The Visionaries

26

I opened the door. Duane had healing bruises on his face. He looked upset, his eyes full of rage, his nostrils flaring, and fists clenched.

"Duane, what's wrong?" I ask.

"It's nothing. Just the usual." he said in a shaky voice.

"Duane..." I cross my arms.

"Michael tried to get me to rape someone and now I'm worried that he'll harm my family for it. That he might kill them....that...."

"Woah, what?" I ask. "What did he tell you? Also context?"

"He took me to this creepy ass place. It was like watching Handmaid's Tale or whatever that book in high school was called. They took all the white women and are making them pop out as many kids as possible." he said. "He wanted me to have sex with one of them."

"Trying to breed the Indian out of you too, I guess," I said. "And what happened?"

"He tried to hit me and I beat the shit out of him. Alma, I'm just so worried about them..." he began to sob.

My heart broke. God, that's a lot to have thrown at him.

"It's okay, Duane. Michael can't kill them because he won't have any leverage against you. Why do you think he's kept our friends alive?" I say. I am lying and he probably knows it but it's better than the alternative.

"Alma," he grabbed my hand. "I love you."

"I love you too." I say. "I don't know if it's a good idea for us to be together."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean....it's dangerous." I say. "I'm scared. I'm walking on spiderwebs here." I look down at the floor, clutching his hand tightly.

"So am I." he said. "But even if it's risky, you are one of the few good things in my life. And even if we don't pan out as a couple, I would still think you were a very important part of my life. You helped me even if I didn't deserve it."

"You think so?" I ask.

He nods.

"I think so too." I say. I lean over to him and he leans over, slightly tilting his head. We start to kiss. It's awkward because I'm not sure what we're doing with our lips or supposed to.

"I-" he pulled away and started to kiss me again. I grab his face and cradle it in my hands.

"Are you sure?" I ask. Duane nods.

So what had to happen, happened. I was exhausted and my inner thighs and knees were killing me. Duane laid his head on my chest.

"Damn, I'm tired." He smiled at me, kissing the top of my head.

"Me too." I sigh. "I wish you didn't have to go."

He nodded.

"Is it bad that I'm worried?" He looked up at me.

"No, I am too." I lay my head back. "I'm hoping we can win. For everyone's sake."

It's mostly for my sake too. I'm tired of fighting. I wish we could live a peaceful life. Instead I've been delegated to be hero for my people and everyone else. We clean ourselves up and start getting dressed.

"I hope we survive this. I can't quite imagine myself without you." Duane kissed me as he was pulling on his underwear.

"Me too." I sighed. "I hope the others are okay."

"I think so, they're tough. You're strong people."

" I'll see you later?" I ask as he's pulling his shorts on.

"Yeah. I love you." he said.

"I love you too." I say. I leave the room. Damn, everything waist down hurts. Why didn't anyone tell me this? Probably because I've been stuck in survival mode for the last six years of my life. I was too busy keeping my friend group and I alive and grieving everything I lost to really seek out dick. My grandparents, aunties and uncles in Mexico. My own mother. My adoptive family. Finding out my father is a racist horrible piece of shit. Falling in love with someone that I might lose. I probably need therapy after all this shit. If this society somehow survives collapsing yet again.

I go to my bed and pass out on my bed. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of going through the motions, of being a hero, of losing everything for nothing, fearing death and loss again, facing my own mortality on a daily basis, everything really. I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to be a hero. I just want to live, not survive. I long for my ancestral home and for the peace I knew before this.

I wake up in the ancestral realm. It's my ancestress who comforted me. I'm in regalia and on my knees, holding on to the dirt for dear life.

"Alma, what is wrong?" he asked.

"I'm tired, Nanita Sesasi." I say. "I'm so tired. I can't do this. I can't be strong. I-" I burst out into loud sobs. I want to go to sleep and even wake up.

She kneels to my level. She gently lifts my face up.

"I know you are tired, Alma. I see it in your face. I see the pain in your eyes, the grief in your soul, the hurt of your body." she said. "Men are made of clay too. Or a woman, in your case."

"I can't do this. I can't do this. I'm sorry." I bite my lip, sobbing.

"Alma." she says. "Get up." I do so. I stare at the field. It's many people. They're both men and women. All decked in various types of clothing. There's the traditional women's regalia. Men's regalia. Warriors. Chiefs. Priests. There's people in clothing from different eras.

"You are a warrior. Their blood runs through your veins. It will run in the veins of your future children. You are our child and we love you. We believe in you. You are a strong woman. " she takes my hands. "Don't forget that."