The Great White Unknown

Tuma said to himself, "Why must I follow in their ways? Look at how far they've gotten me." The sarcasm rolled through his words like a fully loaded tanker looking for its next victim. "Trust in the process young one." He snarkily mimicked his grandfather's words as he angrily threw the small, once soothingly cold, jagged stone that had been forgotten in his hand over the precipice in front of him. The stone had warmed during his existential outcry, making him even more upset that he had forgotten it. "How can I trust in a process that I just don't understand?" he pondered. After another moment or two Tuma extended his right hand out once again to grab another stone, only to be met by a soft, yet moist, tuft of grass. The feeling sprung him back to reality with a jolt. He had thrown all of the rocks in his nearby area, and was unsure of how long he had been sitting in this spot. The early May rain that blessed the land that morning, had caused the path of the mountain to be untrekkable due to the icy mud patches that had formed. At first Tuma was angry at the rain, because it meant he had to stay on the peak of the mountain until it passed. However, the storm was long enough gone now that Tuma was finally able to begin his descent down Rainbird mountain, back to his village.

Tuma was a boy of almost 16, with the wit and attitude of your average cranky 80 year old. He flew through life as fast as he could, clinging to the inner hope of "just getting through it". He was raised in a small Inuit village just outside of Ketchikan, Alaska. It was 2021, and many of the Native Alaskan tribes were no longer together or affiliated with their ethnicities, so why did Tuma's tribe have to be one of the only ones who were? He just couldn't understand or accept that almost 100 people were still living their lives in the 21st century, as if societal and technological advancements never happened. Instead the people of the Haida clan that had chosen to continue their traditional lifestyles, lived and enjoyed their lives away from the dramas of the new age world, whether Tuma agreed with it or not. The older he got, the more he began to resent not only his upbringing but also himself because he knew he could never fully escape from the life that was chosen for him. "Chosen FOR me" he repeated out loud. "Why don't I ever get a choice?!" he screamed off the mountain side. Tears began to fall from his eyes as he finished his exclamation, but were quickly wiped away by the backside of his tawny skinned hand. He stood up slowly and let out what seemed to be all of the oxygen in his medium statured body, in a deep, hopeless sigh as he started his journey back home.

He gathered his belongings one by one in order of least to most importance. Sunglasses, check. Water, check. Sketchbook, check. "Well, guess its time to go hide in my room until dinner" he muttered to himself while wiping any signs of forest life off of his jeans. He began making his way back down the mountain towards home, with nothing but dread at the forefront of his journey. On his walk, he began to think of his next sketch idea. He tossed around several ideas, backing each idea up with a supporting reason, but none of them rang true to his artistic vision, so he continued his walk in what he thought would be mental silence, but turned out to be relentless disdain. He kicked the curb of the sidewalk next to him, stirring up dust as he mumbled, frustrated that he hasn't been able to come up with a new idea in what seemed like months.

He walked up his short, broken walk way to his front door. His house was nothing fancy by any means, as his family insisted on living a very modest lifestyle. Too modest if you asked him, he thought. He shook away the thought, realizing he sounded ungrateful, and reached out for the handle of the front door. The metallic coating had rubbed off in certain places around the outside of the knob from years of use. "I'll probably be a millionaire before they ever get anything replaced around here." he thought to himself as he crossed the threshold into the living room of his 3 bedroom house. He started his way up the stairs to his bedroom when his mother beckoned him from the kitchen. "Tuma, is that you? Hawíit." He took another step towards his solace. "Hawíit, I said." She repeated the native saying. He lowered his head and turned back on his heels towards her. As he entered the kitchen, he looked around for his mother and found her patiently chopping an onion with a slight smirk on her face. "Ah, I knew I heard your footsteps. You cannot hide from me, my çaa xajúu." She said as she reached her hand out to caress his face. He pulled away, and wouldn't meet her confused gaze. She always referred to him as her "little child" and he was beginning to hate it. He wasn't sure if she ever even noticed that he had grown up, because she certainly never treated him as if he did. He considered this thought for a moment longer and reached out for a piece of onion from the cutting board only to be swatted away and told "Wait for supper. We need to be patient, say our blessings.." she trailed off as he began walking away.

