I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

40 (NEW)

As I drive long roads to Houston, I rundown the equipment I have in the back. A standard receiver hitch, a tow dolly, some cables if needed, but the Pontiac should be fine. I didn't think to ask what was wrong with the car. Brain fart, for sure. Well, what did I expect after last night's session? "Ly O Lay Ale Loya." I sing in a low chant, in a silky voice. Revisiting the long dances with my mates around a fire last night.

The circle dancing takes away my stress, as it should. Being connected to the ancestors and the lands....and the great spirit is helping me cope. It's also helping me come to terms with the choice I made just a few months ago. I don't think I'm entirely on board with it yet...but I will be soon.

I can't have those nightmares again.

"Ly O Lay Ale Loya." I sing lowly again, hearing my tone fill the car. A naturally light one...but not too high pitched that it's irritating. I've been told my voice is angelic. This gives me an advantage when singing with my crew. My mother has said my voice could carry pass the river if it wanted...that I was born with such an angelic cry that she had to name me Nakamo.

My name means sing.

Last night was the first time, in the very challenging months, that I felt able to sing again. I've been releasing mental toxins to ease my mind, clear my rage, accept my choice, and love my fiancé. Waynoka. A beautiful woman, much like my mother, kind when in a good mood. A good mood she has not been in these days. Stop thinking about it. Drive. Sing the bad energy away. "Ly O Lay Ale Loya." I chant lightly in a long tone.

I find myself losing track of time, letting the world guide the car, as I erase past arguments from my mind, ones I buried. It'll get better. I'll accept it. Waynoka will let go of the uncertainty, and our wedding will take place in July.

I notice nice houses and trees shade the glass of my car, coming back to the present. A clean neighborhood I know too well. Streets I raced down with blowing excitement, only to hide it when I got to the door. All the time I spent with a good friend. An old lover.

Chris.

I pull into the driveway of the pale brick house with red shutters, which was a second home in my teen years. The treehouse sleepovers, burning s'mores, sneaking into Chris's room for long kisses.

I shut off the car.

That's all in the past now...lovely, faded memories. I eye the familiar; yellow Pontiac parked close to the attached garage. There is another car as well...small and red. Hmm...it's not Phil's work car...who's car is this?

I never seen it here before. It's only been a few weeks since I stopped by for New Years. Unless...hmmm...I don't know. It could belong to a relative I've never met. My mind doubts this excuse.

My big feet guide me out of the car and into cooler weather. Today feels breezier than yesterday; I swear climate change is disturbing the purity of the seasons. I scope out the red car as I pass it, curiously peeking inside it. It's clean...so it can't be a bums car.

I take my attention from it and examine the Pontiac, bending to check the tires stabilization, poking each one. No flats. I circle the car, having to squeeze between the garage to get behind it, wiggling a sturdy hood. She didn't hit anything, no loose hood. Good.

I hear the front door open. Slyly, I move from behind the car, and near the door. "Is it the engine? Looks fine to me," I say to who I think is Reba. Instead, it's someone I was just thinking about. Messy blond hair in a bun, he looks skinny. Chris's eyes are sincere yet rowdy. "WHAT?!" I shout, childishly surprised, my face lights up like a kid. "WHAT?!"