2 Welcome to the Neighborhood

The doorbell rang. The doorbell rang? My doorbell never rang. Best to answer it.

“Hi, I’m Violet Manywings,” said the woman standing at my door. “I live just across the street.” She turned and pointed to her tiny house in a row of similar structures. Shipping containers in a former life, they made a neat line down the street. Homes just like mine. Violet held out a plate of cookies covered in plastic wrap. Taller than me and rail-thin, she looked over my shoulder into the house.

“I’m Deb Lacewell, pleased to meet you. Would you like to come in?” I took the plate from her dark, slender hands, and moved sideways in the doorway so she could enter.

“Thanks. We saw you move in last week. I didn’t want to intrude. The Moons know that everyone needs some time to get settled, even in these dwellings.” She rolled her r’s as she formed the words, elongating the vowels as if enjoying the feel of them on her lips. She stamped the red dust out of her boots onto the welcome mat and entered, following me into the kitchen. I put the plate of cookies on the table and invited her to take a seat.

“Yes,” I agreed. “These houses are smaller than our trailer back home, but we’re adjusting. Easier to keep clean than a bigger house, I like to say”. We both laughed at that. She shook back her white-blonde hair, turquoise eyes crinkling up at the corners.

“We’re pretty lucky to have such a nice neighborhood. My mother lives in an enclave to the west, and she tells me that the circumstances there are not as nice. Many of the retired folks have children and grandchildren living with them because their children have cane addiction. They call it Acanterr, or ‘settlers disease.’ The grandparents are trying to raise their grandchildren as best they can.”

“I totally understand. Back home, we had a similar situation with alcohol and drug addiction. My mother had to raise my two sisters’ children. She did a good job, though, put them all through college.” I spooned tea leaves into a crockery pot and added boiling water. “Tea?” I asked as I sat back down.

“No, thanks, Deb. We typically can’t tolerate stimulants of any kind.”

Instantly embarrassed, I coughed out, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

She reached out and put her hand over mine. “Please, I’m not offended. After all, it’s not something they put in the settlers’ handbook. Let me ask you a question. Your name, Lacewell, it has a musical sound.”

“Thanks, It’s Eastern Siouan, we moved here from North Carolina. My name is actually Depeyamuye, but I shorten it to Deb. It means red fox.”

“Native American?”

I nodded my head. “Um-hum, My Mom was Catawba, and my Dad was Waccama, why do you ask?”

“My family is native to this continent. We’ve been here for generations.”

My turn to change the subject. I lifted the plastic wrap on the plate of cookies. They smelled wonderful. “Thanks for the cookies. What kind did you make?”

“Oatmeal, my mother’s favorite recipe. Of course, they aren’t really oats, they’re a local grain, but it’s quite close. The grain has it’s own sweetness, so there’s no need to add any cane.”

“I recognize the smell of that grain, we have it for breakfast sometimes. Hot, like oatmeal. It’s delicious.”

“It makes great cookies. They were the first thing my mom taught me to cook when she allowed me into the kitchen.” She did air quotes for ‘allowed.’ Her long fingers looked strange, making something as familiar as air quotes. “Well, I’d better be going, my list of chores won’t get done by itself.” She smiled, stood, and we walked to the front door.

“I’m glad I got a chance to meet you, Violet. We should have lunch sometime.” I shook her hand. It was soft, and the skin was warm against mine.

“I’d like that, Deb.” Her smile lit up her face.

I stood in the doorway and watched her go back across the unpaved street. Life in this settlement would be very much like life back home. I hardly noticed anymore that the sky wasn’t blue, but those two moons would take some getting used to.