“Fly like an eagle, and run without tiring,” the chieftain said to Becky years ago.
Back then he was the youngest head of the tribe anyone could remember. An upright, energetic man he also became an ordained minister, bought the general store, then the two-pump gas station on Oak Street.
A few things have changed since then, most have not.
*****
Becky comes in the store to buy rice, bread flour, and milk. The shelves are almost picked clean. There are only two dented cans of tomato paste and a row of imported dreamcatchers hanging beside the register in plastic sleeves.
The neon lights buzz overhead.
“Sorry, Becky,” the chieftain says. “No shipment till Monday or Tuesday. They say this one could be real big. Maize flour. Powdered milk. Bread. Lentils. Soap.” He touches one of the dreamcatchers. “How about one of these?”
She shakes her head. “No thanks. We already got a bunch of those.”
He sighs. “Sorry, Becky. Come back early next week.”
She waves. “Not a problem. Dollar’s nearly dead anyway. Colored paper only.”