Annie and I

When Annie moved, she moved softly and deliberately, whether it be in her reach or with her breath to speak or lips to draw smoke in from a cigarette. She was two inches taller than my six feet, half inch. She had a soft smile and was adopted as was her brother of no blood relation.

She was one hundered percent American Indian — and oil well mechanic. Amy would wash her hair after work each night just to rid the oily grime from her hands. I never learned from which tribe, although I knew which oil company.

If we went out together, when she exited a women’s public restroom another woman would sometimes glare at her soley because of her stature and outward appearance. I didn’t want to see her in this way. She never could laugh off the sour stares; instead she would holler something back in kind confrontation. Then she would quickly feel satifisfied and move on like nothing happened.

Annie was a good daughter to her adoptive parents, especially in their old age. She often would tell me she knew they loved her dearly, and I could tell this by listening to her conversations with them on the phone. Her adoptive father was a tailor. She thought it was interesting to learn from him that he always had to ask gentlemen he fit whether they wore “it” on the left or on the right. She was proud to share this bit of tailoring knowledge with anyone.

And Annie always hated a driver’s rudely applied horn, and I could count on her to give a yell, and “The horn blows, does the driver?” At which point, I would quickly drop my head and stare at the ground, half embarrassed. She called me her soul mate. “Oh?”, I would say, half understanding. I always felt she meant this, though she had one or two others physically closer.

Twenty-five years later I realized she may have been the best roommate he ever had, and I had many during and after college.

Annie was the person who taught me, “Happiness is not having what you want, but wanting what you have.” I do not remember if she shared this with me, or if I shared it with her. But one of us shared their knowledge of American Indian culture and how much it values persons born on the fringes of society. Their culture believes God saves a special place for those persons.

I hope it was me.

Thank you Annie.