Jim Greene — 1985 History Lies

Once inside the library, Jim scoots around the intricate wood carved pillars and heads straight to the card file. On a slip of white paper, small as the fortune inside a cookie, he scribbles down call numbers for books on native history. He wanders over to the shelves, but before he can select a book, or even read the titles, a large volume topples, falling open at his feet. Jim kneels beside the book.

The pages turn, blown by an imperceptible wind. They crackle like fall leaves. The scent of campfires and moist earth rising from their pages smells of life and decay, loss and memory.

“Like you, I used to think the Algonquians were a tribe, but Speakers of Algonquian languages stretched up the east coast of North America all the way to the Rocky Mountains.” Ryan whispers. He is glad to talk to someone who will listen. He knows that Jim with his questing soul cannot help but hear him, loud as an answer