Buckskin Cocaine Page 4

  The next morning my head was pounding like a motherfucker, and all I wanted was out. When Olivia stirred, I asked her for painkillers and water. We got up and I told her that I had to get going. She nodded. I showered, put my clothes on. Looked at her. She was sitting on a chair in the corner in the light, smoking.

  “See you around,” she said.

  “Yeah. I mean. I love somebody too,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Well, I went to visit this girl I used to know in Durango. She’s Ponca. And you know what…I love her.”

  “Bye, George,” she said, and I opened the door and walked out into the light. It seemed to fill everything up.

  I SAW HER ONCE AFTER THAT in Santa Fe, all fucked up. Walking down San Francisco with a couple of friends in the snow at night, laughing, her breath turning to ice. She was wearing these big orange boots and a little wool dress and I remember watching her go, the sound of her echoing off the goddamn adobe buildings until she was gone. I was with Robert and some other guys, so I pretended I hadn’t seen her. I was there for some project, I don’t even remember what it was. But I saw her in Evangelo’s later that night, my goddamn stupid weak heart filling with all of it, and it was on. I couldn’t help it. I started chasing her again. And then telling the stupid broad to get lost, all while she blew smoke in my face and laughed. And then I ended up in Idaho again for a long time. And by the time I got back to New Mexico, she was gone. Every time I would get rotten drunk I’d text her. But she never answered. Heard from a couple of people that she’d taken a permanent gig at a University in the Midwest. It doesn’t matter. There are so many where she comes from. And it’s the industry, I told her that. Now I’m working on a new project and I need money for it but fuck it, I know my break is coming. And she smoked too much anyway, the goddamn stupid broad.

  Lucy Bigboca

  I’M LUCY BIGBOCA!!! LOL, right? I mean, like everyone doesn’t know me already??? Just google me, I tell everyone. LOL!!! I mean, I’ve represented MY TRIBE in I don’t know how many countries, it’s ridiculous. And it’s a good thing because I’m the ONLY REALLY traditional Navajo in Albuquerque, really the only one!!!

  The thing that like, really gets me is all of these Native guys claiming to be traditional when all they are is jerks. I mean, I’ve dated all of them, like just dated because I’m sooooooo traditional? But WHATEV, they’re all just afraid of a strong Native woman. Don’t they know that I should be the one in charge??? If only they could all be like my cousins, who do what I say, LOL!!!

  I mean, and like all of these stupid wannabes, whatever!!! I’m like, LMAO. My dad was a medicine man and my mom is a weaver, OK??? And I’m TOTALLY fluent in Navajo. Just because I don’t speak it all the time doesn’t mean anything. I’m just, you know, quiet??? I hate it when people like, try to test me with that one, because they’re stupid, I’m the traditional one, they shouldn’t be doing that, it’s not traditional to try to beat a strong Native woman down and if they do it’s like L8R!!!

  I mean, I went to the Institute of American Indian Arts, which like, has graduated so many famous Indians, and then I even went and got my masters, which is like, extremely rare for Natives. I had to work sooooooo hard at it because of all of the other Natives in my program were trying to make me look bad. And my teachers were all jealous of me, I could tell. They were all jealous because I’m soooo traditional, and I was like, LMAO!!! Not that it bothered me, it tooootally didn’t. One of them, who was like, kind of Navajo because she was from the reservation, like tried to correct something I once said and I was like, EXCUSE ME? Don’t you know who I am??? I’M LUCY BIGBOCA!!! And she just looked at me AS IF she didn’t know what I was talking about. She was such a bitch. And she didn’t know anything about being a traditional Navajo, that’s for sure! She was always talking about how poor she was growing up on the reservation. And like, just because I wasn’t poor doesn’t mean ANYTHING. I mean, that’s a stereotype BTW! Whatev!!!

