Pick Your Battles
“You don’t get it! Seriously, Mom, you don’t understand!”
Okay, that came out a bit harsher than I intended, but it still didn’t render enough of Mom’s attention to stop the bloodletting of herself in the garden.
The list inside my head of places I wanted to visit kept growing longer. It wasn’t just national parks or even the seven wonders of the world. I searched small towns that were rich in history and looked like Hallmark movie settings. I needed to focus. Pick which destination was most important and stick to the arguments I’d been practicing for this moment in the mirror of the bathroom for days. Keep it together. I got this!
I debated in my head which to ask her for. Which one did I want most? Because if I didn’t win right there and then, I knew it was all going to fall like a house of cards.
I so badly wanted to travel beyond the limits of this sacred ground. See the world. Tell my story in pictures. Become a great photographer. Sell coffee-table books. Travel.
Okay. She might go for that.
“Kiara, get to the point. Tell me what is going on in your head. Use your words. I don’t have time for guessing games.”
Mother’s face tightened. She turned the soil with her droplets of blood around the tomato plant, then pushed the support cage back in the earth, moving on to the next one.
Want me to use my words, Mom?!
“I want to go to college!” I said it. It really came out.
It wasn’t what I had planned to open with, but it was ultimately what I wanted. College would cover all my needs. I stood taller and crossed my arms in front of my chest to show her I meant it.
Mom sighed in relief, almost smiling. “I believe that can be arranged. It will have to be one with all-online classes. We need to research scholarships, find out what is available to help cover the cost, but with your awards and academic scores I don’t see a problem.”
“No, Mom. I want to goooo to college. Live on campus.”
She turned toward me with a deadpan stare. “No.” She focused back on the soil. “Out of the question.”
“I don’t understand. It’s a prison here. Why can’t I go?” I pointed down the road. “We left the reservation to get my license. Nothing happened!”
“I said no. It’s online or nothing at all.”
“I am so sick of doing everything online. Why can’t I leave? Tell me. Tell me!”
Mother’s shoulders slumped. She placed the other tomato cage firmly in the soil, then rested the spade on one of the two-by-six planks of wood from her raised tomato bed. She leaned forward and rose, standing a good five inches taller than me.
She pulled a band-aid from her apron and brushed her dirty hands on her coveralls. Taking the corner of the band-aid wrapper in her teeth, Mom tore it open, peeled the bandage out, and covered the self-inflicted cut in her palm, even though the wound would be healed in minutes.
She finished her non-explanation, wiping both hands on her apron more vigorously before returning my gaze. “We have gone over this. It is not safe to leave this reservation.”
“That’s all you say.” I could feel disappointment and heat rising inside me. “Come on, Mom! Use your words. Why?!”
Kaw’s inky-black wings glided in the gentle breeze above us. He swooped down and landed a few feet away, then walked between the vegetable beds, scouting for bugs.
“Well, my words three decibels louder back in my face,” Mom practically laughed. “Such bite. So much disdain. Makes me feel I raised you right. Proud mother moment.”
I grew even more heated inside. This conversation was going nowhere.
“I know I am a witch!”
Mom jolted upright, though she wore an amused hide-a-grin from me. “A witch?”
I hauled up one of the full vegetable baskets set on the basil green grassy patch to the side of the raised garden bed. “You don’t have to hide it anymore. I watch you make the potions. The chanting. How you mix the leaves. The precise way you crush them. We are witches. And the blood.” I pointed to where she performed her latest ritual.
Mother huffed with her hand on her hip and repositioned, angling her body more toward the raised beds. “We are not witches, love. Ever entertain the idea of searching the word botanist? Herbalist is another label people use. Witch? No.”
“You cure people.” My certainty waivered at her reaction. “Mr. Remeere sells out of your potions as soon as he puts them on his shelves. He told me. He says you are some sort of variation of a magical person. A witch doctor.”
“Witch doctor? Magic?” Mom practically snorted. “I am good at pairing plants. I studied this stuff, Kiara. I understand about PH levels, about soil, about photosynthesis, about fungi, about what plant has which medicinal properties. This is my life. I studied. I come from a long line of healers, and I am above average at it. We are not witches.”
“Great, now I am nothing. Right back to zero.” I turned at the sound of tires on gravel as an older, blue Subaru wagon came into view, heading to the farmstand.
Mom continued loading bushels of vegetables into her cart. “Kiara, I understand this isn’t ideal. We won’t be limited to here forever. Six years. Give me six years. Then we should be in the clear.”
I grabbed the handle of another cart and, once Mother had finished loading, wheeled both veggie-filled wagons down toward the roadside farmstand, slow and steady. I didn’t want the wagons to get ahead of me and tip over.
Mrs. Smith smiled as she inspected the vegetables. “These are perfect, Kiara. Ashley Meyer is getting married this weekend and, although I do not approve of her choice in a husband, the food will be remarkable enough to be remembered. I will make sure of that.”
