THE BOOK IS FINALLY DONE!

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 Finally - after only fifteen years in the making and a lot of blood, sweat and tears - The book is finished.


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This is a true story of an American tribal member who, after coming to know Jesus Christ, realized just how much liberal policies within tribal and federal government were hurting his extended family.  

Roland grew up watching members of his family die of alcoholism, child abuse, suicide, and violence on the reservation. Like many others, he blamed all the problems on “white people.”  

Beth Ward grew up in a middle class home in the suburbs. Raised in a politically left family, she also believed that all problems on the reservation originated with cruel treatment by settlers and the stealing of land. Meeting her husband, her first close experience with a tribal member, she stepped out of the comfort of suburban life into a whole new, frightening world.

After almost ten years of living with his alcoholism and the terrible dangers that came with it, they both came to realize that individual behavior and personal decisions were at the root of a man’s troubles, including their own. After coming face-to face with the reality of Jesus Christ, their eyes opened to the truth of why there is so much Dying in Indian Country.  

What cannot be denied is that a large number of Native Americans are dying from alcoholism, drug abuse, suicide, and violence. The reservation, a socialistic experiment at best, pushes people to depend on tribal and federal government rather than God, and to blame all of life's ills on others. The results have been disastrous. Roland realized that corrupt tribal government, dishonest federal Indian policy, and the controlling reservation system had more to do with the current pain and despair in his family and community than what had happened 150 years ago.  

Here is the plain truth in the eyes of one family, in the hope that at least some of the dying in Indian Country — physical, emotional, and spiritual — may be recognized and prevented. Unfortunately, persistent public misconceptions about Indian Country, misconceptions sometimes promoted by tribal government and others enjoying unaudited money and power, have worked to keep the situation just as it is.

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• “Roland truly has encouraged many people…the last trip to D.C. was a testimony to God’s faithfulness.” Rev. Robert Guthrie, B.Th. M.A. –Professor, Vanguard College, AB
• “…he earned my deepest respect, and…made heroic and very honorable attempts to improve the lot of Native Americans in this country.” Jon Metropoulos, Attorney, Helena, MT
• “‘Dying in Indian Country’ is a compassionate and honest portrayal…I highly recommend it to you!” Reed Elley, former Member of Parliament, Canada; Chief Critic for Indian Affairs in 2000; Baptist Pastor, father of four native and metis children
• “I truly admire Roland for the message he was trying to have heard.” Ralph Heinert, Montana State Representative
• “He was a magnificent warrior who put himself on the line for the good of all…. I can think of no-one at this time in this dark period of Indian history who is able to speak as Roland has.” Arlene, tribal member
• “…hope emerging from despair… This is a story about an amazing life journey.” Darrel Smith. Writer, Rancher, South Dakota
• “He’s a Christian now you know… I saw him crying on his knees on my living room floor. I was there.” Sharon, tribal member
• "...truly gripping, with a good pace." Dr. William B. Allen, - Emeritus Professor, Political Science, MSU and former Chair of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights (1989)

Read More:

• Website: dyinginindiancountry.com
• Twitter: twitter.com/WriteBethWard
• Facebook: www.facebook.com/DyingInIndianCountry

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Some time later, Savannah killed her mother’s boyfriend

Some time later, Savannah killed her mother’s boyfriend. He had been verbally abusing Annie, and Savannah got angry, went into the kitchen, returned with a knife, and stuck it in his back.

I didn’t hold Savannah to blame, though. I couldn’t. So many people had abused her. I blamed all the adults who could have – should have – helped her, including Roland and the social workers. I was disgusted with them all. Why didn’t anyone help her?

After the murder and Savannah’s arrest, I called her defense attorneys and told them how she had been living. I wanted her lawyer to know what she had been through – the alcoholism in the family and the abuse, neglect, and gang rape she’d endured. I wanted him to be sympathetic. But I also called the prosecution. I wanted someone to finally do something.
I don’t think anything I said had any affect on anything, but her first baby was taken away from her, and Savannah went to a group home. And that was great.
_______________________

Wanda was admitted to BetterLife Treatment Center. Wanting to encourage her, I went to visit. Once there, I felt I’d better explain my absence from the extended family. It wasn't just because Roland and I were separated or because I didn't get along with his oldest daughters.

“Wanda, I haven’t come around you guys for awhile because I care about you all and just can’t keep watching all the bad things going on. I just can’t keep watching everyone get hurt and die.”

Wanda didn’t take offense. Instead, she felt touched by the idea someone cared. ‘No one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” she answered quietly.
________________________

My Sister Steph moved in with me in January. When she came, I was excited. I had visions that we would shop together, do each other’s hair and in general, be sisters together in a way we never had before. But neither of our schedules ended up allowing it. I was working the 3-11 shift and at times even back to back or doubles, and she was working two jobs. We rarely saw each other.

Troy and Mickey were my babysitters, not because they were good but because they were convenient. Some mornings I’d find Haley soaked in her crib because they hadn’t changed her before putting her to bed. And there were times girls stayed over while both Steph and I were gone. Steph was especially angry when one of her heirloom coffee tables was broken.
______________________

Troy came home one day and told me something Misty had said about me. That was it. I’d had enough.
“I’m going down to kick her a—right now.”
Matthew stopped me. “She’s pregnant. You better not go over there.”
“I don’t care. I’m sick of her!”
I was afraid if I stopped now, I’d never do it. I jumped in my car and drove over to Cheri’s place. Standing in the snow outside, I called Misty down from the upstairs duplex.
She hurried down the stairs and opened the screen door. “What?”
“I’m so sick of you and your mouth! If you don’t cut it out, I’ll kick the s--- out of you!”
“Wait a minute.” She turned and ran back up the stairs.

That ugly thing in the pit of your stomach

Haley was already three days old when I called a nephew up north to leave a message for Wilson.
"Just wait," his nephew said, ''I'll go get him."
"No, I mean, don't bother. I just called to tell you so you can tell him. I don't need to talk to him."
"No, I'll go get him," he said, and hung up.
Strange. All the times I wanted to talk to Wilson and no one would help me. Now, I don't want to speak to him, and someone is rushing to get him.
Wilson called back almost immediately.
"I'll come home."
"Don't bother."
"I'm going to detox tonight then come right down tomorrow."
But of course, he didn't go to detox. He went to celebrate that night. The following night he went to detox.