  But really it’s all these stupid Native men who think they’re so traditional that make my life the hardest. The thing is, no matter how traditional they THINK they are, none of them can ever be as good as my daddy. When my daddy was alive I would go all the time to the Pueblo rez where he was from and we’d do ceremony. And he loved me more than anyone, more than any of his other kids, LOL!!! I’m just sad about the cancer, cancer is such a jerk! It took away the one thing in my life that was like, totally, totally good. I always do the walks to beat cancer, though no way am I going to shave my head, LOL!!! I’m way too traditional, and good looking!

  I make traditional foods CONSTANTLY. Yummy! They’re soooo good and like, I’m really good at making them, OBV? I mean Navajo frybread’s the best! People are like, how do you have the time? And I’m like, I MAKE time because that’s what a TRADITIONAL Navajo woman DOES. And my cousins come and they like, help me out and stuff. Though they can be such idiot-babies, I have to tell them what to do the whole way, LMAO! Sometimes if a guy seems like he might not be lame FOR ONCE I invite him to my house and cook with him to show him how traditional I totally obviously am, LOL! And I introduce him to my mom, which is like, serious in my culture? So when they turn out to be jerks, I’m like asshole! I introduced you to my FAMILY, my TRADTIONAL family, and that means something! It means we could be like, engaged.

  The biggest jerk of all is this guy named Steven Littlebrush. He thinks he’s all that because he’s sort of famous in the Indian world and he travels everywhere or whatever. And I’m like, LOL??? I’m famous too??? When we were going out, I even quit my boyfriend, who is really more of a backup than anything because he’s SO DUMB. But I like, keep him around, LOL!!! But this guy, he’s a painter and he went to IAIA too and he married some stupid white girl and like, had a kid with her or something. But when he was young and like, before all that, we started hanging out and stuff. And he made me feel like he was really traditional, and respectful and honored his culture and respected strong women. He even said that! He said it all the time. We went to powwow together and I met his family too, and his friends were all totally stupid immature guys but at least he introduced me to them and we took a bunch of classes together and he would try to help me with my art, LOL!!! As if I needed it, I was amazing at art, I just wanted to like, do more for my tribe and that’s why I didn’t go any further with it. But I would let him peek over my shoulder at the canvas I was working on and pick out the colors and stuff so that he could feel important. It’s TOTALLY important to make a man feel like he has some purpose, though I can barely think of what they’re really that good for! I mean, like Native women don’t need feminism because for example, I’m the one that’s been in control in all of my relationships? So, I don’t even need that stuff, that’s colonizing anyway. Maybe some of those stupid Native chicks that think they’re more traditional than me (as if!!!) could use it LOL!!! I mean, like, most of my friends are guys anyway, because they’re so much less jealous. I can’t blame women for being jealous of me though, I’m all that! And MEN LOVE ME. I always have a new guy. Whenever the guy I’m seeing turns out to be lame, there’s always another. And then of course there’s my stupid boyfriend. I mean backup boyfriend, LOL!!!

  But I really do deserve a traditional man, and Steven made me feel like for once in my life I was with someone like my daddy. Steven seemed different, though all he turned out to be was a big liar. Lame!!! He was with me day and night, painting and singing and dancing and like, really being a cool guy. We were together for a whole year!!! And like, I thought I was gonna marry him, that’s how serious we were! My mom loved him and he would sit around in our house in Albuquerque that I grew up in and drink coffee and ask her how to say things in Navajo. And then she’d ask him the words for things in his language but he only knew a few, I mean like, he grew up in some small town in Colorado, so it’s not like he grew up traditional like me. Plus he’s like, two tribes and like, even though I am too, I’m like, CLEARLY a Navajo woman, like, CLEARLY.

  What pisse
s me off the most is when I think about how Steven played me. Not that I can be played for long, LOL!!! There are too many guys around the corner and I’m smart and educated and hot and just awesome. But he got me to do stuff that like, wasn’t traditional? I mean, not like, I mean, I’m not a prude, but I was young. And it’s not like I hadn’t had boyfriends before, but he made me think, well, he made me think he wanted to have a family. I really believed that stupid asshole! And while I was with him he was just starting to get his reputation and travel and I found out that he was getting it on with everyone! And that’s not traditional. And while he was traveling I was texting ILUVU like all the time and he kept texting me back ILUVU and how he missed me. He was probably texting me with one hand and doing you-know-what with the other! JERK! It’s like, I’ll never trust guys again because of him. And even though he thinks he’s so cool now because he’s invited to do all of these hip-hop painting performances everyone in the REAL Indian world knows his paintings SUCK! And he clearly barely knows anything about his culture. I know EVERYTHING about being Navajo EVERYTHING.

