Blond Haired Blue Eyed Indian Girl

The sun blazed down like fire from above, judging her along with the tribal elders and drummers. She was alone in the circle with no kin. Blond haired blue eyed Indian girl was what they called her. The name made her lip curl up on the left edge, an expression of her disdain.

All her life she always caught some sort of slack for her bleach blond hair, olive skin and piercing blue eyes. The elders on the tribe always praised her and told her how lucky she was for being able to “pass for white.” While her mother’s Irish family always teased her for her dark skin and “chink eyes.” Always jealous that their pale skin would burn while hers never did.

She hated the way the elders would always point out her strait hair, big nose, cheek bones and eyes, making her feel like only parts of her were native while the rest was shameful. A living reminder of the slow systematic genocide of our people. Mixed blood. Both sides thinks the other is evil.

At home she was an outcast “mixed blood” and on the Rez she was an outsider “half-white”. She felt lost in the middle of an ancient war started so long ago it’s dust now. Just like the warm sandy clay under her feet.

The drums were singing to her to come into the circle, come worship the Sun. To forget, to dance, to sing, to feel the love from her ancestors, become one with the great spirits even while rejected by her own kind.

The air was dry and hot, like you opened a toaster oven and took a deep breath, burning a little less with each gasp. A familiar consistent ache of hunger bawling at the pit of her stomach reminded her of home. Fasting for seven days was not as hard as she expected as she already easily went two or three days without meals quite often.

Mother was never home unless it was a child services appointment of some sorts, or a family obligation. She was always too busy to come home, leaving inconsistent meals. Her mother did not cook, food that is. She did not eat either. No reason to eat when you are too busy chasing the dragon. Kids can eat at school, right… weekends are short, holidays be dammed.

She took a sip of sun warmed water and stepped into the circle. The singing started to feel like an echo of voices guiding her while the drums became her heart beating, all judgements and resentment melted into the Sun and she danced.

The sweat trickled in her eyes and thick dark eyebrows. The fringes of her regalia tickled the back of her legs as she bounced from foot to foot, on used moccasins passed down from an elders daughter out pity. She felt shame as she thought of how she must look compared to the other dancers.

They giggled when she showed up in the only pair of shoes she owned, bright green suede high top boots. Her regalia was made out of fabrics that her mother had found at a yard sale. They could not afford to get any new material that would be more traditional.

Her mother really had tried and the girl would never tell her mother how she stood out like a outcast. She looked like a colorful quilt, beautifully crafted, made with love, but sooooo embarrassing. The whole Sundance knew her mom was definitely white.

She was the only kid in this years Sundance which normally had three or more. She wondered if it was because of her. At home she had been forbidden to be friends with some school mates by their parents because her mother was a lesbian or because they lived on a Commune. She was sure the other Native parents did not want her to be in their memories of their children’s Sundance. She is clearly a mixed breed. They will just make them wait until next year.