Strike A Match

Two weeks ago Angelique, Nadalene, Nathan and I went to Grand Forks.   Nathan and I were in the book section (surprise, surprise) of a store and I picked up a little gem.

The book prompts you with a sentence and you write a little fiction how you see fit.

I'm hoping that you will strike a match with me as I toss out the prompt.   The prompt will be in itallics.  

A life-long bigot changes his way of thinking after a single illuminating experience.

I had never been in this town before and no matter how good I usually am with maps, I knew I was lost.  I pulled over on 9th Street to get my bearings and to grab a sandwich at their local Timmies.

Seriously I am not in the restaurant for more than 40 minutes when I see protestors out the window.  Shit the road is blocked, I will not be able to move forward, nor will I be able to go backward.  I guess I will just have to stay cool and watch the protest from my seat, so I may as well get another double double coffee.

For Christ’s sake, wouldn’t you know it!  God damn Indians.  What do they want me to give them now?

I feel like getting in my car and running right through them, I’m sure I could end that protest chop chop.  It would be my own Custard’s last stand.  Ha ha.

Well, I hope they are happy, that little parade has set me back over three hours and I absolutely hate driving in the dark.

For shit sake, I just had those tires checked.  Nice, now I have to change it in the dark and I can barely see.  Bloody Indians.

Speaking of Indians, shit here come a couple now.

‘Evening.’

I nod.

‘Do you need any help?’

I am shocked, since when do they help Chinese people.

‘We can help you push the car closer to the house and you can come have dinner with us if you would like.  Oh by the way I am Pete and this is my son Derk.’

I’m Frank.  I am already late for an appointment, so I will just get this fixed and be on my way.

They will probably try to scalp me the minute I walk in the door.  No thanks.

Instead of going in to their dinner, they give me a hand and talk about the protest Derk had attended earlier that day.

I thank them and drive off.

I keep trying to see where they fit in my image of all things Indian.  Granted, I have never talked to an Indian, I think they prefer Aboriginal.  These Aboriginals seem so different from my entrenched picture.  For one they weren’t drunk.  In reality it was as if they were like everyone else I know.  I know that can’t be right.  It must be just because I am tired.

It has been over two months since I made that trip, but I can’t believe how it has changed me.  I was so afraid of someone I had never talked to before.  So afraid because I was taught to be afraid.  I am not afraid anymore.

Holy crap guys, this was harder than I thought.  I actually had to think.  I hope some of you will try it.

xoxoxoxoxo