American Indians Narrative

I stumble into the house, not concerned about my absence - my presence in the household did not have high expectations, if any. My body takes me straight to the cabinet of booze; a disgrace of a liquor cabinet if you ask me. Shelves of empty bottles, maybe a quarter of the way filled if I am lucky. I continue to search the cabinet, examining a bottle here or there, before I am interrupted ( maybe for the better). “I promise!” Junior protested.
The biggest lie - for an Indian at least, promising is not in our nature. But, Junior continued: “I will pay back the doctor. I will get a job.”
That brought a smile to my face. Job? Jobs on an Indian rez are as hard to find as a sober Indian. Agnes finally interjected, “Honey, it will cost hundreds of dollars, maybe thousands.” Once I heard the price tag on the situation I joined in, only to see Junior on the floor caressing Oscar (my son’s second best friend). “You think going to the vet is an option!” I snapped shaking my head for all sorts of reasons. I elaborated, “We can barely afford a doctor for ourselves, and ‘Mr. Hopeful’ thinks he has a chance getting a job here. Junior finally burst, whispering Oscar’s name. I picked him up by the collar of his …show more content…
He carried him outside, setting him down once we reached a relatively vacant area. Junior said his good-bye’s to Oscar, a waterfall of tears streaming down his distraught face. As Junior returned to me he glared at me with intense anger. He looked mad enough to punch me ( as an Indian should, fighting is the ultimate response to a dispute). I looked back at my son teary eyed, not caring to disguise my sadness, and guilt for taking away one of the few things that made Junior happy. I knew what I had to do. I gathered myself, and pulled the riffle up aiming at defenseless Oscar. I loaded the gun, and as a began to pull the trigger Junior took off, but the crack of my riffle traveled faster than his