This White Man Is Sorry
by m.s.wardrip
Standing in the gift shop above the cavern entrance, Bill Fibonacci has his hands folded behind his back as he looked at books on the shelf. “Indian Train Robberies”, “Wild Bill’s Circus”, “Geronimo Spirit”, The Savage West”, etc., etc. Bill wore his Bill Blass felt jacket and suede fedora. The matching L.L. Bean canvas duck hiking trousers and TopGear Alpine Hiking boots completed the ensemble. Bill was genuine explorer. He looked at the little plastic dinosaurs, the little shiny rocks, the big chunks of Quartz rocks, the wood, plastic and vinyl tomahawks, the plastic spears with feathers, the little wagon train Conestoga wagon scale models, the T-Shirts, the jewelry, the posters, the baskets, bottles, souvenirs, knick-knacks, and assorted Native American items.
Bill pondered as he browsed the little store. He knew he wanted to purchase something besides the tickets to the cave. His wife Sherrie was picking through the jacket and sweatshirt rack. Bill turned and saw this and knew from experience that she was on vacation and was going to buy one for every man, woman and child in their immediate family. The anticipated purchase was not a mystery anymore. Bill studied a statue of a tribal warrior, a statuette of a basket weaving woman, and several carved howling wolves. In his mind he kept reminding himself of the massacres the white man in the 1800’s performed. He was so upset to see a movie once upon a time titled “Soldier Blue” about the Indian massacres. Bill had left the theater in disgust of what he saw the white man depicting. Bill was ill from it. He pondered the destruction of the Native Americans, the guilt he must share, the shame he must surly bear as a white man descended from murderers. Bill almost teared up but his wife Sherrie called him over saying, “What do you think? Will they like these shirts?” Bill did a quick calculation and replied to his wife, “For $300, they’d better like them.” She was not impressed with his math but she did like all ten “Indian Cavern Hoodies.” Bill was almost overwhelmed with emotion he felt for the obviously red skinned, chiseled nose, long jet black haired, dark brown eyed Native American man standing behind the gift shop counter.
This is a modern day story of a white man in the red man’s marketplace. Bill knows, or thinks he knows, that the stoic figure resents him, hates him, is racist towards him and really does not want him or any other white person there. Bill is convinced that the red man hides the fact that he doesn’t really want him there. Bill approaches the counter where his wife has stacked the sweatshirts.
“We would like to buy two tickets for the cavern tour and these sweatshirts.”, Bill plainly explained in his Northern Ohio accent. He hid all emotion and mustered up the courage to apologize to the Indian standing behind the counter.
“Sure.”, Said the Indian.
Bill put his hands in his jacket pockets and slightly leaned back his head on the wool collar of his jacket, getting comfortable and secure in what he was about to say.
“I’m a white man and I just want to personally apologize for my ancestors and their role in destroying the Native Americans. I’m sorry. This white man is sorry.”, Bill belted out in one long breath. His wife looked at him like he was crazy. She shook her head in disbelief.
The red man looked Bill square in the eye and said, “Destroyed? I’m not destroyed. I’m still here.”
Bill said, “But you must hate us for what we did to you.”
The red man smiled and said, “You have done nothing to me. The cavern tickets are $5 with your senior discount and the hoodies are on sale today for only $10. That will be $110 dollars. The tax is included. You just saved over $200.” and he smiled again.
Bill was forever changed and this white man was sorry.
