Thank you, as always to Rochelle for providing us with Friday Fictioneers.
My grandfather would have laughed at Adirondack chairs on his reservation, but he would have sat alongside me gazing at constellations wishing for better for his people. Our people.
It’s because of him I attended college, improved my life, returned to teach, fell in love, got married, and now sit, gazing at meteorite showers while my once love sleeps off whiskey.
I see my grandfather in my son as he gazes upward, my daily hope my son embodies his grandfather.
“Are there people out there?”
“Maybe,” I answer.
I don’t say: our history hasn’t been good.