Millie reached for a record, it was Glen Miller and his orchestra. She hadn’t danced to his music since she was a 20-year-old and volunteered at the USO in San Francisco. She remembered a particular day when a tall sailor came through the door.

She watched him from the other side of the room. He was hands down the most handsome man she had ever seen. She felt her heartbeat speed up. He was coming across the room looking at her with his bright blue eyes. There was a hint of a teasing nature in his glance.

She smoothed down her new skirt. She hoped he liked it. She had made it herself with a pattern from Simplicity, the latest style was the claim on the envelope.

“Hello,” the sailor said, “I’m Bud McAllister.”

Milly stammered, her tongue wouldn’t cooperate, “I’m.” Was all she could get out.

“You’re Milly aren’t you.”

How does he know my name? Her face reddened as she remembered she had on a name tag.

“Okay, Milly, I will just call you Adorable.”

Christine Howard

*****

He was an elder, Hopi antelope clan specifically, according to the beaded pattern of the sash hanging from his headband. Been many years since I heard grandpa claim he was the first white-eye allowed to photograph the people perform their sacred snake dance. No one had ever challenged that story. Was not wise to challenge grandpa’s stories, whether family or not! I’d seen the prints, they’d been beaten-up old, the dancers carried all the right symbols; same as before me now. Only black and white photos, but one might imagine the colors, and their shades seemed to ring true. This was an experience, talking with the elder. But that damn rattle snake he held “too close by” was not at all adorable! Elder searched my face then his gaze locked on my eye. He spoke, “You look like Hiram.” One of the names grandpa went by. Then he added, “Your grandpa was a Yei-Ba-Chei* — and a friend.”

* Am continuing research on this term to independently corroborate its origin and meaning.
Aunt Edna, father (Lloyd), cousin Shirley, and grandpa Ed often labeled my younger brother and I this before we graduated eighth grade. Years later when we asked what it meant they all replied, “acting like one of the mischievous Kachinas.”

Donavin Leckenbey