I took Haley in the stroller to the park when she was five days old. After opening her blankets so she could get sun on her slightly jaundiced face, I sat down to read. I wasn't there long when Troy rode up quickly on his bike.
"Wilson and Elaine are here."
My stomach knotted and I looked away. Taking a deep breath, I slowly stood up.
"Okay. Tell them I'm coming."
Troy took off on his bike. I slowly put my things away and got ready to leave. Haley's face looked pink.
Darn it, I thought, I think I sunburned Haley's face a little. I hope Elaine doesn't notice.
Moving slowly, I made my way up the sidewalk. What was I supposed to do or say to him? I had no idea how to act. I didn't want him there.
But in a small way, I did.

I never really warmed up to Wilson those following months. I rarely looked him in the eye and we no longer touched each other, even while lying asleep in bed. I changed my phone number and, even though he lived with me, wouldn't give it to him. I didn't want him to give it to his older daughters.
I hated to see Wilson alone and lonely, especially when I remembered how he used to be. But I couldn't trust him anymore, and love has to involve trust.

I found a job as a charge nurse at a nearby nursing home. I didn't want to leave Haley and start work, but the job was just weekends and it was close enough that I could come home during break and nurse her.
Andrew asked Wilson to play with him with the train set Uncle Bobby had given him for his birthday. I knew Wilson and Andrew couldn't play together for more than three minutes, and they didn't. Andrew said something and Wilson got mad and walked away. Andrew cried and begged Wilson to come back and play, but he said, "No." Andrew finally quit crying and started to play alone with his legos.

Just before Christmas, Wilson and Andrew each received about $400 from the tribe. This was the first and only tribal financial disbursement I'd ever seen. Andrew's money was automatically deposited by the tribe into a special savings account to be held until he turned 18, so he didn’t actually get it at that time. Haley didn't receive a check at all because she hadn't been enrolled yet as a member.

Cheri, who'd also received her money, had been staying with us. Wilson and I began to argue about her again. I had been supporting everyone, but Cheri was refusing to use any of her money to help out. I wanted her to go.
"Well if she goes, I go," Wilson hollered.
"Good-bye," I yelled back.
For a moment, Wilson seemed stunned. But then he packed up and, with Cheri and all their money, left.

I'm So Over You.

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My nursing boards were scheduled to take place at the Civic Center over a two-day period. I asked Marion if Andrew could stay with her over those two days; I'd do better if I didn't have to worry about him. The first day of the test, the staff ushered us into a large room. We weren't allowed to bring anything in with us and we weren't allowed to leave the room. It was a long and stressful day. That night I went to bed early, my body was drained.

Around midnight the phone rang. "Beth.... This is Dorothy," came the slurred voice, "I'm over at a party.... Will you pick me up...and take me over to Lincoln?"

"No!" I barked and hung up.

_________________________________________________________

That weekend, the nursing boards finally over with, Andrew and I actually began to relax. Having nothing but welfare now money was tight. But it was okay, Andrew and I didn't need much. We went to fairs, the library, and to visit my family. We went to the beach twice a week and spent the whole afternoon doing nothing but play together in the water and lie on the warm sand. If I had loose change, I bought each of us an ice cream bar at the refreshment stand. It was a beautiful, wonderful time.

Unfortunately, it ended too soon. I came home from an overnight stay at my sister's one day and found Troy and Mathew sleeping in the house. They'd gotten in through the upstairs porch door.

I was angry, but didn't show it. Not wanting them to hate me, I didn’t want them to know how I felt. I scolded them and then let it go. My quiet time was over.

The phone rang just as I was falling asleep.

"Tell my dad Cheri had her kid," Misty snapped.

"Tell him yourself," I snapped back and hung up.

_________________________________________________


Mickey came back from Texas, but Paul stayed with his dad. I went into labor in September and Troy drove me in. I didn't call Wilson. Why bother? He knew when I was due. I'd packed my overnight bag for Andrew also, intending that he stay with me. Troy dropped Andrew and me at the hospital door.

Around 5:30 p.m. the next day, Andrew tried to cut his sister's cord. The doctor helped.

Haley's initial color at birth was dark and her face was squashed, accenting her Indian features. My initial reaction to the way she looked was fear. My thought; "I've given birth to an Indian girl who will become a teenage Indian girl."

I was barely out of the shower when Steph arrived half an hour later from work. She very lovingly combed my wet hair out. Erik, Bobby and Chris arrived soon after. All of them took time to hold Haley. I was tired, but so touched and grateful to have them all there. When they left they took Andrew and his belongings with them.

"I'll pick you up and take you home when it's time," Steph offered.

I fell asleep that night comforted by my brothers and sisters. Alone with Haley, my feelings of fear passed.

She was beautiful.
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Tragic Mothers

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Cheri and Gene split up and Cheri, with Carrie almost 18-months-old, moved in with us. I did like Cheri and never stopped wanting to help her, but we walked a fine line with each other. As long as I smiled and gave her everything she expected, we were fine. We spent time together watching TV and teasing Wilson. But again, I was the one that had to do the bending in order for us to get along. If I asked anything of her or refused her requests, I messed things up.

One afternoon after she had been with us about three weeks, Cheri went out with Misty and didn't come back. This took us by surprise. Although we had had our hard times with Cheri, we never expected her to walk away from Carrie.

Now Carrie was my responsibility. A few months earlier, Carrie had been diagnosed with anemia and a yeast infection. Cheri had gotten the medicine but had never really used it. Now with her gone, I wrestled with Carrie twice a day to get her to swallow the bitter liquid iron and grappled to get rid of her yeast infection. The infection had been going on for so long that the normal salve wasn't effective. I took Carrie to the doctor, who gave some stronger medicine, but even that didn't work. Something was still there. I took Carrie again to the doctor.

"The yeast infection is gone; this is something else. I'm going to have to call child protection. This problem is sexually transmitted."

Child protection was called and a report was made. The doctor assured us that the incubation period was such that he did not suspect our home to be the source of the abuse. However, we were told Carrie should not visit her father's house.

Two weeks later, Cheri came back. Sitting on the couch and taking Carrie onto her lap, she asked "Carrie, do you love me? Did you miss me?"

I was surprised her first words to her daughter after three weeks absence were self-centered, but those words gave real insight into some of the problems.  When told about her daughter's diagnosis, she said she didn't know how or when Carrie would have been abused. But she seemed willing to believe it might have been someone in Gene's family. The doctor's statement gave her opportunity to be in control and keep Carrie from them.

