08-13-2016, 11:06 AM
Katchina Makawee considered herself and her two older brothers privileged among her peers. Her father wasn't a gambler and he didn't drink. Those things alone put her family head and shoulders above most of the others on the Isabella Indian Reservation, especially in the harsh reality of 21st century postindustrial Michigan. On a winter's morning one could look across the flattened plain and see undisturbed snow like a pure, pressed blanket of white silk. No one was trying to get to work because no one had any work to get to.
Mount Pleasant was hardly any better off. The BIA took care of people on the reservation for the most part, well enough at least – kept them in food and water, gave them all the necessities for living, enough to skirt basic personal responsibilities in lieu of gambling and drinking – at least until the austerity cuts came and it didn't anymore. The casino did well enough afterward. Subsidized hopelessness, her father called it. Okimantu Makawee, ceremonial chief of the Saginaw Chippewa, preached personal responsibility tempered with compasison and education. He believed the Saginaw Chippewa were not done yet as a people. “There is an arrogance in ignorance, Katchina,” he told her. “And hopelessness is a sickness. But for every disease there is a cure.”
By the time Katchina reached high school and learned something of biology she would argue that last point. There were many diseases that had no known cure. But she understood what her father meant. He was a good man, gentle and confident. Slow to anger. Quick to encourage his children to show compassion. “There, but by the grace of God go I and you,” he would say when approached at the store or the gas station by a fallen away tribal member asking for money, who more often than not reeked of sour mash and cigarettes. He would never give away any money, but would always be sure to touch the person, and offer other aid as he could, a ride, the use of a mobile phone, or just a good word. "Whatever we give will be taken and multiplied," he would say. "Even if it's just a minute of time. And what people need most is hope. The feeling that they are still worth something."
Also, her father would take her out into the most remote parts of the reservation, too far away from civilization for her mother to tolerate. Far enough away where on a winter's day there would be only the sound of silence. Not even wind, or a creature stirring. “Do you hear that, Katchina?” he would say. “That is the sound of Gitche Manidoo, the great Spirit that is in everything. The great Spirit flows through mother Earth. It gives us life and the earth gives us substance. It connects all things together, from the sun and the stars down to the worms in the dirt. See, we are all connected. When one gets sick we all feel it, and when one recovers we all become brighter. We live and die as one.” This lesson stuck with her for some time.
When Katchina was 15 – and now calling herself Kat, since Katchina seemed a little pretentious to her – her school shut down, the local district having run out of funds. Kat's brothers had long since graduated and left for other studies, but her future was still uncertain. Her mother and father decided to complete the family's schooling at home. This actually turned out to be much more efficient, and at 16 Kat was accepted into dual undergraduate programs of education and biology at Michigan State University. When asked why she chose this undergraduate degree, she said with a straight face and matter-of-fact tone, “I intend to find a cure for hopelessness.”
That earned more than a few stares, and even the occasional guffaw. But why should Kat care whether anyone thought it was silly? These were her goals, not anyone else's. She didn't need permission.
Her studies progressed well, and she made friends at school, and even made waves on the basketball court. Interest from boys, not so much. If a young man wasn't respectful enough to at least introduce himself to her father before trying to take her out on a date, it just wasn't going to happen. And so she acquired a bit of a reputation for being prudish. It didn't bother her much. Being two years younger than the other girls, Kat wasn't really interested in getting pressured into dating or plied with alcohol or any of the heartbreaking drama. So it left her more time to advance her studies or be helpful to others.
Then she turned seventeen and everything fell apart.
* * *
It was Michigan State vs. University of Connecticut, and in the late second half Michigan State was up by 3. Kat was sitting on the bench awaiting the order to go back in. So far she'd scored 12 points this game, not a bad run.
“Kat, are you nervous?” said her friend and teammate, forward Michelle Harmond, who was sitting next to her.
Kat shook her head. Nervous, no. Uncomfortable, a little. She should have un-stitched the tag on her sports bra instead of cutting it off, the remainder of the tag was causing her back to itch right where she couldn't reach. It'd been annoying her the whole game. “Why should I be nervous?”
Michelle blinked. “Well, if we win, we're going to North Carolina and we're going to play Duke for a Final Four spot!”
“I know,”
she replied. She checked her laces to ensure they hadn't slipped. “Does that make you nervous?”
“Well, yeah,” Michelle replied. “We'll be like on national TV and people are going to see us. Like, what if we look stupid?”
“Can people see you now? It isn't really any different, right? And we've all done stupid things and we got over it when people saw us. Right?”
Michelle bit a fingernail in thought. “Huh. I never thought of it that way. Cool.”
Duke sunk a three-pointer. It was a tie game. The coach called a timeout and sent Kat and Michelle in, Kat to guard and Michelle to forward. “Get in there Spartans! Whip em Huskies good!”
