Oceans Between Us

Oh, a dark one eh? the butcher remarked to my unprepared adoptive mother.

Her white blond skin turned crimson red at the suggestive nature of the well-placed remark.

I froze with a knowing beyond my years. I knew the comment was the same reason my aunts stopped talking when I entered the room.

I knew it was the same reason my mom shielded me from rowdy Indians on the street and why she made me look at all the baskets and beadwork at the museum.

The mean questions, the sudden silence, the about-face in town, the unexplained museum trips.

I knew the source of this pain had a great power over me and my adoptive mom. We both had reasons to run.