Not that she was hung up on having Carrie, herself, though.  Cheri left again without warning the next day.

I could have spent time chasing Cheri down, but I wasn't keen on having her back in the house, and it was kind of fun to have a daughter. I picked up pretty dresses for her at the Crisis Nursery, fixed her hair, and took her to the college day care along with Andrew. At night, sitting in the rocking chair with her kneeling on my lap clinging to my neck, it would take only a few minutes to put her to sleep.

That same month Annie was in the hospital, just having given birth to little Shaine. I had worried about this pregnancy. She'd been drinking the whole time.

Bringing a gift to her room, we visited for a little while. Shaine looked good. I was relieved. Annie also looked good. Her long, silky, black hair, washed and brushed, literally shown. Two days of being cared for, sleeping in a comfortable bed and eating three meals a day had been good for her. Or maybe it was the little boy. She held him closely in her arms and spoke softly to him. I hoped that maybe she would leave the hospital determined to stay straight for him - and herself too.

__________________________________________

January 11, 1987 was the afternoon of a big football game. Mathew and Wilson watched it together in our living room. Annie called a couple of times that day asking Wilson to come over and talk with Lila.
"She’s sick," Annie told him, "she's coughing up blood and won't go to the hospital. She wants to talk to you."

Wilson was reluctant. He had been over there several times this week already. All they wanted, Wilson figured, was to ask him to run to the liquor store again.

Lila had some money and a group had hung out with her all week helping drink it up. Lila hadn't moved from the couch the whole time. Wilson said the apartment stunk from the smell of alcohol, urine, and "some other strange smell." He really didn't want to go back there.

Nevertheless, he told them he’d come, then settled back down to finish watching the game. While he and Mathew watched the game, I opened one of my nursing books and tried to look up the symptoms that had been described.

After the game, I went with Mathew and Wilson. I usually didn't go with him anymore, but I was worried about Lila. We pulled into the alley behind the brownstone building, the same building Julia had died in four months earlier, and parked. There was an ambulance parked near the back door. Wilson got out and moved quickly toward the steps. I was slower; I had to help Andrew out of the car. As Wilson began to go in, two men carrying a stretcher came out. Wilson stepped aside to let them pass, glancing only a moment at the body with its sheet covered face, then started up the stairs. I also looked. The belly of the person was huge, as if it were a pregnant woman. The way my mom's belly had looked when it was filled with fluid just before she died. I hesitated, then turned to the two men now loading the corpse into the ambulance.

"Is that Lila Hunter?" I asked them.

"Yes," one responded.

I called up the stairs, "Wilson! Come back! It's Lila!"

He turned and looked down at me, "No it's not."
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Willingly Wearing the Floor Rug.

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The next day Wilson went back up north, taking Dale, Tammy and Misty with him.   Mickey stayed with me.   I enrolled him in South High School and in a karate class on Lake Avenue.  

            The next Friday, I woke Mickey up for school.

            “Do I have to go today?  Can’t I get to stay home today as a reward for having gone the other four days?”

            “No,” I answered.  Despite all I’d seen in the last few years, this train of thought still astounded me.

            Through the grapevine we heard that both Wilson and Misty were drinking heavily.  Misty had even taken our van one night and tore up someone's yard.   I called Tammy and asked her to hide the van keys.  Later, I heard the vehicle wasn't running right anyway and they had parked it.          

            Wilson called one evening, "Could you send me the title for the van?"

            "Why?"

            "I sold it."

            "What?  It's in my name.  How could you sell it to them?"

            "Well I did it and they need the title."

            It was Wilson's van; he'd paid for it.   But I was angry he sold it for drinking money.   I called the county sheriff's office.  

            "My van was sold without my permission."

            Later, the deputy called me back. 

            "Look, I know the people that bought it.  I used to go to school with the lady and they're good people.   They've already bought new tires for it, so they said that if you want it back, they’d have to take the tires off.    You'll have your car but it'll be on blocks."

            Reluctantly, I sent the title.

            Angry I was, but being a single mom was also lonely.   Don't ask me why I kept wanting him back.  I never could figure it out myself.

            A month or so later, Wilson called and asked if I'd come get him.

            "Okay.  I'll be up this weekend."   

            "And I hocked my tools.  I need about $75 to get them back."

            Everyone was drinking at Dale's when I arrived on Friday night.   Wilson greeted me.  

            "Buy us a twelve-pack, will ya?"

            Misty, high on whatever, stumbled out the door with her boyfriend as soon as I sat down.  A few minutes later, she returned.   While I sat on the couch, she leaned over to her dad's ear, too stoned to know she wasn't whispering, and asked, "Can I get some of Beth's money?" 

            "I don't know," he answered, "ask her yourself."

            Misty looked at me, then walked away.  A few minutes later she came toward me.

            "Can I get some money?"  

            "I need all the money I have to get your dad's stuff out of hock and then get home."

            "You f------ b----," she swore.  Turning, she pulled her boyfriend out the door.

            After Wilson and I made the rounds collecting his tools, we went back to Dale's to spend the night.   Wilson wasn't done drinking.   He decided to go out to the bar with his nieces.

            "I'll drive you," I told them.   Wanting to make sure we could leave the next day, I figured I'd rather go with Wilson to keep him out of trouble.

            After spending about an hour at the bar, we were just getting ready to go back to Dale's when Misty came in.   Her boyfriend was tugging on her sleeve, trying to pull her back out.   Wilson stood up and walked over to her.

            "You only care for her!" she cried.  "How come you always have to drop everything and do what she wants?"

            Wilson, with the help of the boyfriend, pushed her back out the door.  The whole bar watched.   As Wilson walked back to our booth, Misty could be heard still screaming on the street.   I felt satisfaction.

_____________________________________________________

           

            Before we left the next day, we drove up to the nursing home to visit Walter with Dale’s family.   Not finding him in his room, a nurse searched the facility for him.  He was no where to be found.

            "Oh darn it," the nurse announced, "he must have taken off again."

            "Which way does he go?" Wilson asked.

            "Toward home," she said, pointing down the highway.

            We climbed back into the car and took off down the road.   After several miles, we saw the lone figure on the horizon.

            “Man, can that old man walk!"

            Wilson pulled the car over in front of Walter.  Walter looked up and, recognizing Wilson, smiled.

            "Ho! Wha’cha doing out here!" Wilson asked, "You've got all those women at the nursing home worried about you!"

