Aithete, Wyoming.
Just a crossroads really, one two lane stretching from the Fort to St. Elias School, and another stretching from Freemont the nearest town to the Oil patch. One corner housed the mission farm and school. This was where orphan, abandon and latch key children went to go to school, participate in programs, and get a good meal. Some walked for miles, and some were bussed in from the Fort. Another corner held a small gas and a convenience store, across from that was a Church and the last corner was bare. Cotton wood trees flanked the buildings and spread out from the area to a point, after that the sage and scrub reclaimed the land.
I was adopted into this culture of American Indians, because my mother had recently married my step-father, John W. Whiteman, they had met at her job in town, and dated for a few months before tying the knot. John was a nice middle aged red man, who in his element was a nerd. He was a computer programmer, and found a niche teaching at Reservation Schools in the county. At this time both he and my mother were gone, on a belated honeymoon, and here I was in Aithete, staying with Aunty Eva. Eva wasn't blood related to John, but had taken him in when her best friend, John's mother, had died in an accident. Eva had one daughter about my age. Theresa was a wild child, always getting into trouble, and dragging me with her, we had become friends. My mom called us partners in crime.
On this hot July day, T and I had lazed around the house, eating bowls of cereal, Listening to Rock music and messin' with makeup. Both of us wore our daisy dukes, both wore tank tops with rock band titles emblazoned on them and both wore Sketchers on our feet. She was a long haired Indian beauty, and I was Caucasian as the day I was born, brown curly hair falling down past my shoulders and a tanned lithe body, my eyes a turquoise blue.
"Jen, let's get out of here for awhile, if we don't mom will have us cleaning again." She chuckled. "Let's walk over to the corner 'Loaf & Jug' Mart and have a pop. Gotta get me some gum too."
"Sounds good, do you think they carry any Cozmo magazines there, or a People magazine, I'm bored." Jen asked.
"Never know what or who you'll find at the LJ, wished we could get some beer or coolers, but that's all the way to town with Eugene and I don't think I could stand him that long today."
Eugene Friday was Theresa's faithful, older by a couple of years, Eugene had a job in town at the Gas-n-Go, manning the pump desk, he owned a small hatch back, and the best part of all, was old enough to buy. It was tough being old enough, to vote and get married, but not old enough to get into bars and clubs For T, Eugene wasn't fast enough, and did practically everything she asked, following her like a puppy. T called him when she needed booze or booty, and kept him hangin'.
The trip to the LJ took us past the project, the government housing that looked like a Sim game, house after house, all the same, dirty, some abandon, most weren't habitable. Most of the houses had been stripped, copper wiring, and fixtures sold to pay for alcohol. One was a burned and hollow shell. Old cars, toys and various items littered the yards. The housing that was occupied looked the same as the abandon units, except they might have a newer model car in front, or laundry hanging outside. At the end of the units stood a playground with an old basket ball court, with cracked and dry cement, and weeds springing up here and there. At the back of this was a shelter, where some of the locals went to lift weights, an old bench and universal trainer were left so all could use and abuse it. That is where I saw him first, hair braided at each side of his head hanging passed his shoulders onto his pecs. His pecs and biceps bulging and straining to lift the weights, jeans molded to his lean hips and legs, and moccasin knee highs of tanned suede. He paused in his labor to appraise us as we walked by and spat out a word, glaring at me with fierce black eyes.
"Who?"
"That's Abner, Abner Thunder, we avoid him, he joined AIM a few years back, American Indian Movement, Uncle John says, 'Assholes In Moccasins'. They don't like whites and give the 'Apples' a hard time. He's just a hater, and an equal opportunity ass, Eugene says he even deals with Spirit Arts, he's a Medicine Man, bad mojo."
"He's, very 'Hot', to bad it's angry hot"
"Just keep clear of him Cuz, let us find you a nice boy, maybe a breed, so my mom don't freak, she thinks cross pollinating a species is a bad idea. Don't tell Uncle John though Okay."
When they finally reached the store sweat was running down between her breasts, and the back of her neck was damp, she needed a cold drink, back at the coolers she reached for bottled water, and held it against her neck, heaven, she wished they could go to the Hot Springs, or the river to swim. Closing the door, she stepped back and into some one.
