Jingle Dress

April, 1989
Ann Arbor Powwow
Ann Arbor, Michigan

Trey sat in the back of the frybread booth, watching men and women in regalia pass in the front while his mother cooked the bread in portable fry-o-lators to one side. He shifted uncomfortably in the rickety lawnchair, trying to avoid hot oil spatters while ruminating on the unfairness of it all. He'd stopped dancing a little over four years ago, when he was ten, yet he was still forced to waste his few, precious weekends helping his mother tend the booth at the various powwows she still attended.

His mother looked sharply at him for a moment. Though a tiny woman, barely five feet tall in sneakers, her gaze was formidable, penetrating. Trey quickly flipped up the algebra book sitting on his lap, opening it to a random page and pretending he'd been absorbed in it all along. He knew she wasn't fooled, however.

"Cal." The syllable was short, sharp, and commanding, and he flinched a little. Though he didn't exactly hate being referred to by the diminutive of his middle name, Calawesa, he much preferred the shorter version of his first name, Trevor. "I need some more mix, and some change from the front office." With one hand, she offered the car keys, while taking a few twenties out of the hammered metal cash box.

Managing not to grumble audibly, Trey took both keys and cash, closing his book and setting it on his unoccupied chair before parting the curtain to the rear of the booth and exiting. "Fives, ones, and quarters, Cal," his mother called after him. "And one case of the mix."

"Yes, Mom," he sighed back, rolling his eyes a little in typical martyred teen fashion. Trey wound his way through the back of the row of booths, out to the floor proper, dodging dancers and visitors until he entered the clearer, cooler hallway. From there, it was only a short walk to the outside, where the Taurus station wagon was parked. Once he found it, he flipped through the keys until he found the one to open the back hatch. The key clicked in the lock as he reflected about the only good part of this weekend, so far. "At least Mom let me drive the... car... last...."

His thoughts ground to a halt as he peered through the darkened glass of the back windows. Just over the car next to him, he could see the face of a girl. Trey stared for a moment, transfixed, mouth gaping, before remembering what he was supposed to be doing. He wrestled one of the large boxes out of the back of the car and onto the ground as quickly as he could, so he could get a better look at her before she disappeared.

The smooth, tanned skin of her face was decorated with stripes of yellow paint from the corners of her eyes to her hairline. Two matched white turkey feathers surmounted a beaded barrette that held her shiny black hair back in a bun. She casually waved an ornately beaded flat fan to cool herself as she scanned the parking lot, smoky eyes ringed with mascara so they'd look more dramatic on the floor.

Trey tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. Suddenly overly conscious of his appearance, he clapped dusty frybread mix out of his black-brown, brush cut hair, worn that way because it was unruly in longer styles. He cursed quietly at the white handprints on his black t-shirt and jeans, and his skinny, rangy build, then snapped to silence as the girl came around the car, walking by him toward the entrance. Her sky-blue dress, decorated with cascading chevrons of silver cones, chimed softly as she strode past.

His eye caught hers, and she paused for a moment in her pace, giving him a momentary up-and-down look. Trey's knees locked, as he tried to give her a nonchalant nod of greeting back, praying to whatever powers were listening that she couldn't see his trembling. Her cheeks flushed slightly darker as she returned the nod, then went on her way.

Once she was out of sight, he sagged into the still-open cargo area of the station wagon, gasping deep breaths of air to combat the tingling and tunnel vision, gripping the floor of the vehicle as if he'd fall out if he didn't. Trey wasn't sure how long he had spent prostrate there, but then he suddenly remembered why he'd been out in the first place. He swore, panicked, snatching up the box and slamming the hatch door before running back into the arena, to the front office to exchange the twenties.

Trey's mother eyed him again when he returned to the booth. "Was everything okay?" she asked him, faint hint of a smile appearing after a few moments of evaluation.

"Er... um... yeah," his voice creaked, and he huffed a breath, clearing his throat. "Just fine, Mom. Got the change, and the mix."

"Good good." She nodded toward the far corner of the booth. "Set the box over there, Cal."

Obediently, he set down the box, returning to his chair and algebra book. He tried to read his homework, but his mind kept drifting. Shaking his head to clear it didn't seem to help, nor did deliberate, focused concentration. He just couldn't maintain it.

After a while, he simply gave up on algebra, instead helping cook the frybread or working the register. He was making change for a middle-aged fancy shawl dancer in purples and pinks when he heard the MC announce over the loudspeaker, "Teen Jingle Dress... Con-TEST!"

Trey blinked, gave the woman her change, then turned to his mother. "Uh... mind if I go get a buffalo burger, 'r somethin'? Getting kinda hungry."

She lifted an appraising brow, then nodded. "Go ahead and take a twenty out of the cash box. Bring me back one, too, when you're done, eh?"

"Sure thing!" he replied, voice creaking on the last word. Trey snatched a bill from the stack and speedily left the booth, heading for the main floor.

Bleacher seats ringed the floor in two levels, a narrow walkway dividing them all the way around. He leaned on the railing separating the walkway from the lower rows of seats, scanning the floor for any sign of a sky-blue and silver dress. It didn't take him long to find it. The girl bounced and spun in the midst of the other dancers, lifting her fan in the air. Trey watched, mesmerised, eyes following her steps unerringly.

He didn't even realize the drums had stopped until the dancers started leaving the floor, his heart had been pounding so loudly. When the MC called out, "Inter-tribaaaaal!" Trey made an unconscious decision. He swung over the railing, scrambling down to the floor, until he was standing just in front and to the side of the Jingle Dress girl. Biting his lip in hesitation, he tilted his head questioningly toward the floor, where a mix of dancers and others from the audience were already shuffling in a left to right circle. Her eyes brightened, and she stepped up next to him.

Both Trey and she danced around the circle, around the drummers, along with the others. Occasionally, he'd introduce a few steps he remembered doing as a junior grass dancer. She laughed at the clumsy moves, though not unkindly, and he half-grinned gamely back, while mentally cursing growth spurts for messing with his style. Though distracted, he did notice that one of the jingle cones on the front of her dress wasn't a cone at all, but a silver thimble. She noticed the look, and winked. "Leap year dress," was all she offered in explanation.

All too soon, the drummers sounded the closing beats, and the intertribal was over. Trey and the girl looked at one another, and she snatched at his hand impetuously, yanking him close. Before he even realized what was happening, her lips were on his, pressing hard, unpracticed. He stared, and pressed back, realizing in that infinite instant that she was kissing him. *How do I... is this... my hands should be... bubblegum?!...* His eyes drifted closed, and he leaned toward her.

Then, she was gone. Quickly, he shuffled off the floor, running his tongue along his lips where the taste of her gloss remained. He felt a little woozy, but kept himself upright, managing to remember to grab a buffalo burger before returning to the frybread booth.

Trey's mother looked up as he parted the back curtain and slouched in. "How was your..." She paused, taking in his flushed, unsteady state, a slow, secret, yet every so slightly sad smile appearing. "... your burger?" she finished.

"Burger... yeah... uh. Burger was fine." He quirked a lazy, distracted, self-satisfied grin.

This was the best weekend of his life.

Quick as a whipcrack, his mother asked, "What was her name?"

His jaw dropped, voice coming out in tight, near noiseless exhalations. He hadn't asked. Trey was oblivious as his mother shook her head slightly in sympathetic amusement.

This was the worst weekend of his life.