By: Reese Scott

She was seven when she hung herself. She hung there for almost ninety days until Jimmy, her older brother, came home after being away for the past year trying to find work to support his sisters and mother. Even though no one had seen his mother since she had given birth to his sister.

But work is different here. If here was still actually a place. There are only two jobs that were offered. One to work in a fast food restaurant and the other to drink full time. Of course there was the other job to work in casinos. But that wasn’t a job his people were allowed to have. He left the reservation and moved from city to city, filling out resume after resume, knowing that each one he filled would be put immediately in the garbage. He had been to casinos in different cities with always the same result. People like him would never be allowed to work there.

Jimmy knew that was what he was. He knew that was what his sister was. He knew that was what his mother was. It was their American dream.

Jimmy’s seven year old sister’s name was Angeni. But after she was about one she was only allowed to be called Angy. The only person who didn’t was Jimmy. He remembered when his birth name was Jolon and when it was no longer allowed to be used. He would never allow that part of his sister to be stolen.

After the death of his sister, Jimmy moved back home. He didn’t know why. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t care why. He just had to be there. Once he moved in it was like being stuck in a movie theatre watching the same movie over. The floor, the stove, the dead plants, broken TV, even the pillows held memories he did not remember. But now they were all there. Waiting for him like it was a surprise birthday party.

The only thing that Jimmy did do every day was clean his sister’s room and make sure she was still alive. Jimmy didn’t believe in death in the American sense. It’s difficult to believe in anything that uses the words “sense” and “America.”

The longer Jimmy lived, the the harder he became. His drinking increased. But it wasn’t that, that was changing him. It was something deeper. Something far away. Something he wasn’t supposed to know. Each night it would come closer and closer. And Jimmy would just watch. The only thought he had was, “We are Passive. We have been made to be that way.”

Eventually Jimmy found in himself some foreign hate that pointed in all directions. When he drove his truck he thoughts went from running himself off the road to running his car over a person. Each one had a feeling of honestly he had never felt before.

At home he watched TV in his sister’s room. He slept there as well. He never questioned why. He never wondered why. It made no difference. Since the years Jimmy had been gone he had seen more people die than live. Most of his closest friends had died from alcohol, sadness or the basic fact there was absolutely no reason to stay alive.

He had been to more funerals than weddings. More funerals than birthday parties. Suicide was a part of who he was now. The fact that he was still alive meant very little. In fact Jimmy saw no difference between the two.

Each night as he lay in his sister’s room. Looking up at the rope and chair she used to hang herself. He felt almost a sense of joy. Joy not in the literal sense. But almost a sense of respect. The fact that she was only seven meant nothing. Jimmy had seen enough to know age has no say in who people are and what people are forced to become.

After a few months living there he became friends with one of the tribal leaders. One night in particular stayed with him like a tattoo driven into his skull. They sat together next to a fire. Roasting used marshmallows and drank beer. Neither of them said anything. Because there was nothing left to be said.