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That wanting someone to be something they’re not won’t make it happen.”
“Yupik. Some are Athabascan, or Aleut.” Jonah makes a left turn. “The villages that we fly into are mostly Yupik communities.”
“You have cabs here?” Jonah snorts. “Plenty of those. More per capita than any other US city. Five bucks flat will get you anywhere you want to go in town. Seven to the airport.”
This is 100% true.
“Hey! You guys have a Subway!”
This is 100% true. There was a rumor of a Taco Bell going in but that turned out to be false. Taco Bell heard about how disappointed people were and flew in a taco truck.
I’m still cringing when I notice the ramshackle building next to it, a medley of ill-sized plywood boards and metal sheets and worn paint, and a wooden board slapped to the front that has SZECHUAN’S scrawled across it with, I’m guessing, a wide paintbrush. “Oh my God. Is that . . . a Chinese food restaurant?”
Oh, not only did it serve Chinese food, but every restaurant served several different food types. You could also get Mexican & Italian in one place.
because apparently in Alaska you can buy ATVs and boat motors at the grocery store—and
Yes, grocery stores sell practically EVERYTHING because if you needed something, the next big store was 400 miles away in Anchorage.
“You can’t. It’s a dry community. They don’t sell alcohol in Bangor.”
That was true of my village. Bootleggers made a lot of money selling cheap rot gut liquor.
“People really obsess about the weather around here.” “Why wouldn’t they? Strong winds, thick fog, too much rain or snow . . . any of it will ground us for hours, a day.
Your life really does revolve around the weather there. Every day life in the village isn't too affected. We still went to school and stayed home but traveling could mean waiting hours for the fog in Bethel to clear up so planes could fly. Even if your village was sunny. Grocery & mail deliveries could be delayed based on the weather easily.
“My kass’aq name. ‘Kass’aq’ is what we call white people.”
This is not a compliment.
“By being in his favorite place, high up in the sky, getting away from everything he’d lost down on the ground.”
“Life up here may be simple but it’s not easy, and it’s not for everyone. Water runs out; pipes freeze; engines won’t start; it’s dark for eighteen, nineteen hours a day, for months. Even longer in the far north. Up here it’s about having enough food to eat, and enough heat to stay alive through the winter.
A round of chuckles erupts, and I make a mental note to find out what a honey bucket is. Something tells me it has nothing to do with honey.
She's right, it doesn't.
I’ve spent the last twelve years dwelling on all the things Wren Fletcher isn’t. I should have had the guts to come and find out all the things he is.
“This is my last flight, kiddo,” he announces with grim certainty. He reaches over and takes my hand, and the smile on his face is oddly at peace. “And I can’t think of a better person to have spent it with.”
