What do You Know Eleanor?

Naomi’s closed eyes and deep breath did nothing to calm the raging piranhas in her stomach that had devoured those wussy butterflies long ago. Her hand trembled as she reached out for the door, but only reached so far as to hover a few inches from the worn brass knob. She had made the wrong choice. She should have gone to the other get together and have declined this one. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now she faced the consequences for flowing her stupid instincts – again.

Or was it Eleanor’s fault?

Do one thing each day that you fear. That’s what Eleanor said.

It wasn’t too late. Naomi could turn and flee before anyone knew she was there. Not that they cared. Not that they ever had. She turned in an awkward motion due to the high heels she had borrowed from her cousin. Just as she took that first tentative stop down the staircase that appeared to be built like enormous chasms, a voice mocked her. Just like always.

“Why if it isn’t Naomi? I didn’t realize you were invited or that you would be coming. I mean, this is like, so unlike your scene.” Meaning popular, fun and full of friends. Amanda was clad in her usual too-tight pantsuit with her body rolls undulating under the institutional beige linen. Her sneering smile matched the smile creases along the crotch area where the material strained under trying to cover her immense hips. Naomi prayed an earthquake would shake and tear the ground underneath her and suck her deep into a void where you never had to hear the high pitch of phoniness.

“Well, stupid, are you just going to stand there?” Amanda wrinkled her nose in disgust as she brushed past Naomi pushing that bulk of hers against Naomi’s small figure, and opened the door to the restaurant where the girls had gathered for the big birthday bash.

Naomi had not really been invited, but because some well-meaning but misinformed optimist, who was too new to the office protocol, insisted everyone in the department should come. Naomi’s name got tacked on the email like a hasty addition of yeast infection medication tossed into the overnight bag while packing for a getaway weekend.

Naomi trudged thought the door following Amanda who didn’t care if she was behind her anyways. The hostess talked to Amanda in that universal sisterhood Valley Girl way that meant ‘we menstruate therefore we bond,’ symbolic as the sisterhood of the vagina. The beanpole thin brunette hostess was so peppy and cheerful with Amanda while she indicated where the party room was and how everyone was waiting for her. Amanda squealed her thanks ever so much then hauled her big assed twins, fighting for limited pant space, thumping down the hall in a little girl bounce.

Turning her eyes toward Naomi, the hostess met her with a look of ‘you certainly aren’t part of this cool girls’ bash so you must want a job but we don’t need any dishwashers right now.’ Naomi tried to be hip and with it but it sounded tired and forced. The hostess said sure go ahead as she simply jerked her thumb and her condescending eyes held the unspoken but very clear ‘make an ass of yourself when you get to the party room because you don’t belong here.’

You don’t belong anywhere.

Naomi knew she wasn’t wanted here. But she had promised herself to do just what Eleanor Roosevelt had advised somewhere, sometime: do one thing that you fear each day. So Naomi promised herself to follow such a wise woman’s advice and take new risks, to open herself up to new possibilities and put herself out there. Only she never seemed to get the directions right as to where exactly ‘there’ was and how to get ‘there’ – you can’t get ‘there’ from here. She circled on the periphery of inclusiveness and always seemed to miss the runway.

Her steps to the room were too slow and too deliberate to allow her to enter under the guise of arriving behind Amanda, then slink to some seat where no one noticed her. Or more than likely she knew that there would be no seat for her and she would have to stand against the wall pretending that was ok. Or wait in vain for someone to point her to a chair. It was just like being in the cafeteria in high school. No one cared there either and taking that risk never once paid off as every lonely sandwich could attest to.

Why had she not gone to the rarest of the rarest; the invitation to an event at the very same time? When it rains it pours and it pours humiliation. That’s why.

This had seemed the safest bet with the least amount of embarrassment.

Naomi knew only too well that the other invitation, which had been intended, came attached to a molasses-sticky agenda. She was wanted but only as a form of ultra cheap entertainment, a few laughs and a dire warning. She would be the poster child for things as they were not meant to be. It was like going to a bar to meet new friends and just hang out. You didn’t expect the world, but at least hoped for some reward for putting yourself out there. Maybe just maybe, someone would at least talk to her. The odds never worked in her favour. Guys would take a harried glance at her and then fold their faces up into tight folds of disgust. They would be so repulsed by her daring to talk to them, and no matter how drunk they were they would be so repulsed as to mimic dry heaves and tell her she was not their type. After only five seconds? How would they even know so soon? They wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole but stick around in case I get really desperate and there is no one else of their kind around at the end of the night. Yeah right!

Naomi knew that the other outing was a chance to get in touch with yourself and connect with your sisters. That’s what real First Nations women did. That’s why Donna had insisted Naomi come, for this would be the perfect example of see what happens when you turn your back on your own and dip your toes in the other? Naomi’s heart beat with lead-weight thuds while she assessed her fate and her decision. Just like years ago when she had to stand in front of the tighty-whitey class where all the snarky faced smiles stoned her with contempt. Stares ripped through her flesh, exposing her raw wounds of a battle weary soul. She was no one. She had no home and well what made her think she would ever really be a part of this world?

She didn’t belong anywhere.

She was too pale for some, too dark for others; too ethnic for some, too familiar for others. Her life was a mish-mash of identities that failed to resonate with anyone; she disappointed everyone with her existence.

Even her white mother and Native father could not figure out what to do with their rum-soaked conception result. Her father’s community had no place for an apple, so they sent her away. She would always be a mere cultural rapist who only selected and carried on the traditions when it was convenient. But her mother’s community took one look and determined that Naomi needed some bleaching. They wanted to peel her to expose the whiteness but never really expected her to fit in. She would never really be one of us, civilized and cultured. She was a ‘them.’ Neither world wanted her and growing up residential was to grow up without a residence or an identity. Except for the other.

She was always the other.

Naomi’s next move scared no one or even raised an eyebrow. She started running in those heels, faster than she ever thought she could while she filled her lungs with deep breaths of air that pushed on the boundaries of her fears. She broke out and broke through. Naomi hurled herself through the glass window along the hallway of the restaurant, which was rather flimsy and smashed easily. Shards of glass slashed at her body, releasing the years of pain and sadness. It felt like being under hundreds of sharp razor blades and the ultimate slashing high. Blood flowed from her face and her scarred arms radiating in all directions like an aura of a crimson soul. This time there was no one to take her contraband weapon and beat her for cutting herself.

She floated high above the pain, the hatred, the stupid girly party. Each drop of blood she lost raised her higher and higher; she kicked off those stupid shoes and felt the refreshing air tickle her feet. The voices echoing ‘dirty Indian’ and ‘filthy savage’ grew more and more faint the higher she soared. Naomi wasn’t sure if her drops of blood rained down on the ignorant masses, but it didn’t matter. My soul can be any colour that I damn well choose; colour is no longer assigned to me or taken away from me. It was great up here where there was no ‘us’ no ‘them’ and no one standing ready with a label-maker.

She floated until she was certain she recognized a woman who had advised about facing your fears. Remember to face your fears! That which does not kill us makes us stronger! She had to look twice to be sure but she knew that face, it was her alright. That self-righteous woman wagged a finger, admonishing Naomi for tossing away the precious gift of life. How dare she when there was so much to live for and she had so many people who loved her? Didn’t she know that? Didn’t she care about what this would do to those left behind?

Naomi floated on by, her middle finger of her right hand extended and standing straight up proud and red.

What in the fuck do you know, Eleanor?