Back up in his room, finally alone and unbothered, Tuma pulled out his sketchbook and sat down on his bed. He leaned back onto his pillow, single pillow "because we don't have what we don't need." He repeated back to himself as if it were automatic. Annoyed at how much he sounded like his grandfather, he turned his walkman Cd player on and began to drown out the monotony. It wasn't long after the calming notes of Coldplay, the only cd he owned, that Tuma was completely unreachable from the world as he knew it. He stayed in bed, sketching with no image in mind for about an hour before his mother announced dinner was ready. He slowly made his way back to the present moment and looked down at his work. He was stunned. As had been typical for the last few months now, whenever Tuma couldn't think of what to draw, didn't have a goal in mind, he ended up creating the same thing. A pond. The images always held a sense of mystery, that he just couldn't put his finger on. He had never seen this place before, but was sure it existed. How could it not? It was beautifully surrounded by meadows of wild flowers, narrated by the distant calls and trills of birds in the background. He stared at it for another second, hearing the birds slowly fading away, noting that this time the image was of the pond during winter. It was frozen, shaded darker than usual in the center. No birds chirping, no flowers gleaming in the sun. It was dark, and cold, the trees all barren and hardened from the frost surrounding it. Tuma stared just a brief moment more before a shiver made its way down his shoulders into his fingers. He could hear his mother call once more to him, firmness growing under her tone. Tuma slid the sketch under his mattress with the rest of their kind, before slinking through the door reluctantly for dinner.

All through dinner, Tuma couldn´t get the pond out of his head. He had been sketching it for awhile now, and its never been any different. Until now. What was different that made him draw that? Does this mean that it really just is his brain afterall? He zoned out while twirling his fork in his zucchini and contemplated what this new sketch meant. His mother noticed that he seemed far away, and she placed her warm, wrinkled hand over top of his. Tuma startled slightly before letting out a brief sigh and saying ¨gudáng, mother.¨ His mother followed his response by grasping his hand tighter, looking into his eyes and smiling. Not just any smile, but a big goofy smile, that Tuma just didn´t understand. He gave her a wide eyed, questioning, stare. She responded by saying ¨çaa xajúu, I am your mother. You may not speak with words, but you speak to me always.¨ She patted his hand softly before sliding out of her chair, and retreating to her bedroom to begin her nightly preparations for sleep.

The next morning, Tuma told his mother, who was already busy cooking up a breakfast of oatmeal with raisins and dates, toast made from his mothers bread, and an egg from Gloria, their family chicken, that he would be skipping breakfast to head to the library. He got the sentence out as quick as he could, while putting on a jacket and slipping out the door before anyone could attest.

When Tuma finally arrived at the library, he scanned the service area for an open computer. He found one not too far off in the west wing, and sat down, eager to dig into the mystery behind his pond. After logging into the system, he sat there perplexed, because he hadn´t given the slightest clue to how he was going to find this mystery pond, with a google search. He tried the query ; Frozen pond, dark and creepy. It brought up an array of topics, but none were what he wanted. He had to think deeper. He pulled out all of his sketches, patting himself on the back internally for bringing them. He studied the images for several minutes trying to find anything indicative. Tuma felt discouraged, he tossed the stack of papers on the desk in front of him, scrambling them around the desk and the floor nearby. He slunk back into his chair and closed his eyes to take a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he noticed something on some of his drawings he never payed attention to before. He noticed that in every image of the pond, there was a deer somewhere in the image as well. Almost far off in the distance enough to be missed, and he wondered if it was on purpose. He noticed that in each of the images, the deer wasn´t stationary either. It was in a new position with each new sketch, but what did it mean? Tuma changed his search to learn more about how to identify the type of deer. He felt his eagerness flush back in his body as he typed out a new query : Brown deer, live near water. He closed his eyes, and hit enter, praying that this would turn something useful up. When he opened his eyes, that sense of eagerness was replaced by a sense of dread. Not only did it turn something up, it turned up 13,337 somethings and he wasn´t sure he wanted to weed through them all. But his need for answers, and his deep seeded confusion urged him to push onward.