A Parchment of Leaves by Silas House

out of his arms and onto the sidewalk. “I’ll be!” he boomed.
    â€œI’m awful sorry,” I said with a little laugh, and bent down to help him get the parcels back up into his arms.
    â€œStupid Indian,” he said, snatching a parcel from my hands. “Why don’t you people watch where you’re going?” And then he took off down the street, his short legs pushing against the air like stubby logs.
    I stood there for a minute, watching him go. Letting these words sink in. The sounds of business around me seemed to grow louder. Nobody had ever called me stupid before, and I had never really thought that people would judge me solely on being a Cherokee. My people had always got along pretty good with the town folk, except the magistrates. I spun Birdie around and I took off after the man. Hewas so short that it didn’t take me long to catch him. I tapped him on the shoulder.
    â€œWhat did you say to me?” I said, cool as could be.
    He huffed around until he could meet my eye and blew out a big puff of air, like he had forgotten to breathe up until now. “What, girl?”
    â€œYou called me stupid. I ain’t.”
    He just started walking again. But I followed. “I said, I ain’t stupid,” I hollered loud enough for several people to look. This got him. He must have been a businessman, as he didn’t want anyone to know that he was being yelled at. His gray eyes looked around like he didn’t know which way to go. He nodded to one of the women standing nearest us. She was one of those who had wore her Sunday clothes to town and looked at me as if I had fallen out of the sky.
    â€œGet away,” he said. His lips were small and red, like a woman’s. “If I was you, I wouldn’t be showing my face in town about now. Stupid people ought to stay at home anyway.”
    I felt like slapping his face, or even drawing back my coconut to split his head wide open. I was that mad. When he turned and started walking again, I couldn’t help myself. I kicked him, right in the hind end. Not hard enough to hurt him, but he sure felt the toe of my shoe. He nigh about fell down and sent his arms straight out for balance. This sent the parcels flying again.
    He was so mad that he looked like he was about to cry from anger. His lips trembled. “You’re a fool!” he hollered, whirling around on me. The woman standing nearest us said to someone, “Don’t she know who that is?”
    Then I was aware of Birdie’s hand in my own and felt ashamed. Not for what I had done, but for her being witness to the ignorance and cruelty of people. I must have half dragged her down the sidewalk, going on to the post office, for I was mad as a hatter. I had never thought that people in Black Banks had ill will toward Cherokees, but it looked like I had been wrong. I should have known asmuch—hadn’t these very townspeople tried to drive us off our land up on Redbud? A great sense of injustice settled over me that troubled me the rest of the day. None of my people had ever done a thing to be ashamed of.
    We went on to the post office. Birdie had just got a new pair of shoes and was having a big time, hearing the clicks the hard soles made on the marble floor of the high-ceilinged post office.
    There was nothing in our box, so I closed the little gold door and took hold of Birdie’s hand. As we were leaving, the postmistress hollered at Birdie and held out a peppermint for her to take. She was a sweet, hunchbacked woman who was cursed with not one sign of a neck. The little bun of hair on the back of her head sat right on her hump. I always made niceties with her when I went to the post office but had not thought to do so today. I stood at the door, waiting for Birdie to come on and gave the postmistress a nod. But this wasn’t good enough for her. She motioned me over.
    â€œYou heard tell what happened in Bell County?” she said