Sky Dance
by Amanda Cross

It wasn't the first time I'd heard the drum. I'd heard my father beat one once for a tape he'd made. I remembered the tape because his Seneca lullaby was on it and the beat was similar to that. But this drum was much bigger than the one my father had used, and many people were beating it. This was my first pow-wow.

"They're just warming up, Seahdom." Daddy said.

I didn't answer him. The men and boys were starting to come out now. I sat down near the door they were coming from. I looked around at all the people in their Indian finery. I wanted to remember this first pow-wow.

Chairs lined the room on every side. It reminded me of my sister's school cafeteria, but Daddy said it was more of a banquet hall (whatever a banquet hall was supposed to be). The wooden floor vibrated underneath me as the dancers began to get loosened up.

They were marvelous! One man, the tallest, with long gray hair in two braids like my own, wore a headdress. I recognized porcupine quills and eagle feathers. I didn't know how precious that headdress was; I just knew it was beautiful. The man's feet were in moccasins. It surprised me that no bead work flashed off them as he danced. He wore leather (buckskin) pants and shirt, but his cape, which hung to his ankles, covered most of that. The bead work and quills on the cape made up for the bare moccasins.

He was Dignity. His high, thick cheekbones covered with brown wrinkled skin radiated it. His wide, slightly tilted eyes projected dignity. He stood taller than any man I'd ever seen. I stared at this man in awe. He paused in his dancing for a moment and looked toward me. I felt my cheeks grow hot when his eyes met mine. I knew better than to stare. I lowered my head but couldn't drop my eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched, but he did not smile. His eyes changed their tone. He resumed his dancing. I knew he was a great man; I knew it!

The drum beat in my ear-loud, clear. The drummers sang in language I didn't understand. I watched the boys dance. Some wore masks of birds, other boys wore masks of spirits, still others wore no masks at all. The boys weren't frightening even in the dim light with the masks over their faces. Some boys had capes that covered their bodies, and they all had lots of scarves tucked into their belts, which formed skirts around their legs.

Dancers twirled and stomped in rhythm with the music. Spirits, too, danced about the great hall, visiting the pow-wow. The energy flowing through the room was so overwhelmingly strong that I could almost see it, almost taste it.

The drumbeats changed, getting slower and more relaxed. People who had been sitting outside the circle of dancers went in to dance with them. These people had on fancy dresses or shawls covered with bead work and tassels. I envied them. I noticed a little girl my age joining the group. She danced by the important man. The man moved his finger at her and she moved out of the circle. For a minute she turned her head from side to side, surveying the room. I hoped she'd see me. When she did I almost wished she hadn't. Here she came, right toward me.

She now stood before me. I felt plain next to her. She had on a buckskin dress with bead work. A pattern of red flowers and green leaves shone around the neckline of her dress. She had moccasins with a pretty blue bead design. I didn't have moccasins. I didn't have a fancy dress. She had on a blue shawl that matched the color of the design on her moccasins. Her hair was black--braided in two braids like mine--and her eyes were wide and dark. She had the same face as the great man, only softer.

She smiled at me. I smiled back. She held out her hand and I reached for it slowly. She took it, then led me into the circle. She unwrapped her shawl from her shoulders. She gave me half of her shawl, wrapping both of us in it.

"I have no idea how to dance!" I thought, scared. But then moved into step beside her.

I don't remember how I danced. I couldn't show Daddy later. But I remember feeling like I twirled up into the sky; unaware of the movements of my body, just letting my whole body pulse to the beat of the drum. I felt like I was everyone in the room, and everyone in the room was me.

Daddy said we danced for four hours. I don't remember how long. I don't remember seeing anything after moving into the circle. I just remember soaring. I'd never felt like I was soaring before; maybe I never will again. Perhaps it was because I was young. Then again, maybe it wasn't. Now whenever I hear a drum, a part of me remembers flying.

Amanda Cross, 14, Columbia Talented and Gifted Center, Portland.
Tobi Piatek, teacher.

Source: Treasures 3: Stories & Art from Students in Japan & Oregon [Orders]

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