KOTA22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLXs8xEaLaX
The Ahoka family gather what they can. Furniture and appliances are left in place. The Ford wagon can only hold so much. Only sentimental items are packed into the vehicle. Dy silently cries while carrying jewelry boxes and a bag of clothes. She mean mugs Kota on her way out the front door. Her brother mopes.
This is all my fault. If I hadn’t ventured through the crowd and exposed myself, we’d still be living here. I know Mom and Dad are thinking the same.
“Help your mother, Kota.” Matto directs him while carrying picture frames.
Odina is in the kitchen. Her teary eyes reminisce memories within the wallpapered room. Kota also recalls the good days. He revisits the time he spent in this kitchen as a kid. He always helped his mother with baking. His chubby face covered in flour. How he snuck fingerfuls of chocolate, how he stole peaches from the cobbler.
He even recalls him and Dy strapping on their bookbags for elementary school. The two were two peas in a pot, they always packed lunch together. Their happy giggles haunt his ears in an eerie echo. Odina sniffles and wipes her eyes. His mother turns away, grief stricken.
“Uyoayelvdi, Unistsi,” (Sorry, Mother).
“No… don’t be. None of this is your fault. Life is unpredictable.” She cuddles him. “There comes a time when goodbyes aren’t pleasant. But new beginnings are welcomed.”
Is this truly what she wants to say? Is my mother this calm on the inside?? Or is she hiding behind a shield to spare me? There’s no way everyone isn’t thinking the same. We’re a tribeless family because of me. We have no clan, no people. Now… we have no land. No community. Our home is gone forever.
She breaks from the embrace. “The dishware and jars are going with us.” Kota nods, making his way to pack the pieces into a cardboard box. Odina goes to unhook pictures from the wall. She muffles a sob. Mom is trying to be stronger than she is.
“My father might have a solution for the sun predicament.” Matto marches to the wall phone. “There’s no way he’ll be safe in the car for 12 hours.”
Kota stops packing the box. “12 hours?” He wonders. “Where are we going?”
“Your Grandad offered us shelter in Chicago.” Matto dials numbers into the phone.
“Oh…”
His father places the receiver to his ear. “We have little time to pack, so please hurry.”
Kota picks up his speed, moving faster than a normal human. The countertops are cleared within seconds. So are the walls. Odina shrieks, holding her chest. He regrets this choice. His mother is disturbed by his inhuman motion. “I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” She lies, composing her terror. “This is the last box. You can begin on your room.”
He hoists the box and walks normally to the front door. The rez officers survey the house from their cruisers. Bly’s eyes burn into Kota’s with much distrust. Five cop cars line the side of the street. Neighbors sit on their porches, watching the Ahoka house.
Dyani sits in the car with her head in her hands, weeping. Kota stacks the box in the trunk, then approaches the back door. “Are you alright…?”
“Just get away from me!!” Her eyes shoot daggers at him. “You ruined everything!!”
The words wound his soul; he winces as an abused puppy would. He slinks away, returning inside with his shoulders slumped. His bedroom is where he goes. Kota views a closet full of clothes. His bed, then his dresser; full of peg dolls, painted warriors, and chiefs. Horse figurines, wooden flutes, dream catchers, handmade pottery, feather headdresses. His brows knit together. He caresses the pottery bowls he created.
I shouldn’t pack these. Or anything in the room. That’ll only bring aching memories. Memories of belonging somewhere I can’t reach anymore.
Kota fixes the bedsheets and tidies up the floor. He packs nothing. His pale eyes mournfully sweep over the room before closing the door.
His parents hustle out of the house with boxes. Kota helps. This time he’s sure to avoid using his speed abilities. The living room and dining room are full of taped boxes. He hoists three with ease. Once the house is cleared, he and his father head to the garage. The doghouse that he wanted to craft for Dyani is there. A work in progress, only an outline of planks, no base or coloring. The woodshop textbook lies on the counter, opened on page 105.
“You should give it to your sister; it may brighten her mood.”
“I’ll leave it…”
“Are you sure?” Matto frets.
“I’m sure.”
His father’s light brown eyes drop to the floor. “Remember this?” He stares over the tiny garage.
“Yeah… it took five days.”
“Only because you complained about hand cramps.” Matto sniggers.
Kota eyes the shelves full of tools. “I wish we didn’t have to leave… I wish none of this happened.”
Matto hugs him. “I do too… we all do. But we’ll overcome this. Home is where the family is, not where the land resides.”
“How can you be so sure there’s hope?”
His father breaks away, resting his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Because you’re not a lost cause… you’re just lost. We’ll find a solution. Your mother and I promise you this. So does your granddad.”
“I’ll never belong anywhere… no matter where we go, people will react the same way.”
“As long as you have us, you’ll have normalcy.” His dad declares with certainty. “Speaking of normalcy. Your Grandad and mother have an answer for the sun. An emblem. Once we’re done clearing the garage, the mark will be placed on your skin.”
It doesn’t take long to clean up, since only tools are within. They load each into a large box, then tape it up. Kota tapes sideways as his father does down the middle. This is the last package to hit the trunk. Dyani still pines in the backseat, wiping her inflamed eyes.
The cops examine him from their jeeps, keeping note of Kota’s actions as if he’s a bear ready to pounce. They all watch from the windows as if hunting in the woods. They’re cautious and alert. The officers trace his every step. A few hold shotguns across their laps. Kota eyes the hair-triggers.
Odina follows his line of sight, noticing the violent switches. “Come, walela (hummingbird).” She calls for her child. He joins her on the porch. “Aren’t you taking this?” She points at the mailbox he crafted for her. “I’m sure it took hours. We could hang it at Grandad’s.”
“We could.” Matto agrees. Kota grins faintly. His mother removes it from the porch wall and hands it to him.
“Let’s begin the marking. Come inside.” His Mom leads him to the dining room. There are two smudge bowls on the table, full of crushed herbs and dark liquid. “Have a seat.” Kota sits. The clinking from the bowls fills the room; the gentle sound eases him.
I wonder what the symbol will consist of. I’ve seen sun markings before. I’m not sure if a normal one will aid my skin. Wouldn’t it draw more sun? I hope this goes to plan. I trust Grandad. After all, he was once a Speller…meaning has great knowledge.
The touch of the dark liquid on his skin is cooling, not painful. He’s thankful for this; the last smudge burned him. Kota breathes softly. The ringing and the cold massage on his skin are comforting.
Matto and Odina use their fingertips to paint a complex sign upon his skin. A bold circle marks the center, from it, an array of uneven lines expand. The art resembles a cross with a hollow middle and jagged wood. The cutoff design is clean and bold.
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