
But never neglected.
A girl child is born
And instantly hated—
The wolves run in the snow
Running in packs, and mated.
The father is so proud
Wooden hounds, and real guns—
The cabins in the woods
Becomes a tomb for his son
Black Ice was his lover’s name.
Black ice is in his veins…
Black ice is the prize
Black ice was in his eyes.
Broken feet can’t dance
Snarled in a trap, by chance.
Ghosts that smell of thick smoke.
Howling to God, with little hope.
You can only live once
And you can dance your life away.
The beat goes on…
But you live to see another day.
Some say it’s not right.
Why can’t we all live twice?
Some claim that we do,
If we dance on black ice…
Chapter Twenty-Three
Her high from the night of magic crashed into a huge brick wall as she sat in the truck across from Jack, hearing him yelling things to Walt on speakerphone. He’d contacted the man to let him know about the teenage girl who’d approached him to tell him about a person of interest called Beau.