Reading the Bones by Gina McMurchy-Barber Page A

thought it was cool that the true sign of a wealthy chief was not how much he had but how much he could afford to give away.
    Under my breath I read: “Some Coast Salish were fond of the ‘scramble’ as a method of distributing goods to commoners, but never to chiefs.” I imagined men, women, and children playfully racing around to gather bone fish hooks, awls, and baskets to take home. I riffled through more pages to see what other things I could learn about potlatches. I skimmed over the subheadings: “The Formalities of Potlatches,” “The Potlatch and Loans of Interest,” “Rivalry Potlatches.” The last title caught my attention. I read the first line of the paragraph: “The spectacular rivalry potlatches were all to humiliate a rival.” That was when I remembered Aunt Margaret was still there staring at me.
    â€œPeggy, I’d like to talk with you.” She nervously cleared her throat. “I realize you’ve been unhappy. It’snatural that you want to be with your mom. But the fact is she can’t care for you right now. I know she wants to, but if she’s going to get on her feet she needs to —”
    â€œMake sure I’m out of the way, right?” I interrupted.
    â€œThat’s not what I was going to say.”
    â€œNo, but you were thinking it.”
    â€œNo, I wasn’t!”
    I hadn’t noticed before, but my aunt’s face was all pink and puffy.
    â€œLook, Peggy, I admit you haven’t exactly been a joy to have around. But I know it’s because your life is all upside down. I also admit that I’m strict and —”
    â€œUnreasonable? Demanding? Unfair?” I fired back.
    â€œOkay, maybe there have been times when that was true. But then you’ve been disobedient, irresponsible, ungrateful, unforgiving, cold, and secretive.”
    My aunt’s words were like blows to my head and stomach. Now her face was glowing red, and her eyes were moist.
    â€œI promised your mom that I’d look after you. And that’s what I want to do. But if this is going to work you need to cooperate ... and show respect.”
    â€œMom always taught me that respect is a two-way street, Aunt Margaret,” I spat back.
    â€œThat’s true, but sometimes parents know what’s best and the child just needs to trust and be obedient.”
    I felt as if an explosion had gone off inside my head. “Parents? You’re not my parents and you never will be. My real mom loves me no matter what I wear or say or do. But you’ll never think I’m good enough. You don’t like my clothes, my hair isn’t combed enough,I don’t sit straight enough. How do you think it feels living with someone who picks at every thing you do?” When the words stopped shooting out of my mouth, Aunt Margaret covered her tear-streaked face with her hands and left the kitchen.
    I ran upstairs and accidentally kicked Duff, who was sitting in the middle of the landing.
“Yeowwww!”
he screeched.
    â€œShut up!” I cursed, and was glad I’d kicked him. There was only one person in the world who really cared about me. And if I wanted to be with her, we’d need money. I reached under the pillow and found the smooth little disc. Without glancing at its tiny face, I put it in my pocket and dumped Eddy’s book onto the bed.
    Outside, the rain had slowed to a sprinkle. When I marched as far as Beecher Street, I felt calmer. I decided to stop and catch my breath in Heron Park and think about what I was going to do next. I’d passed by the little park at the entrance of Crescent Beach many times but had never walked through it before. In the middle of the park was a huge rock deposited in the last ice age, a stinging reminder of my insignificant existence. As I followed the little path that led around the boulder, I spotted a bronze plaque. It read: “These petroglyph symbols were carved