            "Oh...gotta get home!" his dad said, still smiling.

            "Your home's back here now.  Come on," Wilson said gently.

            Walter came without a fight.  After settling him back into his room, we had to go.  We got in the car and counted heads.  Wally was missing.

            "There he is," Dale said, "by the little fir tree."

            Two-year-old Wally stood on the trim lawn with his fly open, watering a tiny tree.  A nurse watched from the door.

            "Come on Wally!" Dale said laughing.   


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Go ahead and feel disgusted in me; I feel disgusted in myself.

The Wedding Reception

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Working with my sisters to ready the yellow canopy and set up the tables, my stomach was tied in knots. I wanted very badly to have my relatives believe my life was normal. I suppose I assumed that because I lived on the south side, they couldn't see my day to day life and had no idea what kinds of things were going on. I wanted to preserve this illusion that was probably much more mine then theirs.

My cousin arrived with the beautiful three-tiered cake she had made and set it on the white tablecloth. As nicely dressed people began to arrive, Wilson still hadn't shown up. I welcomed my family's neighbors, friends and relatives and accepted their brightly wrapped gifts with a smile. Everything looked beautiful.
"Wilson will be here soon," I told everyone.

But while I smiled, I was in pain, unable to keep my mind off of what I knew was happening in my home.

Wilson showed up an hour later, very drunk. Elaine, arriving in her own car, carried the chili and, followed by her children, went on down to the party. Mickey smiled encouragement to me. Wilson stumbled out and went on down to the gathering. His four older children followed. Joy was wearing the pink dress and bonnet I'd bought her the Easter before. Dale was drunk too, but saw my shame and refused to get out of the van. I picked up Tammy's baby girl, the one Tammy had said she'd named for me, and took Dale's family down to introduce them. I was unable to even look in Wilson's direction.

Suddenly Wilson grabbed me and pulled me over to dance around the canopy.
"This is a traditional wedding dance," he told me, slurring his speech as he stumbled along.
I could feel my face burn hot as everyone watched. When he finally let me go, I hurried into the house, humiliated. Eventually, Wilson and his crew left. A few of the guests came into the house to say good-bye. Others just left.

Bobby took Mickey, Andrew and me home. No one was there when we arrived, but beer cans littered the floor and their contents stained the living room rug. The empty boxes they came in were stacked five feet high in the kitchen corner and Burger King wrappers littered the stairs.

I looked around; initially more exhausted and dejected than angry. Bobby waited a few minutes, not saying much of anything.

"Look," said Mickey, "Wilson's pulling up."

I looked out the storm door. Wilson was trying to parallel park in front. He had a group in the van with him. Wilson looked up and saw me in the door. He quickly turned his wheel toward the street and drove away. Now I felt the disgust and anger - at myself just as much as him.

"Fine then. The reception is done, and I’ll be d----- if most of them are going to stay another night."

Bobby left and I started cleaning. Soon Elaine came for her belongings. I had no problem with her. She had tried to help with the day and had planned on driving back that night anyway. But Dorothy was with her.

"I paid $12 for the chili's hamburger," Dorothy demanded, "Pay me back."

"I didn't ask you to spend your money."

"Give me the $12 or I'm taking Mickey back with me."

I paid her and Dorothy climbed into Elaine's car and left.

Misty, Dale and Tammy stayed. I didn't mind Dale and Tammy, but I didn't want to take care of Misty anymore. Wilson wasn't there and I didn't want him coming back, so she might as well go too. I was through taking care of his problems.

"Where's those clothes you took? I'm tired of you owning into my stuff!"

"I didn't take your d--- clothes!"

"Get out and don't f------ come back!"

She ran to the phone and called her mom. After speaking to her quickly, she hung up and came back.

"My ma's coming to get me and when she gets here, she's going to kick your a--."

"Let her come."

Dale, Tammy, and Mickey sat quietly in the living room and said nothing. After Misty threw some things into a bag, she stood at the door and waited for her ride. As I stood at the top of the landing, Misty looked up at me and swore,

"You dumb, f------ b----."

"Least I finished school," I said as I turned and walked into my room.

Misty's mother pulled up in front and honked. Misty grabbed her bag and left.
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And When They Were Older, They Would Not Depart From It

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In February 1986, because Misty was angry with her mother and didn't want to live there, and because Cheri wouldn't let Misty live at her place anymore, Misty moved in with us. We made it clear this was only on condition she straighten up and go to school. We did our best to help her. We first tried enrolling her in the Catholic high school her best friend was attending. We took her for an entrance exam, but she didn't pass.

"I'm sorry," the administrator told us, "we'd like to take her but her comprehension scores are way below our requirements. We simply don't have the necessary facilities to help her. I'd advise you to take her for testing."

At the Community College, Misty tested at the third grade reading level.

"Take her home and encourage her to read as much as possible. There are also some reading programs that you could enroll her in. They do cost a little, but if you can afford it..."

Running out of options, we enrolled her in an alternative school down on Lincoln Avenue. I encouraged her, told her she was beautiful and surprised her with a rose on her dresser for her 16th birthday. I took her portrait to a modeling agency. Louise Nelson saw the portrait and told me she thought Misty was very photogenic.

But living with Misty wasn't easy. She wouldn't do anything she didn't feel like doing. The only time she would do the dishes without a fight was on my payday.

_________________________________________________________

On Halloween I took Joy and Andrew with me to a party at the Crisis Nursery. I'd sewed Joy a "Strawberry Shortcake" costume. Andrew I made into Mickey Mouse. I found a ruffled slip for Joy and black tights for Andrew at the nursery. I was able to get all kinds of accessories for children at the Crisis Nursery, from clothing to diapers to baby bottle nipples. Some of it was given to me, some of it I stole. Funny how upset I was with Misty's thieving but thought nothing of my own.

Stealing from the Crisis Nursery at night wasn't hard. I worked with only one other person and all I had to do was wait for that person to fall asleep. Then during my normal duty of restocking from the basement, I would take extras out the side door to my car. Some of it I stored for my own use, other stuff I took up north and gave it to Dale and Tammy for their three kids.

The small one bedroom tract house they now lived in was part of a quadroplex originally built to house an elderly person. Not being high on the list of tribal government cronies, this apartment had been given to Dale's family until another home opened up.