Kat gave the thumb's up, and play resumed. Immediately she found herself between two maneuvering opponents and having to cover them both as they passed the ball around her. The back one took the shot – and it bounced off the backboard. Kat stretched out an arm over her opponent and tipped the rebound into her arms, and passed it down the court. The Huskies darted back down court to intercept.
Michelle pivoted and reached out to receive the pass – and an overzealous Husky fouled her hard, running head on into her, moving too fast to stop. She reeled and turned, catching herself on an ankle that went sideways. Kat heard something go snap as she watched her friend collapse.
She ran to her friend's side and reached for her hand, heart thumping. Michelle looked pale and her foot was swollen and purple. She was having trouble breathing from the shock. No, no no.
Just a glance she could piece together what was going on beneath the skin. The sudden pressure caused by the inward rolling had fractured her distal fibula and maybe torn a ligament too. It was six to twelve weeks in a cast, and she'd be struggling with swelling for years to come. Her college basketball career was over. Basketball had been her ticket to an education, and Michelle would have been the first to admit she hadn't the academics to get by without her athletic appeal. All because of some carelessness. The Huskie who had run into Michelle was sobbing, tears running down her face as she blurted out apologies. A sports medic reached Michelle's side and told Kat she needed to move. There was nothing she could do, nothing she could hope for.
At that moment Kat would give anything in the world to see her friend stand on her own, but there wasn't a thing she could hope to change. So she let go of Michelle's hand.
The sports medic felt Michelle's ankle. “Can you move it?” Surprisingly, Michelle found that she could.
“You're fine,” he said. “Let's get you up.”
What a relief. Maybe things weren't as hopeless as Kat had thought.
* * *
Durham, North Carolina. Everyone was talking about the 2041 Spartans and their UConn upset. If they got past Duke they were angling to take on Number 1 ranked Kentucky. There were two minutes left on the clock and Kat was having the game of her life. What a thrill to be alive and at the top of one's game! She was already at 26 points this game and counting. Her father had come with the team and was glowing with pride over on the sidelines.
The coach called a time-out. “Kat, if you can keep this up, you just keep on playing. You are on fire, girl. All we need to do is hold onto a narrow lead and not give up more than three points without getting two back.”
There was some back and forth. Duke scored twice unanswered. They were still up by one, though. With thirty seconds left, Kat stole the ball and took it down the court. She whipped her head back, tight brown braids trailing behind – she'd outraced the opponents, it was just her and the net. All she needed to do was take the shot and that coffin would be nailed.
And things started to look kind of weird. Suddenly the basket seemed far away, and her arms were like jelly. She couldn't focus. She stood with two feet planted on the court floor, the ball in two hands, wavering back and forth.
The shot clock ran out and the ball dropped from her numb hands. The Duke players ran back past her. There was cotton in her ears or something, why was there all this muffled cheering all a sudden? And then she was feeling the hardwood floor against her cheek.
Next thing she knew, she was being pulled to her feet by her father. He threw a jacket around her bare shoulders. “Did we win?”
she asked.
“Don't worry about that,” he said. He was already on his Wallet, making phone calls, having brought Kat back to the sidelines. She thought she picked out a whisper of something like “sickness” from the stands. The Sickness?
She reasoned that she must be ill, possibly with the Sickness that was afflicting so many youth without explanation and which seemed to have no treatment. She wasn't afraid, though. There wasn't anything that could be done by being frightened.
“...never see her again if I do that...” her father was saying over the phone. “All right. That sounds like the best option.” He led Kat out of the stadium by way of the locker rooms and to their car. “Lie down in the back, Katchina.” She obliged him.
“Where are we going?”
she asked.“Am I going to a hospital?”
Her father shook his head. “No, Katchina. I don't think a hospital can help. I'm taking you to a reservation." His thick forehead wrinkled and his jaw was clenched. He's afraid.
"There is a theory that the hospitals aren't doing us any good that's being seriously studied by a man around these parts. I won't let anything happen to you. Are you comfortable?”
Kat nodded. She had never seen her father frightened by anything before. And if he was frightened, should she be? She looked out the window at the passing trees. In short time she saw a sign that said “Cherokee, N.C. Home of the Oconaluftee” and saw a cluster of teepees. That was out of place. Teepees were used by the nomadic plains tribes and not agrarian cultures on the east coast. Kat thought everyone knew that.
The car pulled to a stop. Kat's father helped her get out. Her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and her limbs were like jelly, not wanting to move where she wanted them to. They were next to a simple house with brown clapboard covering. A man came out to meet them, moving with the mild aid of a wooden staff. The skin of his face was parched with age but his eyes were sharp, and his bleach-white hair lay in a braid to his waist.
