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Prologue
Fact or Fiction
Just because you fail to believe, doesn’t make it a given.
It is written in the ancient birch parchments of the Ojibwe that seven spirits presented themselves to the people in the Land of the Dawn to teach the Mide way of life. The first six spirits were good and kind, but the seventh grew too powerful and killed those in his presence. The other six spirits took to the river and swam back to the ocean from whence they came.
Watercolor Memories
You know, looking back, I remember so well that summer I turned seventeen. Black was my color, goth my life, Debbie Hall my BFF, Kevin my heartthrob, weekends at Silver Beach, the mall, an android phone and a used Honda Civic, my very own. Life was good, really, really, good and then—it all changed.
Twin Cities
The day was glorious with the blinding overhead orb pushing the temperatures past eighty degrees. Cruising down Lakeshore Drive with the waves of Lake Michigan crashing, sixteen-year-old Donja Bellanger bypassed the city of St. Joseph, her destination its sister city of Benton Harbor. She glanced over to Debbie, her best friend since fourth grade, who was applying gloss over her black lipstick. “Don’t let me forget to get eyeliner, I’m out!” she shouted over the iconic tunes of The Cure.
Just off Napier Road, which was busy for the noon hour, Donja sped through a yellow light and rolled into Benton Harbor. Adrift in the music which was all but rattling the fender wells, she darted ahead of oncoming traffic into the parking lot of the ‘Burger Shack.’ She eased her Honda into the drive-through, manning the steering wheel with her knees while digging in her purse for loose change. After grabbing their sugar-free, vanilla lattes, she careened past a delivery truck onto Pipestone Road. Sipping her latte, she took a fast exit without the courtesy of a blinker, cars honking as she darted into the parking lot of ‘Hurley’s Quick Stop.’ She pulled alongside the pumps and got out, the smell of gasoline nauseating.
Standing beside her rusted-out Civic, pinching her nose tightly while pumping gas, Donja noticed a well-dressed, older woman at the pumps, filling her Cadillac, and she was out and out staring. The woman shook her head with bewildered disgust.
Debbie got out of the Civic and came marching around the rear. “You need anything?”
“No,” Donja smirked, her dark, painted eyes bleeding bitterness.
Debbie raised her hands and hunched her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Donja nodded toward the woman. “That old bag in the Caddy has obviously never seen a goth. I think she’s gonna stroke out.”
Debbie flashed as menacing a look as she could muster to the woman. Her hand found her waist and one of her pointed ankle boots tapped rhythmically.
The old woman, who suddenly seemed fearful, finished up and got in her car. Debbie curtsied as the woman drove away.
Laughing, Donja finished up the gas, waiting for the receipt which was slow coming. With the Honda’s front door wide, she surveyed the floorboards, then snatched up pop bottles and several empty burger boxes from ‘MaFee’s,’ who makes the best cheeseburgers in town. Her demeanor shifted as a genuine shudder rocked her.
Grrr, I don’t want to move. This is not fair!
Just shy of the trash can, with her lips held tightly, it occurred to her that this might be her last visit to Hurley’s, where flirtation with the proprietor who was balding with tufts of hair that stood up on top of his shiny head, could buy you cigarettes without being carded. Dismayed, she tossed the garbage and headed for the car. She saw Debbie exit the store with a couple of packs of cigarettes sashaying through the parking lot just as a souped-up four-wheel drive truck with three rowdy guys came barreling in. The driver leaned his head through the window with a muscled arm hugging the outside of the door, “Hey, baby, wanta party?”
She ignored them and they got in the Civic. “Damn. I forgot to get a lighter.”
“No worries, there’s one in my purse,” Donja said, tossing her black shoulder bag as one of the rednecks from the four-wheel drive came walking toward them. She cranked the car, fired him a ‘get lost’ look, then eased the car to the street and cut ahead of oncoming traffic. Finally, she merged with the flow of cars and set a path back down Pipestone Road.
Debbie turned on the radio and propped one foot on the dash. “He was kinda cute.”
Donja rolled her eyes. “Whatever!”
Minutes later, with the windows down and music blasting, Donja sped into the Walmart parking lot. Finding a space, she killed the motor and opened the door, which creaked ominously on the eighteen-year-old bucket of bolts. She got out and Debbie joined her, a cigarette dangling from her painted lips. She took a long drag then gave it to Donja.
“What the heck am I gonna do without you?” Debbie protested, blowing smoke. “It sucks.”
“And then some,” Donja breathed, exhaling. “But could we not talk about it; this is our last few days before I get shipped off to Mars.”
Debbie sputtered her dismay, flicked the ashes and took a drag. She offered it to Donja as smoke sighed out of her. “Go figure. Parents, always messing with your life.”
Donja spiked her brows with a hard gaze. “Don’t get me started.” She scowled, offering the cigarette.
Debbie accepted and with it poised between her finger tips, took another drag, then offered it back.
“I’m done,” Donja blurted as she spun, setting a lengthy stride.
Debbie dropped the cigarette, stomped it with her boot and hurried after her. They marched, side by side in short, black lace skirts, black ankle boots, fishnet stockings, black spandex tops, black denim jackets and leather dog chokers to match. Sunlight shimmered in Debbie’s spiked, blue-black locks and Donja’s naturally dark tresses would have been blue-black except that she was forbidden to dye her hair. Just as they entered the sliding doors, a wolf whistle from the parking lot forced a giggle and then the greeter flashed a big smile. “Welcome to Walmart.”
Hours later, after rummaging through and trying on shoes, cute little tops, and sorting through purses and stockings they finally found the packing tape and dog food Donja’s mother had requested. Debbie’s phone beeped a message as they headed for cosmetics.
She dug it from her purse, staring as she walked down the aisle. She bumped into an elderly couple, then mumbled an apology, her fingers flying over the screen. She sighed, mission accomplished and put it back in her purse.
“Who was it?” Donja asked.
“Ashlie. She wants to know what time we’re gonna show up for the party Friday night.”