The house was usually littered with clothing and thick with cigarette smoke. They never had much food, and the kids slept on the floor wrapped in dirty blankets. I brought them toothpaste and toothbrushes from the nursery every time I came, and then usually went out and bought other little things they needed such as toilet paper. Sometimes I'd help Tammy take the blankets and stuffed toys down to the launder-mat. At night, I curled up with the kids on the floor and slept.

While sitting on the hood of the car outside Dale's house one afternoon, Lila told me she would die soon and had already chosen her casket.
"There is no reason to live," she said while looking at the ground.
"What about your two kids?" I asked.
"No one needs me."

___________________________________________________

Back home, Roland called the alternative school. Misty had been going a month or so now and we wanted to see how she was doing.
"She hasn't been here."
"What do you mean? We drop her off every day!"
"She hides behind the door until you leave and then takes off."

After a particularly bad day with Misty, I urged Roland to go on a drive with me. As we went around a lake, I told him I could not marry him if I could not start saying no to his family. He wanted to get married, I guess, because he told me then that I could start standing up for myself.
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Children are Expedient: Nothing more

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Having watched the young dancers at the powwows for several years, I was impressed. I imagined Andrew as a fancy dancer. Wanting him to have a chance to learn, I called the Indian Center and was told about a child's drum and dance group meeting every week at the health center. Roland wasn't interested, so I took Andrew by myself.

The room was lined with parents sitting on folding chairs against the wall and their children sitting on their laps or standing near. I found a place to sit and held Andrew in front of me. I was surprised at the discomfort I felt. Having been with Roland for 6 years, I no longer felt conspicuous around Indians. But there was something here that wasn’t right. I looked around for a familiar face, but my eyes met only hostile stares. I understood immediately I was not wanted. What I couldn't understand though was with all of the talk about the benefits of tribal culture, why would these people chase away a white person who was trying to make sure their child stayed connected to the tribal culture? We never returned to the class.

Candis was visiting Arnold's sister on the northeast side, and Annie asked if I would drive Savannah and her up there. Driving over a bridge on Aspen Street, I slid on black ice and rammed into the rear end of a nice little car. Unfortunately, I wasn't carrying insurance.

The owner and I both got out to look at the damage. His rear fender suffered only a small, inch long crack. I was relieved. No important damage occurred. However, he seemed to think it was important and asked for my name, address and phone number. In a panic, I lied and gave him false information.

At Arnold's sister's later that afternoon, we told them about the incident. After that, I put it out of mind.

A few days later Arnold paid me to taxi Candis and him home to his “Rez”, which neighbored Salmon Lake. Candis was about ten at the time. Dorothy’s son, Troy, was visiting for a few days and rode with us. It was a cold night. The snow fell softly and silently. It was late and we all were tired. We hadn't originally intended to stop anywhere, but we had gotten a late start, and the weather had slowed us down. I couldn't drive anymore, and was glad Arnold had suggested we stop at his sister’s house.

The house we stopped at, with shoulder high snowdrifts in the driveway, was an unexpected, beautiful, ranch style home. The owner, Arnold's other sister and her husband, were obviously employed. We weren't sure if anyone was at home at first, but their 15-year-old daughter finally answered the door. After she assured Arnold it was no problem for us to stay, she led me past the kitchen and down to the end of the hall where there was a room I could use to sleep with Andrew. It was a teenage girl's room. The twin bed had a fluffy, pink comforter and the furnishings and toiletries on the dresser were that of a bubbly adolescent. I guessed it was her room. I am not sure where she and Candis were to sleep that night. Arnold and Troy slept on the living room couches.

I don't know how long I had been asleep when I heard noises in the hall. I could hear a man laughing and talking in slurred, drunken fashion, and I could hear Candis laughing and answering, "No, no, leave me alone. Don't do that!" I heard a loud thump, and suddenly the door to my room flew open. In the darkness, the man pushed Candis onto my bed, onto my legs, and began fumbling with the zipper of her pants.

In horror, I sat straight up and screamed at the top of my lungs; "Get the H--- out of here!"

The man jerked up, turned to look at me, and then dashed from the room. To my surprise, Candis started after him. Quickly, I jumped out of bed and grabbed her by the arm, "No! Not you!" I slammed the door shut and pulled Candis back to the bed, putting her in-between myself and Andrew, (who had never awakened). I wasn't going to let anyone touch her if I could help it. But I could hear the man moving around in the kitchen, getting himself something to eat. The kitchen was in between the living room and us. How will I get to Arnold and Troy for help? Who was that man? What if he comes back with a gun, mad, or scared I’ll call the cops?

Candis fell asleep after a short time, but I sat in the room with the lights on for the rest of the night, too afraid to close my eyes. After a time, I could hear the man snoring, but I was still too scared to attempt to get past him. In my mind's eye, I pictured him sitting in a chair, sleeping with his head bent and his chin on his chest. What could I do? I was too afraid to leave the room.

Candis and Andrew slept peacefully beside me.
.

Being Raised to Die

.
Wilson began working at an upholstery shop on the northeast side. It didn't pay much, but he was glad for the work. I was surprised how little trouble he had getting up with the alarm.


We signed Joy up for ballet classes in the suburb near my Dad’s. Every Saturday that fall, I dropped her off at class and went to do laundry at my dad's. We also signed Junior up with a gym near his house and paid for his and Cheri's piano lessons at the Park. In addition, Wilson and I attended most of Junior's floor hockey games and were proud when Cheri won an award in tennis.

But Misty wasn't a joiner. She had briefly been in Girl Scouts, but never asked to be part of any other program, never indicated any special interests, and we, deep into our own problems, never thought to help her find some.

Misty, like Cheri, started her real trouble after leaving elementary school and beginning junior high. There being several elementary and junior high schools in our large city, kids moving to seventh grade often found themselves surrounded by a whole new group of children. I often wondered if the pressure of a new school and the change in peer group at such an insecure age had anything to do with the troubles inner city kids had. Maybe junior high kids should be kept with the same group of children they'd gone to elementary school with, rather than shuffling the children as you would a deck of cards.

Because of Misty's truancy, the school district was now picking her up in a van every day from her mother's house and taking her to a special school. But the costly effort had no effect on her uncooperative attitude or interest in learning.
_________________________________

An Asian gang had jumped Savannah and Yvonne’s girl, Marci. Marci had gotten away, but Savannah was left. She had been gang-raped. Only thirteen, Savannah was already drinking heavily, had left school, been beaten several times, been stabbed in the throat, and had had clap (gonorrhea). I tried to get Savannah into treatment. The hospital was ready to take her, but no one in the family would help me to get her there. At the duplex Annie and Savannah were staying at with other people, (Candis was in the custody of her dad at the time.) I tried to talk Annie into helping me with Savannah.

