The Shield of Anastasia - Archival Reproduction 24” x 24” $187 CDN
Apparently, his yellow, red, black and white circle was made-up by a white man in 1972, the son of a German immigrant…a fraud. And it had nothing to do with native culture. “It’s as Indian as the word Indian”, she said. Even the name, ‘medicine wheel’, was made up by white people in Wyoming.
“I think I’m white”, he mumbled, looking down. He was only 8 and Annie was 16. They were sitting alone on the swings outside his elementary school. She always stopped there to smoke a cigarette on her way home.
They were quiet for a while, making little piles of dirt at their feet. He wondered if she thought his tanned skin and dark hair meant that he was Cree, too.
Eventually, she tapped her hands on her pointy knees and said, “come here”. So he stood up and faced her. She squeezed his shoulders and leveled her eyes with his. She smelled like chamomile and campfire.
“There are a lot of things we don’t choose”, she told him. “We don’t choose our parents, or where we’re born or what kind of skin we’re wrapped in. And kids don’t have a say in what the adults do. But you do get to choose what you focus on. So focus on making beautiful things. Little and big. Every day. And never be ashamed of who you are or what you love. That’s your truth. Just live it.”
He said “Ok”, trying hard to look at her as earnestly as she was looking at him.
“You’re a miracle”, she smiled. “Don’t let anyone ruin your mind with poison. Miracles need the best fuel.”
Annie took his drawing and stuffed it back in his pocket and held his face with both hands: “Everyone you will ever love is going to die and we have no idea when. So don’t throw your time away wishing things were different”.
She wiped the single tear that overflowed from his eye with her thumb. “I’m sorry I got pissed about your medicine wheel”, she said. “It’s just tough being down here. It’s tough when people take everything away from you and give you back some made-up shit to take its place”. She kind of smoldered when she spoke, like Marlon Brando.
That day, Anastasia kissed his first black eye. And that night in the group home on 57th street, she helped him draw a shield in the sketchbook he kept under his pillow. It had arrows because she said our choices are like arrows that always hit the bullseye, whether we want them to or not.
“Every pull is a perfect shot”
-Oliver William Ray