It was raining when we stepped into the truck and the weight of that did not escape me, or my mother.
"The rain," she said, reaching her hand out from under the umbrella, "it's a bad omen, Yuma." She held her hand out there, letting the offensive substance wet her sleeve.
My dad, dry as a bone underneath his disturbingly yellow poncho, only grinned. "Mary, the rain is our fresh start. It's cleaning away the old, and preparing us for something new. You're an English teacher. You love these types of things.!" He grabbed our luggage, tossing it cheerfully into the trunk, his smile unwavering. "I feel like a new man already!"
Mom rolled her eyes, but allowed a small smile to twist her lips.
The driver helped toss the luggage into the truck. "We're happy to have you here!" He chimed in, chuckling at Dad's excitement.
His optimism was contagious on everyone; except for me. I pried open the rusty truck door and climbed onto the cracked leather seats. My head felt cool against the window, my hot breath clouding my view, blocking the dark landscape from my sight.
It was supposed to be my year at Windsor Park High School. I was transformed. The proverbial duck into a swan: I had lost weight, my acne medicine was finally working, I paid for highlights, I pierced my ears, I bought a whole new wardrobe, my braces came off! My freshman year, which was tinged with pudgy awkwardness was behind me. I was coming back as a new me; better, prettier, happier.
I had gone through all the steps. I had served my time at the bottom of the totem pole. Now, it was my time to be noticed. People were going to want to know me! They would know the name, Natalie Nez! I wanted it. I needed it.
I had always had attention for the wrong things. Saying the wrong thing, wearing the wrong clothes, liking the wrong boys, doing the wrong everything. Always. I bit my lip, holding back the lump lodged in my throat. I didn't want to be that girl, again. The one who could never figure out the rules of the game, despite how hard I tried to play. I was tired of always being wrong.
"Ready to go?" My thoughts were interrupted by the driver, glancing over at my dad in the passenger seat.
I wanted to yell. To slam open the door and run back in to the airport, back to the plane, back to my home, back to the life being stolen from me. It was all trickling out of my grasp, like the rain washing down the car window. I stared out it, feeling my eyes warm with tears. What was happening?
"I've been ready to go for the last two years!" My dad answered, "Take us home."
It was all being washed away with the rain, every hope I had.
The house looked like most of the houses in La Push; weathered slabs of wood siding, chipped paint, and wooden porches. They looked as much a part of the land as the towering pine trees rooted around them. Our home we had left was nothing like this. Newly built, with a two car garage, and a neat, manicured lawn. Mom had gasped when she saw it, but quickly recovered with a tight smile for dad. He was thrilled, absolutely beaming upon first inspection. This was his dream.
Now, after two weeks, I was still getting used to the move. I had never been in a house with so much wood: wood floors, wood walls, and wood counters. Even our bowls were wooden. How many trees had died for this house?
"Merlin's beard, I've done it again, Natty."
My dad was standing across from me. His bright yellow poncho had a gaping hole that he was blinking at me through.
"Dad, that's the third one since you've started!" I mumbled through the cereal jammed in my mouth, "Maybe the yellow is less durable." It was a poor attempt to sway him from the blinding color, but he didn't bite.
It was a poor attempt to sway him from the blinding color, but he didn't bite.
He shook his head, "That can't be it." He pulled it off, revealing a dark navy shirt, which was once a light shade of baby blue.
Probably didn't even notice he had torn through it until long after. He's too cheerful to bother noticing the mundane.
I finished my cereal, throwing the dish in the sink and glancing out the window; rain, again. Back home, in the Midwest, I craved for days like this. Gray, drizzly days that offered valid excuses to stay inside. An escape from the humidity of the plains. However, the last two weeks of our life in La Push had been nothing but gray, drizzling, sunless days.
Typically, I would have filled my days with my friends, or wasted away hours at our local coffee shop, or wander up and down the beach near our house. Now, I had no friends, no local anything, and the beach would be a fight against the wind, rain, and sand. Plus, most of my library had been donated and sold from home. All my battered copies I had brought along were almost read through.
I hadn't even unpacked the shorts, tank tops, and sandals I had bought for my transformation. Another part of me going to waste in La Push.
Dad interrupted my moping, "Can you go to the store and buy a few more? Mom's at the school, and I have to get back to work." Dad was already reaching for his wallet; opening up his bill pocket. "I'm just going to change and eat lunch. Then I'm heading back to the marina."
Dad pulled out a bill, pushing it my way. I took a step back, bumping into the sink. "Dad, I can't - I don't -" He held the money out to me, giving me a pleading look. I glanced out the window. "I don't know my way around here. Can't you just pick up a poncho and something to eat?"