"Well Savannah don't want to go, and if Savannah don't want to go, I can't do nothin," Annie said.

Busy at the kitchen table trying to hack a dirty cast off a little boy’s arm, she stopped a moment to take drag on her cigarette. I didn't know who the boy was. The son of the person Annie was staying with I guessed.

"Well, could we just trick her? Just tell her we're visiting someone?"

"Na-e, she won't fall for that," Annie said as she worked.

It was clear I wasn't going to get any help, so I gave up. After all, these adults were heavy drinkers and living homeless, transient lives themselves. Savannah was only a kid and wasn't near as bad off as they were, so in their minds, I was silly to suggest she needed help.

"By the way”, I said gesturing toward the boy. “How come you don't just bring him down to the hospital and have them cut that cast off? It would be easier."

"Nae, his mom don't want to bother with that."

More likely she didn't want to sober up for it or was hiding from social services.
__________________________________

One day, as I came into Wanda's duplex, Julia jumped up from the table in confusion, looked frantically around for a place to hide, and then ran into the basement. She had been sniffing paint and didn't want me to know.

Wilson and I began to talk about the troubles all the teenagers were having and wondered if there was something that we could do to make it different. For a little while, we even bandied around the idea of running a home for Indian kids. At the time, the Native American community in this city was predominately located within a two-mile radius. It was estimated there were approximately 15,500 Indians in the area. According to statistics, Native Americans had a higher infant mortality, lower education attainment, higher unemployment rates, greater incidence of poverty and disproportionately higher chemical dependency rate than other people groups in the state. Statistics said that 40% of this state’s Indians had a serious problem with alcohol, as opposed to only 8.5% of the rest of the state population. It was considered the single most serious problem Indians faced because it contributed to the three leading causes of death in adults: cirrhosis of the liver, suicide, and homicide.

And many youth were following their parents’ path.

.

Open the Eyes of My Heart, Lord

.
They had gone to Texas, traveling through Arkansas. Wilson called Elmer from Fayetteville, and Elmer was to come to meet them. But Wilson's friend grew impatient, and they moved on before Elmer arrived. After a brief visit in Texas, they headed north again.

_____________________________________

The elementary school called me to come and get eight-year-old Candis. Her mother had left my number as a message phone and Candis's hair was infested with lice. I arrived at the nurse's office and found Candis with a scarf around her head.

Annie had her own place now. As we drove to her mother’s apartment, I told Candis about the daycare that I was trying to start.

"Oh! I'll help you! I'll put a table by the door and take the money for you!"


I hadn't been to their apartment before. It was above a downtown bar. Candis led me through an old door and up a filthy flight of stairs. The stairwell stunk of stale beer and urine. In the hallway, wine bottles and dirty diapers littered the floor. At the end of the hall, the window was broken. I stopped to glance out and could see little children in dirty pajamas playing in the alley. One wore a winter stocking cap pulled almost over his eyes as he swung a stick around and threw it in the air.

Annie's apartment was bare. As I'd seen many times before, a mattress served as the bed and there was little other furniture. Annie smiled a greeting and we talked a few minutes. She was embarrassed about the lice. I felt for her. I loved Annie and in all the time I'd known her, had never sensed hardness in her heart nor felt maliciousness. Despite all the troubles and as mad as I got sometimes, she seemed to be honestly unable to turn things around. Despite all I'd seen in her life, I never condemned Annie.

And although I had seen hardness in Wilson, for some reason I never believed that was really him either.

______________________________________________________

Roger asked if he could stay with me. I didn't mind. A handsome boy at eighteen years old, he was one of the few young people in Wilson’s family to have graduated from High school. In addition, he’d had a chance to go to visit Russia with the school and he took it. That was impressive. If anyone was going to make it, I was sure he would. I wanted to help him. 

So I helped him fill out the admission form for the Community College and get a learners permit for a driver’s license. In addition, I took him over to the United Parcel Service warehouse to apply for a job.

Once he got the job, I drove to the warehouse daily to drop him off and pick him up. After two weeks of work, he got his first paycheck. Then he quit.

"Aren't you going to work today?" I asked him after he'd missed a couple days.

"Nah, I don't feel like it. I don't like the job."

Frustrated, I sat down beside him. I could lead him to water, but I couldn't make him drink.

"Roger. I'm not your mom. I can't have you lying around here. If you want to lay around, maybe you should go back and live with Yvonne."

Roger left. He never did go to college. I don't know if he got his driver’s license.

.

"God, please help us. Please save our family."

.
Andrew was a happy, outgoing kid. One of his favorite games was running and hiding behind the living room chair as soon as he heard his dad's car pull up outside. Wilson then came in and made a big deal about trying to find him. Andrew would squeal and laugh when his dad finally crept over and grabbed him.

When Andrew played outside, I had to keep an eye on him. Turn your back for just a minute and he'd be up on the neighbor's porch ringing their doorbell. On a Friday in early May, Wilson and I worked all day penning Andrew in with a fence around the yard. Andrew and I then went to spend that night at my dad's. Cheri called me there the next day, upset. While we were gone, Wilson had gone out drinking. Cheri's broken voice betrayed the strong mask she usually wore; she wanted me to do something to stop him.

"We were all over to Verlin's house," she told me, "Everyone was drinking, then my dad asked me to tie the tourniquet for him while he shot up. It was my 16th birthday and he was asking me to help him shoot up!"

"What happened? Why is he doing this when everything was going so good?"

"He said he felt under pressure." she answered without explanation, "He also plans on going to Texas on Monday."

I felt the color leave my face. Why would he want to go off and leave us? Not knowing what else to do, I called Elmer Dovetail.

"Don't be scared,” he said, "God will watch over your family. Believe it, and thank God for already having helped you."

I tried to do that. I told myself that I wasn't scared about what Andrew would do without Wilson; I wasn't scared that he wouldn't come home. I told myself that I wasn't scared that he would lie to me some more, that he didn't love me, or that I was going to lose my best friend, my son's father.

"God, please help us and Wilson. Please save our family."