  I’m not the only one that got pregnant with him either. And I remember I didn’t even tell him, because I was scared it would push him away. So I you know like, took care of it? And I thought, it’s OK, we’ll have a baby later, when I’m older and settled and own my own house and am ready. But now that I’m older I’ve realized it’s really traditional to live with your family??? People are like, you’re forty and living with your mom? And I’m like WHATEV!!! My mom NEEDS me. And I help out when I can. I mean, it’s hard! I need to go out to MAKE IMPORTANT CONNECTIONS and that’s expensive. That’s not MY FAULT. I got educated. That’s what’s important, duh!!! At least I didn’t get stuck with his baby, especially after I found out he was telling lots of girls that he was their boyfriend. That is SO not TRADITIONAL. There’s a girl here that was also going to IAIA and she is stuck with his baby, all while he’s with that white woman on the other side of the country!

  And I’m TOTALLY planning on learning how to weave too, which I know will make my mom happy and it’s TRADITIONAL so I know it’s important? But I’m sooooo busy, I’ve got soooo much on my calendar, like, all the time. And I know that I’ll be traveling EVEN MORE when I start weaving because my mom was famous for her work, and that’s why she ended up here, because they wanted her to teach at IAIA, where she met my dad. And so OBV like, that’s genetic and I’ll be as amazing at that as I am with painting, and with everything else I do. And then Steven will have to realize what he’s missing. Which I’m sure he already does!

  Sometimes, when I’m high and sitting outside alone on the old plastic deck furniture my parents got when I was a kid, and like, leaning back and looking at the stars I wonder what it would be like with Steven, like, if I’d told him about the baby and if he would have cut it off with all of those other bitches and maybe we could have gotten a place together??? I think about me in the hospital holding a little fuzzy headed baby, Steven by my side. I think about my daddy too, because he was so good to me and how like, when I was with Steven for at least just a little tiny bit of time, I thought that he was almost as good as my dad. And that we were gonna have a life together, a really beautiful life like I had before my daddy died…and then I remember what an ARROGANT JERK Steven was and how he ruined everything and I push that feeling away, because NO ONE is going to bring a TRADITIONAL woman down! That’s not how I grew up, that’s not who I am!!! I’m a strong Navajo woman! I have to be an example for the younger generation, and like, I already obviously AM.

  Robert Two Stories

  I MEAN, IT’S MY GRANDMOTHER’S BISCUITS, that’s what I miss the most about Oklahoma. That and the people. And of course my daughter. I mean, of course her the most. But the homeless there, the Natives, they were so real. I’d drive by them and think, we could be related. And the hills there, the trees, everything is so green. My life there was so real. So simple. That’s what I told the guy interviewing me from Indian Today. I mean, it’s not like I’m some kind of Cinema Verite guy, like, holding the camera up with my own two hands, I mean, the grant money covered the bigger stuff, but, I do believe in just, you know, letting what you’re filming show you what it wants to show you. I was raised to believe in humility. That’s what my grandmother taught me. And I really try to bring that into my work. Me and George, we really…try to make the work count. And I’ve got responsibilities back home. Not everyone has that. But my daughter makes me real. She’s very real. Very Oklahoma.

  I just feel like the whole Mise-En-Scene of my life is something I bring to my films. The whole mood, you know? I’m just a small town guy, and there was nothing much going on for me growing up. But I loved the movies. They were so real. I remember meeting Quentin Tarantino at Sundance. He was wearing a fuzzy blue bathrobe the whole time and chasing after my friend Charlotte, the Ojib sound tech on George’s film. But I could tell he was really interested in me too, told me that he wanted to make it to the screening of my film. And even though he didn’t make it, his life is just so Grindhouse, so grainy. I’m sure he had a lot to see. A lot of pressure. I understood. I mean, I totally get it.