I smiled politely and helped Mrs. Smith load the back of her vehicle. She lugged the bushels, pushing them toward the front.
“Exquisite, Kiara,” Mrs. Smith said as she brandished a ten-dollar tip for loading.
I pocketed the cash. “Thank you, Mrs. Smith.”
She frowned. “Wait! I have something extra. I remember it’s your half-birthday. Or almost.”
Mrs. Smith power-walked to the front of her car and groaned, leaning in and pulling something from the cupholder between the front seats. She grinned, trying to cover as much of the cup as she could.
She chuckled. “I saw this and, oddly enough, thought of you. I hope your mother doesn’t get to upset with me. I laughed in the store as I thought to myself this is your type of humor.”
She handed me a travel mug. Liquid sloshed inside.
“Oh, your favorite latte, extra caramel. I remembered.” She winked, and I read the text on the tumbler: I shoot people and sometimes cut off their heads. Cameras in all shapes and sizes dotted the background.
I didn’t even try to suppress an ear-to-ear grin. “I love this! Where did you find it?”
“I had to drive into the Springs to pick up some specialty wedding decorations. This wedding is so black and white that the only color is going to be from the food.”
She pointed to the travel mug. “They have a new photography-themed section. Gifts and fancy wedding albums. Nothing like lenses or expensive specialty items you would be interested in. I found this, though, and just had to get it for you. Happy sweet-sixteen-and-a-half.”
She gathered me into a hug. “If Willow lets you, go check it out. They have all kinds of fun, gifty stuff. Maybe bring some of your pictures. Put them in frames. I bet they would take them on consignment to sell.”
She winked at me and waved to Mom after she pulled down the hatch. “I gotta go. Happy half-birthday, sweetheart.”
I smiled and sipped my latte as I waved to Mrs. Smith with my fingers wrapped around the travel mug.
Mom wheeled two more wagons full with local orders to the farmstand.
“What’s that?” She pointed to my new black, white, and red mug.
“Mrs. Smith bought me a half-birthday gift.” I held the mug aloft for her to read: I shoot people and sometimes cut off their heads.
She raised her eyebrows. “Photography humor?”
I wore a wide grin. “This is my new favorite mug.”
“Your half-birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”
I shrugged. “She has to prep for that wedding everyone is talking about.”
Mother frowned and muttered under her breath, “The only news around here is about babies, weddings, and death.”
She loaded the boxes on the back shelf behind me. “I get it. You feel like I am holding you back.”
I held my new mug to my chest. “Held back? I am in prison.”
Mother continued to load the boxes. Atop each was an envelope bearing the customer’s name, with an invoice resting inside. “Fifty-mile radius isn’t a bad sentence. And it’s Colorado. It’s beautiful here.”
I shifted on my stool, agitated. I just wanted her to leave so I could get back to daydreaming.
I set my new mug on the counter at the front window and began to help unload the carts to get her back to the house so I could be alone and think.
“The difference is you want to be here. You chose this place. I don’t have a choice. You don’t talk about family, my father, or even where you grew up. What state are you really from and why did you leave? Why is this place so important to you?”
Mother muscled up the box she was lifting and plunked it on the counter, clearly frustrated. “It’s important because it is sacred land. The government can’t touch this land. Can’t pollute it or hurt it. It’s beautiful here. You see it with the photographs you take. This place …” She inhaled a long, controlled breath. “It’s perfect.”
I huffed. “I just want to see what’s out there beyond my confinement. Why is that such a problem?”
She took another deep breath, slowly releasing out from her mouth and calmly centering her body. “Kiara, I swore to protect you. This world is not the fantasy you imagine in your head. It’s not the romance in the books you read. It’s not the logic in your studies. It’s deeper. Underneath all the layers … it’s cruel. It’s heartbreaking. The fighting. The pollution.”
She pondered out the farmstand window, scanning the beige and green fields, brilliant Paddington-blue sky. Her posture softened as she spoke, “You give yourself to it and it takes what it wants. Leaving you alone. Reminding you that you are a mere sacrifice. That’s all you are. A sacrifice.”
She turned to face me and I noticed her eyes were glossed with tears. “And they tell you it is for the greater good.” She shook the sadness out of her face and stood taller, not allowing a tear to shed. “So, I will be the sacrifice of my choosing. Safe. Healing people. This is the greater good. This is where we belong. This is where we are making our own decisions.”
I couldn’t help it. I was the one stuck here. “You belong here, not me. This isn’t my decision.”
She started to march off and stopped, stepping back and striking the farmstand doorway frame in frustration. My heart sank. I pushed her too far.
She grabbed both handles of the empty wagons and stormed up the driveway.
Kaw landed on top of the farmstand’s open door and squawked at me.
“I know,” I said. “I don’t need a lecture from you, too.”
