The man said he'd been called all kinds of bad things. And, that "Cherokee" people grasp that and recycle the vibe. Called "something else" as voters on national TV, for example, he'd taken it in and considered it an honor.
Like the remaining Forest surrounding the storytellers in a world of bulldozing. An honor to experience the place, the gathering of people, all kinds, humans amongst trees not chopped down, not replaced. Honored. Honored by existing. Not an equality of existence, but existing nonetheless. Surviving through time. Enduring.
"I've seen the light."
"Did he try to convert cha honey?"
"The Rabbi?"
"Pull it in," the young woman in the cammo pants told the youth. Someone stirred the campfire. She'd stepped up onto the elusive "bridge" everyone was talking about in whispers. Someone made a cup of coffee for a woman who looked really young but already had grandchildren. She'd sat in her home for several days and been politiked. Her daughter was furious that she'd given away every last stitch of food and drink. Acting like a host. The daughter didn't spit, but made the sound.
Cars rolled into the alley of tents. Grown children made way to family and friends.
"I've seen D."
"What'd he say?"
"Not much. But I could tell, he's proud of us." The someday world class white man politician/diplomat looked at dark faces dancing in the firelight. "All of us."
"He seemed interested in everybody having their own story. Seems to think that's the truth about America," a blonde woman still in a rafting life vest also interpreted. "Did you go rafting?"
"Naw. But this makes me feel safe."
"How could you not feel safe? You run with all those patriots, don't you?"
People sat up straight. Covered flesh with towels and one man covered his groin area with a skillet.
The young woman in the cammo pants stepped closer to the fire so her voice would carry. "The bridge is all around us." Eyes widened and narrowed, looked around at the silent giant trees. "When we leave here each as ourselves, we make the bridges by walking them."
"We do," agreed a derby-wearing man. "We do," said a pair of youths sitting near him.
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