  Sundance was a lot of fun, though. George and me, we went a little crazy. I mean, both of us are from small towns, we’d never encountered anything like that. So you have to cut us a little slack. We know who we are. That’s what’s important. Knowing who you are and where you come from. That’s what my grandmother taught me and I tried to think of it all as some sort of, you know, like, Reverse Angle Shot, because I was there to promote my work, network. I had to do it. I’ve always had to prioritize my work even when it was really hard for me. The parties, everything, it was all just to promote my work. What I’m doing is important. And so many people came to my screening, and then after that they gave me more money to make another film and I was asked to screen my film everywhere.

  At first, George went with me. He was asked to screen his film too. And we’d screen our films together and party. But after a while he wasn’t asked anymore. But I was. He’s still asked to screen in Santa Fe here and there and he has his own smaller projects going on, so it really isn’t bad for either of us and I know he doesn’t really resent me. Not really. What I always told him when this first started happening was that I missed Oklahoma, which he didn’t really seem to buy, but I was trying to tell him that he shouldn’t be jealous because honestly, I’d rather be at home with my grandmother and daughter. I honestly would.

  My grandmother is in her eighties, but she’s spry. She takes care of my daughter while I’m gone. Teegan’s mother was white. Is white. I mean, I haven’t seen her since Teegan was a baby. She just kind of left. I didn’t know her well enough, I guess. I did love her though, I think. I mean, she was the first person to really pay any attention to me before I started making movies. We both liked to read and she thought I was really smart. Though really the only stuff I was reading was a bunch of fantasy and comic book shit before I met her. I’d just moved to Tulsa to get away from home. There was going to be a poetry reading at The Gypsy Café where I was working. All I’d ever done in the way of work before coming to Tulsa was bus tables in this shitty diner called Pat’s Cafe back home where all they served was weak coffee and greasy eggs and bacon. Just about everyone in that diner was perpetually recovering from a hangover. It was awful to see how many shaking, rough, brown hands there were there, reaching for coffee and looking like pure shit. All I wanted was to get away, to see that time in my life as some sort of Out-Take.

  I had been looking forward to the reading all week, and I didn’t even have to work that day. It seemed to me like this was a sign that I had really moved into a different place in my life. So when this skinny brown haired girl with big green eyes in a Ting-Tings t-shirt got up and read poems about growing up in a small town in Oklahoma, I just about lost it right there. Talked to her after. She seemed kind of interested in the fact that I was Indian; kind of into it but without being too creepy about it, and after a few hours,
we decided that we wanted to go to the bar down the road that she liked. We smoked and drank and talked and I thought that night that maybe through her I would find who I really wanted to be. And we started, you know, kind of dating if that’s what you’d call it. She’d come over and we’d listen to music and have sex and she started showing me different kinds of books. Shit. She was the one who got me reading James Welch, my favorite Native writer now. And I told her about how I wanted to make movies. And she told me she thought I could do that. Her name was Sara.

  She introduced me to her friends. They were all writers and they all smoked and read their work at the Gypsy Café on Thursdays. She took me to thrift stores, and I told her I’d gone to those all my life, that or got hand-me-downs but she showed me how to really look through everything. Got me these big blocky glasses that looked like they were government issue, but she told me I looked good in them. I remember looking in the mirror in a thrift shop one day in a pea green cardigan she’d gotten me to buy. The mirror was one of those old, weird warped ones with gold marbling all over. She was standing behind me and telling me how cool I looked and I felt like I was going to flood out of my body, back into it and then maybe into hers. And then she leaned forward and into me and I closed my eyes and that’s exactly what I did, my body humming with electricity.

  Nights, she’d just stand at these big old wooden windows in my place, the brown paint peeling off the frame, her head holding the light, her white feet bare on the wood, the record player we’d bought at a thrift store together blowing something slow and jazzy out. Days, I thought about how bright her hair looked as the sun came up, when she would go for her first cigarette of the morning.