The man stopped and leaned on his staff, eyes regarding Kat. “So you have the Sickness, Katchina Makawee. Come inside. I am Noah Crow's Eye.”
Mount Pleasant was hardly any better off. The BIA took care of people on the reservation for the most part, well enough at least – kept them in food and water, gave them all the necessities for living, enough to skirt basic personal responsibilities in lieu of gambling and drinking – at least until the austerity cuts came and it didn't anymore. The casino did well enough afterward. Subsidized hopelessness, her father called it. Okimantu Makawee, ceremonial chief of the Saginaw Chippewa, preached personal responsibility tempered with compasison and education. He believed the Saginaw Chippewa were not done yet as a people. “There is an arrogance in ignorance, Katchina,” he told her. “And hopelessness is a sickness. But for every disease there is a cure.”
By the time Katchina reached high school and learned something of biology she would argue that last point. There were many diseases that had no known cure. But she understood what her father meant. He was a good man, gentle and confident. Slow to anger. Quick to encourage his children to show compassion. “There, but by the grace of God go I and you,” he would say when approached at the store or the gas station by a fallen away tribal member asking for money, who more often than not reeked of sour mash and cigarettes. He would never give away any money, but would always be sure to touch the person, and offer other aid as he could, a ride, the use of a mobile phone, or just a good word. "Whatever we give will be taken and multiplied," he would say. "Even if it's just a minute of time. And what people need most is hope. The feeling that they are still worth something."
Also, her father would take her out into the most remote parts of the reservation, too far away from civilization for her mother to tolerate. Far enough away where on a winter's day there would be only the sound of silence. Not even wind, or a creature stirring. “Do you hear that, Katchina?” he would say. “That is the sound of Gitche Manidoo, the great Spirit that is in everything. The great Spirit flows through mother Earth. It gives us life and the earth gives us substance. It connects all things together, from the sun and the stars down to the worms in the dirt. See, we are all connected. When one gets sick we all feel it, and when one recovers we all become brighter. We live and die as one.” This lesson stuck with her for some time.
When Katchina was 15 – and now calling herself Kat, since Katchina seemed a little pretentious to her – her school shut down, the local district having run out of funds. Kat's brothers had long since graduated and left for other studies, but her future was still uncertain. Her mother and father decided to complete the family's schooling at home. This actually turned out to be much more efficient, and at 16 Kat was accepted into dual undergraduate programs of education and biology at Michigan State University. When asked why she chose this undergraduate degree, she said with a straight face and matter-of-fact tone, “I intend to find a cure for hopelessness.”
That earned more than a few stares, and even the occasional guffaw. But why should Kat care whether anyone thought it was silly? These were her goals, not anyone else's. She didn't need permission.
Her studies progressed well, and she made friends at school, and even made waves on the basketball court. Interest from boys, not so much. If a young man wasn't respectful enough to at least introduce himself to her father before trying to take her out on a date, it just wasn't going to happen. And so she acquired a bit of a reputation for being prudish. It didn't bother her much. Being two years younger than the other girls, Kat wasn't really interested in getting pressured into dating or plied with alcohol or any of the heartbreaking drama. So it left her more time to advance her studies or be helpful to others.
Then she turned seventeen and everything fell apart.
* * *
It was Michigan State vs. University of Connecticut, and in the late second half Michigan State was up by 3. Kat was sitting on the bench awaiting the order to go back in. So far she'd scored 12 points this game, not a bad run.
“Kat, are you nervous?” said her friend and teammate, forward Michelle Harmond, who was sitting next to her.
Kat shook her head. Nervous, no. Uncomfortable, a little. She should have un-stitched the tag on her sports bra instead of cutting it off, the remainder of the tag was causing her back to itch right where she couldn't reach. It'd been annoying her the whole game. “Why should I be nervous?”
Michelle blinked. “Well, if we win, we're going to North Carolina and we're going to play Duke for a Final Four spot!”
“I know,”
she replied. She checked her laces to ensure they hadn't slipped. “Does that make you nervous?”
“Well, yeah,” Michelle replied. “We'll be like on national TV and people are going to see us. Like, what if we look stupid?”
“Can people see you now? It isn't really any different, right? And we've all done stupid things and we got over it when people saw us. Right?”
Michelle bit a fingernail in thought. “Huh. I never thought of it that way. Cool.”
Duke sunk a three-pointer. It was a tie game. The coach called a timeout and sent Kat and Michelle in, Kat to guard and Michelle to forward. “Get in there Spartans! Whip em Huskies good!”
