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This is shaping up to be bad, real fucking bad. And I can’t decide who it’s gonna work out worse for… her or me?
FOUR MONTHS AGO
I can’t hide the smile from my face when Tawk pulls the truck to a stop in Manitou Springs, it’s the town closest to our village, but I rarely get the opportunity to come here.
I have Tawk to thank for today. Somehow, he convinced my uncle to let me come with him on his errand run.
Every month, Tawk leaves the village and visits nearby towns to trade. Our village tries to be self-sufficient, but as much as my uncle hates to admit it, there are things we need to buy in from the outside.
I love coming into town and visiting the library here. My uncle disagrees with my enthusiasm for the written word, which is why it’s mine and Tawk's secret that I’ll be spending the day here, while he goes on and does his business.
“I’ll pick you up from this spot in a few hours,” Tawk tells me, jumping out of the truck and rushing around so he can open my door for me.
“Thanks.” I smile back.
Things have changed between us lately, I'll be twenty-one later this year, and our whole tribe knows what my uncle intends for us.
I find it hard to envision Tawk as a husband. Sure, he’s handsome, strong, and he isn’t unkind. He just takes everything so seriously. When we were kids, he never played like the rest of us did. He followed the older tribesmen around everywhere, eager to learn their skills and the traditional way of doing things. He spent all his free time hunting in the forest and grew up much quicker than the rest of us did. It’s the reason my uncle likes him so much.
His huge hand wraps around mine to help me out of the truck, and my body stiffens as it slides against his, reminding me of how close we will soon have to become.
I feel eyes on us, coming from all directions. My people are different to the townsfolk of Manitou Springs, we’re even different to any Native Americans who live on the reservations nearby. We have our own traditions and beliefs, and my uncle ensures we stay locked in the past.
The people here don’t understand us, and for that reason they look down on us. When we come to town, we’re always greeted with the same reaction. Wide-eyed stares, sniggers, and disapproving head shakes.
Tawk nods his head at me as he gets back in the driver’s seat and pulls away, then I check both ways for traffic and cross the street to the library.
Jodie smiles at me when I walk through the door and place the pile of books I borrowed a few months ago on her desk.
“I’m sorry they’re a little late.” I blush awkwardly, Jodie’s a kind woman, I’d hate for her to think I took advantage of that. She knows my situation and always overlooks return dates on the books I borrow.
“It’s good to see you, Shaniya.” She smiles at me warmly, taking the books and placing them on the return’s trolley.
“Thanks, Jodie.” I return her smile before making my way over to the fiction aisles to find myself a story to lose myself into.
I keep checking the clock on the wall, and it’s depressing how fast the time seems to pass. When I head to the desk to say goodbye, Jodie insists I take more books with me. I’m grateful for it, because I have no idea when I'll next get the opportunity to come to town.
It dawns on me that the next time I do, I’ll probably be a married woman. The suffocating feeling that gives me causes my eyes to fill with tears.
I say goodbye to Jodie, clutching the books to my chest as I cross the street to wait for Tawk on the bench near where he left me.
After waiting for way longer than I expected to, I start to worry. There is no one more efficient and reliable than Tawk. It’s the reason my uncle trusts him with such important business, that, and the fact my uncle hates leaving the reservation himself.
I wonder what’s holding him up?
The chill of dusk is just starting to settle, and when I hear commotion on the other side of the street I look up and see three men piling out of the tattoo studio opposite. I know they’re the outlaws who live on the other side of the trees from our village because they all wear the same leather waistcoats. My uncle is always warning us about the trouble they cause.
The younger guy in the group lights a cigarette and rests his shoulder against the shop window while the other two get on their bikes. I feel the rumble of the engines vibrate the ground beneath my feet when they start them up. It triggers that flicker of thrill I felt when I remember the long-haired outlaw I'd seen standing on the other side of the river the day my mother passed away.
He was so beautiful that I’d wondered if he’d been sent by her, a way of letting me know she would always be watching. I often daydream about his strong, yet slender physique, and how he’d wore his long hair piled on top of his head. Recalling the way his eyes had burned into me keeps me visiting the lake in the hope I might see him again.
At first, I thought I’d invented him as a way to help me through my grief. But then the next time I went to bathe I found a bunch of wildflowers laid on the rock where I usually lay my clothes, and intuition told me they were from him. So, he became my secret, one I've decided not to share with anyone. Not even Danniya.
I like thinking about what might have happened if he hadn’t run from me that day. And although I’ve never physically seen him again, I know he still visits. I sense him, and when I do, I never hide anything from him. Wrong as it may be, if the weather is warm enough, I bathe as normal. If it isn’t, I sit by the water's edge and read.
I don’t fear the man like I should, in fact, I feel a strange sense of comfort when I think he might be watching.
The men on the other side of the street take off on their bikes with a loud roar, and I watch the younger guy flick his smoke onto the sidewalk before he heads back inside the shop.