He sighed and abandoned his efforts, placing the money on the table beside me. "Natty, fewer people live here then there were in your class at home. There's nothing to worry about. They sell Poncho's at that place down the road - Clearwater's place."
He turned and walked up the stairs.
"Dad!" I yelled, exasperated, "What if I can't find it?" My voice was betraying me, allowing my panic to color it. Not because I was scared of being unable to find a poncho, but because of something I couldn't name. "Who can I - I don't know -," I sputtered off, unable to voice a fear I couldn't even place.
My dad looked down at me, his face soft with kindness and patience. "Natty, sometimes I cast my pole hoping for a bass, but all I catch is a bluegill. Even though it's not what I wanted, I'm still happy for the bite." He winked at me reassuringly, disappearing up the stairs.
His affinity to end conversations in aquatic analogies was, at this moment, (and at most moments) not what I wanted.
I sadly watched his fleeting figure, wanting to cry for him to come back. Like a child begging to be walked into school on their first day. I didn't want to do this, not at all, but definitely not alone.
His voice traveled down the stairs, "It'll be a yellow one for me, please!"
In Michigan when it rained we just waited for it to stop, and it did. Here, in La Push, the rain is just an always. Like the muddy streets, the constant sea air breeze, and the towering pines - the rain is an always. As I am trudging through it, in my new, tall, stiff green mud boots, I think it's a lot like trying to run on sand; difficult and unpleasant. The main difference being that in one scenario I am on the sunny beach, next to the ocean, and blue sky. In the other, I am here, in La Push.
Ding.
The bell overhead sings as I shove open the door to Clearwater's place. It's empty. No one at the checkout counter, or in the aisles.
They mostly sell the basic supplies. Many pairs of matching mud boots, hunting supplies, cleaning products, and packaged foods. It's not much, but I suppose in a town this size it's more than I should expect.
I catch my reflection in a mirror across the store. I am a shapeless blob under a pile of waterproof clothes. My hair is tucked under a ball cap, and beneath my rain coat hood, (which is slightly too large) and comes down to the inch of my blue jeans before they get sucked into my giant, green boots. Correction: giant, muddy boots.
There's more mud on my boots than exists in all of La Push.
I notice there are several mats and pieces of cardboard piled beneath my feet. I stomp on them, trying to rid all the heavy mud, for the store's benefits, but also for mine. I'm not used to walking with all this mud underneath, trying (somewhat successfully) to make you slip, stumble, and fall. I try a new strategy of slightly jumping, which seems to work better. Big slabs of wet mud spread thick across the mats. Noticing the benefits of this technique I jump higher, delighted at the results. With every stomp to the floor, I get lighter.
"Excuse me."
I stop mid-spring, knees loaded for another jump. I look up to see a tall, dark-haired boy staring at me. His head is tilted slightly to the side, like a bewildered pup.
"Are you - "
I stand up straight, brushing myself off, "I'm fine." I assure him quickly, nodding my head furiously. "I was just - the mud, " I point to the floor in case he is unaware of this term, "mud."
He nods his head. So, he is familiar.
I try to explain the effectiveness of my strategy, but midway through my plea he points to something on the floor behind me.
I follow his gaze to a - boot cleaner. A boot cleaner, with bristles. Perfect for removing mud from a person's boot, perfect for removing mud from my boots. I look around at the floor around me, mud is splattered everywhere. I even spot specks of it climbing up the walls behind me.
A blush heats up my cheeks, "Oh jeez, I'm so sorry. I didn't even notice that. I just thought, with all the mats and stuff…" I trail off my fumbling, "I'm really sorry. Do you have any rags? I can clean this all up. It will just take me a minute."
I stare up at the boy, hoping he will at least allow me to clean up my mess.
To my surprise, he says nothing, but a giant smile turns his lips and a loud, bark-like laugh erupts from him. "You're not from around here, are you?" He asks, knowing the answer all ready.
"No, my family just moved here two weeks ago.
He surprises me by thrusting out a giant hand, "I'm Seth Clearwater. My family owns this store."
Somehow I manage to reach out my own hand without hesitating for too long. "I'm Natalie Nez. We just moved here for my dad's job, he's an ichthyologist."
"I'm Natalie Nez. We just moved here for my dad's job, he's an ichthyologist."
Seth looks impressed, "Cool. I didn't know there were dinosaurs around here."
"Actually, he's not that cool," I grimace, "Ichthyologist study fish, he received a grant to study the North Atlantic Gray-breasted Pike. He's from this way and it's a rare fish. In fact, it's protected by the U.S.C.A." Seth looks confused, but I keep going. "It's his dream. He studied the Norwegian Spiked Blue Kelp for the last ten years, but he says he needs to "spice things up". The Gray Flattery is actually interesting. You see -"
Seth coughs and suddenly I realize that I had misplaced his look of confusion. Not confusion, rather boredom.
