It was the last time they held ‘Pioneer Days’. The old town square downtown was packed. They labeled it an ‘historic district’ but since that day, it has been historic if a business could last two years there.
They blamed old Mr Kingbird for the curse. On the final day, he walked on the stage. The marching band noticed him first – the drums and horns died to an awkward stop. Mr Kingbird was in full Native American warrior dress – red and white face paint, beads dangled from his neck, feathers hung from his belt. I didn’t recognize him at first.
Once he had everyone’s attention, he leaned into the microphone: “You are here to celebrate this town. You enjoy this land. But I want to remind you of who you took it from. It was my ancestor’s land.”
“Look at you! Who wouldn’t want you out of here!” Yelled Mr Rose. “Go away!”
The mayor ran to the microphone and pulled it away from Mr Kingbird. He muttered something to him. Mr Kingbird started to chant. The mayor jestered to the band and they started playing again.
For a day, things were normal. Then, Mr Kingbird died. But he still walks the town square reminding us.
Copyright © 2015 E.F. Olsson. All rights reserved.
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