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210 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 23, 2012
“Cubby,” Dad said, and reached for me.
I felt like a child again. I put my arms around him; I hugged him as tightly as I knew how. His arms wrapped around me, arms that used to make me feel small, and safe. I could feel tremors in his arms.
My father used to be a strong man.
“Wait,” Michaela said, screwing up her face. She turned on me. “Your dad’s Indian. Your mom’s black. Why are you white?”
“Why?” I asked. “Why not?”
Sometimes I just wanted to meld into him and forget about the part of me that wasn't a part of him. God, it felt good to be a part of him. It felt like everything made sense for a moment, even the harshness of life, even the insanity. It felt like my heart had found its second heartbeat.
Everyone has a second heartbeat, you know. Ask any Shoshone. They say that the living earth has a pulse of its own, and if you listen very closely, you can hear it echoing in your heart.
But I say: Well, I have no room for the earth's pulse.
I'd rather have Rafael's.
"In Shoshone , there's a saying: I don't speak your language, and you don't speak mine. But I still understand you. I don't need to walk in your footsteps if I can see the footprints you left behind."