It turned out one of Wilson's friends had a large amount of money in the bank and the possibility for fun and travel was too much to pass up. Two days later Wilson gathered some things and left for Texas. With no one to talk to, I wrote a letter to Andrew:

"If he was having problems, I would have listened. He didn't give me a chance. He didn't give me any warning. Now it's too late, because once he starts drinking its almost impossible to get him to quit. I wish I could stop him somehow. I wish I could make him come back. I wish he wasn't an alcoholic. I do love him.
I pray, but he still drinks. So maybe prayers don't work. Maybe if I had more faith the prayers would work.
I haven't eaten since Sunday. I can't eat when I'm scared."

A couple days later Andrew heard a car across the street. He squealed with glee, and ran behind the living room chair, waiting. After several minutes, he peeked out from behind the chair and called, "Daddy! Come get me!"

"Daddy isn't here Andrew."

Andrew was silent a moment, and then stepped out, his lip quivering and eyes beginning to water, "Where's Daddy?"
.

During the summer I went on long, daily walks with Tonya, but other than that, I hung around the house missing Wilson and not wanting to miss any call. I slept in the basement bedroom and ached for him constantly. When I was given money from my school, I called Wilson and gave him half of it. I was lonely without him.

I was so bent on getting back with Wilson; I bought airline tickets to Las Vegas with my credit card and talked Dad into lending us money for the trip using the Buick as collateral. He agreed reluctantly.

A week before we were to leave, Wilson called. "Someone stole the Buick. I got up this morning and it was gone."

I went to his house to call the police. The police located the car later that day in a wrecking yard. They had towed it from where it had gone off the road and through a guardrail. It was totaled.
Wilson had some cuts on his arm and his glasses were missing, but told me he had fallen off of the curb while drinking the night before. After over four years of sobriety, he was drinking again.
"You were drunk and crashed it, didn't you?"

Wilson denied it. But at the wrecking yard I found his glasses on the dash of the car under the broken windshield. Despite my suspicions, I told Wilson that I believed him.

Cheri, angry at her dad for both drinking and seeing me again, moved back with her mother.


Although our collateral was gone, I took my dad's money and time off from school and we went on the trip to Las Vegas anyway. I wasn't really interested in gambling. I had only suggested Las Vegas because I knew it would interest Wilson. The manipulation (his and mine) had worked; we were a couple again. The first half of the week was fun. We played games, walked the brightly-lit streets and saw a show. On an evening about half way through the trip, Wilson slid a wrench into his boot and went off by himself to what he said was the Indian side of town. I stayed at the motel and studied my homework. He wasn't gone as long as I thought he'd be.

"Some people thought I was a nark, so I didn't hang around." Instead, he took some money and went downstairs to gamble. When he came back up, he was drunk.

While getting our breakfast at a buffet the next morning, Wilson claimed he'd lost our last $100 dollars in a taxicab. I was four months pregnant, and we were broke. Our room was paid for, but the plane ticket couldn't be used until the reserved day. In the meantime, we'd have to find a way to eat. My dad refused to accept anymore collect calls.

Late one night, after a couple days of not eating, Wilson returned to our room with a plate full of chicken. An employee had set it aside in a back room for his own dinner, and when the man had gone to grab a drink, Wilson slipped in and took the plate. Chicken had never tasted so good.

And the plane ride back couldn't come soon enough. But we were now back together again.

A week or so later Wilson woke up shaking. The weather was hot, but that wasn't the reason he was sweating. He needed a drink. After calling around, he found out people were drinking over at his ex-brother-in-law's. We got in the car to drive the mile or so to his house. As we passed the park, a tire on our car suddenly blew.


"Here," he said, "go over to that store and call AAA. I'll meet you over there."

And he left.

So five months pregnant, I waited in the heat for AAA to come fix the tire. But I said nothing when I finally arrived at the brother-in-laws. I just smiled and laughed with the rest of them.


"The reason you can't leave me is because I have medicine in my bag that keeps you with me. Wanda’s dad gave it to me a month ago," Wilson told me.
But he wouldn't tell me just what a medicine bag was or what was in it. All he would tell me was that it was personal, and that he shouldn't have said as much as he did.

"I shouldn't have even told you I was carrying it."


It was hard for me to decide whether or not he was just being melodramatic, but I chose to believe him. I wanted to believe there was a real reason, not my fault, for continuing with this relationship.


How comforting it was to now have an excuse. My behavior was now beyond my control.

I heard rumors that Savannah had been beaten and molested by Annie’s boyfriend out near Mission. It was a rumor said in passing; it was just part of a conversation. I’m not even sure who said it.

Late one night during that ricing season some relatives drove up to Dorothy's house. Wilson and Dorothy went outside to talk to them. I stayed inside knowing it was none of my business. From the window I could hear Savannah screaming and crying, "I want my mom! I want my mom!"

Annie was gone again, drinking, and no one wanted the responsibility of keeping the girls. Poor Savannah, she knew that no one really wanted her and Candis, so she screamed for her mom to let her aunts and uncles know that she didn't want them either. I'm not sure who finally took the girls or where they went, but they didn't stay at Dorothy's.


Ricing was almost over.

"My dad said this will be the last time we rice together," Wilson told me ruefully.Walter had a feeling and just "knew" this was the last time. His dad wouldn't come out and say something like that unless it was true.


At home, Wilson’s daughter Cheri had stopped coming on the weekends. She spent time with her friends instead. I was sorry she didn't want to see us but also secretly relieved and even more relieved when Misty also quit coming. The fewer kids to take care of, the easier the weekends were. Besides, we never really went anywhere anymore, except to visit my family, and Wilson didn't go with us. It was easier the fewer children I had.

We were hearing from Junior and Joy that Cheri and Misty were running around. The little ones also said that their mother was paying the older girls to steal cigarettes from their corner store.

Sitting on the warm sidewalk with Junior and Joy one morning, I wondered why I was hanging around. Why couldn't I just walk away?

Suddenly, Joy looked up at me, smiled, and asked a question. Junior laughed at her question, and I hugged them both.


Maybe God wants me to stay here for them.

March, 1980. Meeting Wilson

I hurried down the long hallway of the treatment center toward a patient's room. As I quickly walked, two men ambled up the hall toward me. One was a staff member, the other a new patient on crutches. The new patient was a Native American with classic features. He eyed me closely as he walked by, making me feel extremely uncomfortable. I didn't like being stared at.

That Indian better stay away from me, I thought as he passed.