Kat gave the thumb's up, and play resumed. Immediately she found herself between two maneuvering opponents and having to cover them both as they passed the ball around her. The back one took the shot – and it bounced off the backboard. Kat stretched out an arm over her opponent and tipped the rebound into her arms, and passed it down the court. The Huskies darted back down court to intercept.
Michelle pivoted and reached out to receive the pass – and an overzealous Husky fouled her hard, running head on into her, moving too fast to stop. She reeled and turned, catching herself on an ankle that went sideways. Kat heard something go snap as she watched her friend collapse.
She ran to her friend's side and reached for her hand, heart thumping. Michelle looked pale and her foot was swollen and purple. She was having trouble breathing from the shock. No, no no.
Just a glance she could piece together what was going on beneath the skin. The sudden pressure caused by the inward rolling had fractured her distal fibula and maybe torn a ligament too. It was six to twelve weeks in a cast, and she'd be struggling with swelling for years to come. Her college basketball career was over. Basketball had been her ticket to an education, and Michelle would have been the first to admit she hadn't the academics to get by without her athletic appeal. All because of some carelessness. The Huskie who had run into Michelle was sobbing, tears running down her face as she blurted out apologies. A sports medic reached Michelle's side and told Kat she needed to move. There was nothing she could do, nothing she could hope for.
At that moment Kat would give anything in the world to see her friend stand on her own, but there wasn't a thing she could hope to change. So she let go of Michelle's hand.
The sports medic felt Michelle's ankle. “Can you move it?” Surprisingly, Michelle found that she could.
“You're fine,” he said. “Let's get you up.”
What a relief. Maybe things weren't as hopeless as Kat had thought.
* * *
Durham, North Carolina. Everyone was talking about the 2041 Spartans and their UConn upset. If they got past Duke they were angling to take on Number 1 ranked Kentucky. There were two minutes left on the clock and Kat was having the game of her life. What a thrill to be alive and at the top of one's game! She was already at 26 points this game and counting. Her father had come with the team and was glowing with pride over on the sidelines.
The coach called a time-out. “Kat, if you can keep this up, you just keep on playing. You are on fire, girl. All we need to do is hold onto a narrow lead and not give up more than three points without getting two back.”
There was some back and forth. Duke scored twice unanswered. They were still up by one, though. With thirty seconds left, Kat stole the ball and took it down the court. She whipped her head back, tight brown braids trailing behind – she'd outraced the opponents, it was just her and the net. All she needed to do was take the shot and that coffin would be nailed.
And things started to look kind of weird. Suddenly the basket seemed far away, and her arms were like jelly. She couldn't focus. She stood with two feet planted on the court floor, the ball in two hands, wavering back and forth.
The shot clock ran out and the ball dropped from her numb hands. The Duke players ran back past her. There was cotton in her ears or something, why was there all this muffled cheering all a sudden? And then she was feeling the hardwood floor against her cheek.
Next thing she knew, she was being pulled to her feet by her father. He threw a jacket around her bare shoulders. “Did we win?”
she asked.
“Don't worry about that,” he said. He was already on his Wallet, making phone calls, having brought Kat back to the sidelines. She thought she picked out a whisper of something like “sickness” from the stands. The Sickness?
She reasoned that she must be ill, possibly with the Sickness that was afflicting so many youth without explanation and which seemed to have no treatment. She wasn't afraid, though. There wasn't anything that could be done by being frightened.
“...never see her again if I do that...” her father was saying over the phone. “All right. That sounds like the best option.” He led Kat out of the stadium by way of the locker rooms and to their car. “Lie down in the back, Katchina.” She obliged him.
“Where are we going?”
she asked.“Am I going to a hospital?”
Her father shook his head. “No, Katchina. I don't think a hospital can help. I'm taking you to a reservation." His thick forehead wrinkled and his jaw was clenched. He's afraid.
"There is a theory that the hospitals aren't doing us any good that's being seriously studied by a man around these parts. I won't let anything happen to you. Are you comfortable?”
Kat nodded. She had never seen her father frightened by anything before. And if he was frightened, should she be? She looked out the window at the passing trees. In short time she saw a sign that said “Cherokee, N.C. Home of the Oconaluftee” and saw a cluster of teepees. That was out of place. Teepees were used by the nomadic plains tribes and not agrarian cultures on the east coast. Kat thought everyone knew that.
The car pulled to a stop. Kat's father helped her get out. Her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and her limbs were like jelly, not wanting to move where she wanted them to. They were next to a simple house with brown clapboard covering. A man came out to meet them, moving with the mild aid of a wooden staff. The skin of his face was parched with age but his eyes were sharp, and his bleach-white hair lay in a braid to his waist.
The man stopped and leaned on his staff, eyes regarding Kat. “So you have the Sickness, Katchina Makawee. Come inside. I am Noah Crow's Eye.”