Page 7 of Yellow
“My daughter and her children.” A family of five smiled down from the wall.
Then she pointed to a man standing stoically dressed in Native American clothing. “That’s my uncle, the great Chief Aaron, and this picture is of my father.” She tilted her head. “He was a proud man, just like my brother; both are gone now.”
Onava took down a picture of a young man looking up at the sky with a large grin on his face. With a soft voice she said. “That’s Jacob. The picture was taken at his graduation. He was a doctor.”
“A real doctor?” I asked with surprise.
Sadness marred her face and made all her wrinkles stand out more. “Yes, Jacob was what you would call arealdoctor, an orthopedist.” She turned to look at me. “You know, a bone doctor.”
I nodded.
“But it’s been seventeen years since he last walked among us.” Her voice dripped with sadness.
“What happened?”
Onava placed the picture back on the wall and went to stir up the fireplace before she finally answered. “It was a selfish choice. One that, sadly, too many in our communities make,” she finally said.
Watching her fill a pot with water and hang it on a hook over the fire, I asked quietly, “Was it suicide?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” she muttered in her deep voice.
For minutes we didn’t speak and I returned to studying the pictures on the wall. One photo kept me coming back: a young man participating in what looked like a Native ritual. He was wearing an impressive amount of feathers on his head and was dancing with a drum in the photo. The photo was too small to see him clearly, yet he looked familiar.
Where have I seen him before?
“Who is the man with the drum?” I asked.
Onava looked up and her features softened.
“That’s Adam at a powwow.”
“What’s a powwow?” I asked feeling a bit ignorant.
“Oh, it’s a social gathering where we come together from different tribes. There’s singing and dancing. It’s wonderful.”
“Is Adam family too?”
“He’s my nephew; Jacob’s son.”
“And how old is he?”
“Adam is twenty-nine, soon to be thirty. He’s like a grandson to me.”
“Except you could never have a grandchild who’s almost thirty. You’re not old enough.”
Onava smiled. “Actually I could. I became a mother at seventeen. Adam’s mom, Nikki, was sixteen when she had him. I’m sixty-two, so technically I could be his grandmother.”
“Wow, I thought you were in your mid-fifties.”
“It’s nice of you to act surprised, but I’m not a vain person and looking young or old means little to me.” She pointed to the sofa, signaling for me to take a seat.
“You can’t mean that.” I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes, as her claim seemed outlandish to me. In Hollywood looks were everything. “Don’t you have a man you want to look good for?”
She spread her arms and smiled. “Do you see a man?”