BetterLife Treatment Center, on the seventh floor of Sunshine Park Nursing Home, was an alcohol detox and treatment center specializing in geriatric nursing care. Because of BetterLife's ability to provide specialized nursing along with alcoholism treatment, the program occasionally accepted younger people with physical needs other alcohol centers couldn't cope with.

I learned that the Indian man had been hit by a car after leaving Arthur's Bar six weeks earlier. Late to meet a girlfriend at another bar, he was struck by a fast moving Buick while crossing the street and sustained a fractured leg. He had spent the last month and a half in traction at the county medical center. He was at BetterLife because of the medications and physical therapy he still needed for his recovery.

BetterLife was focused around the 12-step Alcoholics Anonymous program. As a Nursing Treatment Assistant, I worked with patients on a daily basis with both their physical and alcohol treatment. Doing the first step with people was always one of my favorite duties. Reviewing their past in an attempt to bring out the problems related to alcohol and their powerlessness over it, I heard their stories and got a chance to know them personally.

Although most caregivers involved with emotionally vulnerable patients are able to remain objective and detached, it's not uncommon for a nurse to occasionally develop a close relationship with a patient. Unfortunately, I had a tendency to get attached to one or two patients at a time. Doing step work with patients only amplified my tendency in that direction.
I became attached to a seventy-year-old woman when she broke down and cried over the murder of her three-year-old daughter at the hands of her husband fifty years earlier.
I fell in love with an eighty-year-old Florida transplant when she swore at me for trying to explain that those were elm trees outside her window, not palm trees.

But having grown up without a good relationship with my father, my biggest danger was that I had an overwhelming need to be protected and wanted. In February of 1980, Bruce Gates was the resident I was most fond of. A war veteran, he was fifty-ish with white hair and a fatherly appearance. I wasn't assigned to Bruce's first step, but I'd met him in group session and found him to be smart, warm-hearted and funny. Although I didn't go out of my way to find time to speak to him, I enjoyed his teasing when we were around each other. We developed a warm friendship.

At the same time Bruce was also developing a friendship with the new patient, Wilson, the Indian man. Whenever I ran into Bruce, Wilson was with him. Together they would tease me good-naturedly.

Wilson also began hanging around the nurse's desk more.
He was kind of a nice person after all, I decided.


I wasn't assigned to help Wilson with his first step either, but he wasn't comfortable with the person who was and asked me to help instead. There was nothing in his first step that struck me emotionally. In fact, my initial impression was that Wilson was skimming the surface, not totally forthright in his story. But through the open door of this first step work, Wilson began to tell me details of his life.

He was 100 percent Chippewa from the Fish Lake Reservation. Wilson's generation was the last of primarily full bloods on that Reservation and until he was five-years-old, he spoke only Ojibwe. As a baby he lived near the lake with his family in a small house without plumbing. When his mother remarried after his father died, he stayed with his grandpa, Way-zhow-ush-quah-je-wabe, in the woods near Leech Lake. The rest of his five or so siblings stayed with his mother and stepfather, Walter, who were drinking heavily. I say five children or so because the number varied. Both adults entered the marriage with five children each, but some of the older ones were already married and others moved in and out. Five more children came after Wilson.

The drinking wasn't the reason Wilson went to stay with his grandfather. Grandpa drank too, although not as often as his daughter. Grandpa needed Wilson to help him around and be a companion. But the relationship was reciprocal; Wilson cherished the help and companionship his grandpa gave him in return. Spending much of their time alone together, they grew very close.

Of Wilson’s early childhood he spoke fondly, "We used to camp by the lake in large groups," he said, describing traditional events such as powwows and ricing. "Gathering wild rice every year was our time to be together and see friends and family. We looked forward to it, just like Christmas to you guys. Other times in the woods was when we gathered maple or went trapping and fishing."

Wilson stayed with his grandfather until he was five and it was time to begin school. When the time came to leave, Wilson hated to go. He adored his grandfather. But his parents still spent time with his grandfather at the gatherings in the woods. There, Wilson continued to learn from both his parents and Grandpa the traditional way of life and food gathering. However, Wilson's mother and stepfather were also Christians now. As Christians, they were determined to raise their children to be sober and love the Lord.

"They had all of us kids sit at the table after dinner for Bible study," Wilson remembered.

Nevertheless, after his Grandpa’s death six years later, Wilson began drinking. His parents, who had no problem with spanking him when he was younger, now backed away.

"You make your choices. Just don't come crying to us when you get in trouble," his mother said.

Wilson took to running away from home and getting into trouble with the law. Finally, he was sent to a foster home and then to a boy’s reformatory.After graduation from the reformatory he attended Haskell Institute, an Indian college in Kansas. There he trained as an architect. He enjoyed the work; creative design appealed to him. He worked as an architect for a couple of years before, according to Wilson, he'd dated the Sheriff's daughter once too often.

Wrestling with his jailers as he was being thrown into a cell, he grabbed the doorjamb with his left hand to keep from being pushed in and they slammed the heavy door right on it.
The next morning, the doctor worked to save most of his hand. Although the doctor was successful and he lost only half his thumb, he was unable to use that hand for a long time and so was unable to continue as an architect.

Wilson was in and out of jobs for the next few years. His life alternated between trying to pull himself together in alcohol treatment and being drunk. His life fluctuated from honest workman to social outcast and back again. BetterLife wasn't his first time in treatment; it was his fourth, and he now had a wife and four kids. He hadn't lived with his wife for the last six months, though, and he didn't see much chance of returning to his marriage. According to Wilson, she was always critical of him and mean with the kids.
"Anyway, my wife won't like me sober," he said.

Most days, I began my shift in the afternoon and inevitably found Wilson and Bruce leaning against the wall in the hallway. Wilson, swinging his cane in his hand, was always nicely groomed. His clothes, including his jeans, were always pressed, and the cuffs of his sleeves carefully and perfectly rolled under twice. The two of them talked quietly to each other as they watched people pass. They always had a big smile and hello when I approached.

When I had the opportunity to take a group of residents for a walk, Wilson joined me. It was spring, and another aide and I guided the group along the parkway toward the University. The river sparkled below us. Wilson and I, while at the same time speaking and laughing with the group and enjoying the sunshine, walked together and talked.

In the late evening, Wilson and Bruce were the only ones still in the smoking room watching TV long after the older residents had retired. With the shift almost over and the work all done, I took the time to sit down and unwind.

I couldn't imagine myself relaxing at night with the Indian I was sure to steer clear of earlier. Funny, now I looked forward to it.