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Sara Littlecrow-Russell Anishinaabe/Han Escape from the Rez on a Saturday Night You sit across from me in your Tommy Hilfiger half shirt and your great-grandma’s beaded barrette. “This sucks, there’s nothing to do.” Your lipstick sticky mouth takes a last drag off your stolen cigarette, as you get up to dance. Skin-tight bellbottoms strain against the muscles of your Iroquois Smoke Dancer’s legs— 10,000-year-old rhythm collides with hardcore hip-hop thunder as you dance hard to make your place in a world that does not welcome you as an Indian, but as a delectable twelve-year-old girl. All night I’ve been watching the dopeman as he watches you, waiting for you to realize the Rez is too boring and you just want something happenin’ around here. 137 ...

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