Little Wolf

Ch 9 Celebrating Life

The whoops and hollers we could hear had Dad smiling as we got out of the truck. When we were close enough to see the bonfire, he laughed and gave me a push to join my friends. It was the last all-out gathering before school resumed, and probably the last time I would see my friends for a while. I was leaving tomorrow.

It had been strange with Dad; good, but strange. We had talked, really talked, long into the night after we got home. I asked him all those questions I wasn't going to ask, heard all the answers I wasn't sure I needed.

It didn't stop there. Early in the mornings, we talked about food and finances, domestic household stuff. Every day after we ran together in the woods, and often during our runs, we'd discuss the wolf. During workouts, we shared ideas about fighting and shifting. I found myself motivated to work out with him. I didn't mind the soreness or the fact I had more bruises than our workouts had ever given me before.

We filled our nights with stories of Mom from before I was born, stories of his father and grandfather;  little things, family things. He even shared a smoke with me on occasion. Neither of us smoked regularly, just the rare, more social sharing that is part of my people's heritage. We didn't fight, not once. It was good. Strange, but good.

I grinned back at Dad as I headed off to join my friends. There would be a fair bit of dancing, and probably a bit of hidden drinking. It's funny; my friends and I always felt so puffed up just taking a few swallows of sneaked alcohol. Tonight I knew I didn't need to puff myself up, but I still might enjoy it.

Everyone hollered out as I joined them. I waved and laughed, feeling better than I had in a long time. I could wish this whole past year had gone like the previous week had. I received handshakes, shoulder punches, or partial man-hugs from the guys, quick kisses, and real hugs from some of the girls. There wasn't anyone here I didn't know.  And one I knew too well. I headed over to join my cuz.

Running Elk gave me a long look up and down. I held my arms out and gave a little dancing spin. Coming close, I leaned in and whispered, "No tail."

He gave me a grin and a shove, then a second push toward the truck with the coolers in the back of it. There were cans of soda and beer, two-liter bottles, and the ever-present solo cups. A couple of older men sat on top of the truck, their legs hanging over the back. I knew others would take their turn as the elders watched who got a beer until the beer was gone.

I grabbed a can of soda, but Running Elk grabbed a solo cup. He swapped with me as we turned away. Someone came over and splashed something into my cup before waving and taking off with a "Sorry for the bump," and a grin. Running Elk just wrinkled his nose at me.

"Last night here, Little Wolf, you need to celebrate."

I laughed at him, setting me up. I reached over and tapped the small pouch he now wore dangling around his neck, barely hidden beneath his shirt. No words between us. I gave a nod honoring his achievement in gaining a spirit guide. His chest puffed a little. A slight narrowing of his eyes with a half-smile and small nod from him, telling me not to give up on the spirits guiding me. A glance toward the music, then another toward where both our fathers stood with a few other men.

"Yeah, it's been good lately," I said. "Go figure. Yours?"

"Keeps watching everything I do. I feel like I'm on lockdown."

"And yet..." I lifted my solo cup, my eyes laughing.

Running Elk just looked back, his eyes also laughing. With a bump against my shoulder, he headed over to the music.

I took one more look at Dad, just to catch him watching me. I raised my glass slightly in a silent toast. Thinking of what I had in my pocket, I try not to blush, hiding it in a grin as I sauntered over toward the music. After all, you never know.

It was a good night. I did a lot of dancing, and a little bit of fooling around with a few girls who wanted to give me a more personal goodbye. I was careful of my drink, practicing the tricks Dad taught me during our talks to make it look like I was drinking more than I was. I saw him on occasion, both as a man and later in the night as a wolf, then a man again.

He'd probably patrolled the woods some, maybe just to escape the memory of him and mom dancing. The younger people might start the night dancing, but it was the older ones who would finish it. Mom had always loved to dance.

There was food, friendship, and family. I kissed my aunt on the cheek while I was getting food, offered to get a drink for Gramma when I noticed hers was low. I swung some of the younger girls around, the ten to twelve-year-olds that were mostly staying by their immediate family, dancing with them, and laughing at their shyness as I made my way around the gathering.

Grandfather called me over before I could head back over to where my age group was hanging around drinking and dancing. I greeted him fondly. Heck, tonight I was fond of everyone. The feeling of really being a man now gave me the boost of confidence to greet my Grandfather as a man and not as a kid.

He pulled out a long, thin package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

"Put this in your father's truck for now. Take it with you when you leave tomorrow."

I only hesitated a second before I hugged him. I had a feeling I knew what was in the package. He gripped my upper arm, something men did. I was getting it from all sides these days, and couldn't get enough of it. Heading over to Dad's truck, I felt like I was never going to stop grinning... until I saw the pocket knife. Dad must have set it on the passenger seat at some point. I picked it up thoughtfully.

Wolf. Man. Life. Death. I realized it wasn't a yin/yang thing, not one or the other, not two halves of the same whole. How do you separate two drops of water once they are in the river? You can't. Death was an intricate part of life, and life needed to be celebrated. The wolf and the man were one. I wasn't both. I wasn't one or the other. Merge them, for there was no boundary line between them. I merely was. I attained a fresh appreciation for my new-found sense of balance in life. I pocketed the knife and headed back to the dance.

I'd only taken a few steps when I made a decision and headed back to the truck. It wasn't the knife I slid up into the glovebox. It was the boyish impulse I'd pulled out of my sock drawer before we'd left the house. I just hoped I'd remember to remove the small packet later before Dad found it.