He smiles. I apologize, again.
"Why don't I help you," he offers kindly, the smile never leaving his face. "Was there something you came here for?"
"Yes," I say, taking a deep breath. "I need some ponchos."
Seth's helpful, but more than that- I like him. His laugh bubbles up easily and his smile is the brightest thing I've seen in La Push yet. Seth and my dad would get along, both unflappable cheerful spirits.
At the checkout counter, Seth bags the ponchos, folding them neatly into place. I lean my elbows on the counter and twirl the jewelry holder, absentmindedly looking through the pendants. Jewelry has never really interested me,
I lean my elbows on the counter and twirl the jewelry holder, absentmindedly looking through the pendants. Jewelry has never really interested me.
"My grandfather makes those," Seth says, noting my interest. "Carves each one by hand."
I examine them closer, each one is unique; expertly whittled by skilled hands. "He's very good. He must have a lot of experience," I reply. The smooth lines and curves all gracefully pull out one figure from the wood; wolves. On every single one, there are wolves. They howl, they hunt, they sit, but in each one, they are there.
"Seth," I pull a pendant from the rack, "why do these all have wolves on them?" I glance up at him curiously. There are two wolves on it, one standing tall, and the other ducked underneath his neck.
His face lights up, a spark twinkling in his eyes. "Haven't you heard?" He smirks, "You've been in La Push for two weeks and no ones told you?"
I stand up, "What?"
A car door slammed outside and Seth peeks backed over his shoulder, and then leaned in closer. I follow his stare, looking at the pendant in my hand.
He speaks lowly, "We are small, but mighty - The La Push Tribe. As long as our people have been here, there have been those who want the land, the rivers, the ocean. At first, we were forced from it, pushed to the sea, away from our homes. We were forced from the land that owned us more than we knew. Our hearts and our lives were waiting, waiting to return. Our spirits never wavered, they grew stronger, and in more than the usual way."
I interrupted, "What do you mean "more than the usual way?"
He twirled the jewelry stand, pulling a particular pendant off. He admired it. Tracing his finger along the lines of wood.
He held it up to me. "Some say it's just a legend, folklore that elders pass down to their children. Others, call it something else."
I examined the pendant, it was of a man and a wolf. They looked like they were fighting, in a battle against each other.
"Others say it was magic that won back our lands. Magic that made our home, home again."
"They used magical wolves?" I looked at him skeptically, "What are you saying, Seth?"
"No, not magical wolves. At least, the wolves aren't magical. Really, not even magic at all. More like a…a curse."
Despite my suspicions, I leaned in closer.
"A curse? What are you saying?"
"Flip over the coin, Natalie. Tell me what you -"
Ding.
A gust of wind whipped through the door filling the store with the smell of seasalt and pine. A tall, athletic woman was standing at the doorway, staring down. Her long, dark brown hair covered her face. I followed her gaze.
"Seth, what is this mess?" She cried, looking up at him accusingly. "There is mud all over," she pointed towards the floor and the wall, "and it's dry! What have you been doing?"
She was obviously his sister. The same tanned skin, freckled nose, and tall, lean figure. Their eyes were the same deep, almond brown, but where's Seth's had a lightness, her's were all dark, like a pit.
Worried, I glanced at Seth.
Seth pushed the bag over the counter shoving it into my hands. "Thanks," I mumbled, turning towards the door, but Seth held onto my hand. He was pushing something into my palm, discreetly. I don't know why, but I clutched onto it. Tucking it into my fist and holding on tight.
"Leah, isn't it your shift now? Aren't you running late?"
"If you think I am cleaning this mess up, you're wrong. Your mess, on your shift. You clean." As Leah stomped away, she noticed me. Or, more importantly, she noticed my boots. The boots with the dried mud residue covering me with guilt. Her eyes slitted dangerously, but she said nothing. "You're not leaving until it's spotless, Seth."
I apologized, once more, and slipped through the doors.
When I walked into the house I threw the ponchos on the table.
Dad was sat there, taking the last bites of his sandwich. "Thanks, Natty," he said, and then upon further examination, "Good gravy, Natty. Red? Red?"
I barely heard him as I rushed to my room, too preoccupied for his disgruntled complaints. I locked the door behind me and tore off my rain jacket.
The light on my desk wasn't bright, but I clicked it on anyway. I looked at the coin still clenched in my hand. Seth's words had been playing in my head since I heard them, "Flip the coin, Natalie."
I wasn't buying into his "ghost legend", absolutely not. That doesn't mean I couldn't be interested.
A man and a wolf fighting. The same as before.
I flipped it over, holding back a gasp. The whittle carving was of a man changing, turning - transforming.
"The wolves aren't magical," Seth had said, but he had never finished, "the people are."