Just Remembering by Toby Gorman Davis
My uncle stumbles out of the house trying to put his boot on. He smells of beer and something sour. His hangover keeps him squinting his eyes to avoid the sun. He works hard enough. He works everyday on cars and is so tired at the end of the day. I remember when he helped me with my powwow dance when I was really young.
I don’t know why he drinks. But I am scared that I am going to grow up like him; working hard and staying drunk because nothing is any better.
Then I remember hanging with a bunch of kids who are moving away from here. We talk about community college and having our own apartment and maybe even a car. The mother of one of the youth comes out of the house and asks us into eat. She has fry bread and it is so good.
They talk about the trips they have taken to California and the houses they have stayed in. If they didn’t have pictures of the swimming pools, ocean and skid row I would think they were on something.
They keep telling me there is something more. I’ve seen the look in their eyes.