The girls basketball game is an away game about a hundred miles from here. My Dad is one of the coaches for the team and we are going with them. We don’t know what to expect on the overnight trip, so we are bringing our sleeping bags and stuff. Besides, Dad doesn’t like motel beds. He would rather sleep in his sleeping bag on top of the bed. We laugh at him.
We’re not taking any ghost hunting stuff to the game because it would definitely blow our cover. Right now nobody knows we hunt ghosts. And Dad wants to keep it that way.
We get about a half hour from home when the snow starts coming down, heavy. It’s an unusual time of the year for snow, unless you are in the mountains where we are.
There is still another fifty miles to go to the little town up north. But we are too far to turn back and just close enough to make it there before the snow gets too deep. Pulling over on the side of the road is out of the question on this road. If we slide off the edge, we will have to walk to town or stay in the car all night and risk freezing to death.
The snow is really dry and powdery. It’s so light and dry the van swishes it right off the road as we go by. This is so coolio (the coolest,) it falls silently, slowly. On the side of the road it’s already about four inches deep.
Finally we arrive at the motel just outside of town. When we get to the front desk we find out that all the rooms are taken.
Dad knocks on one of the team’s rooms. Edwin, one of the other coaches, answers the door and Dad explains our situation.
We don’t want to cram into one of the team rooms because they’re already crowded.
Edwin says, “There’s no room here. Why don’t you guys stay at the jail. You and the girls will be welcome there.”
“The jail,” I exclaim.
“They always have plenty of room,” Edwin adds.
After slyly looking in the room Dad replies, “I think that’s a good idea.”
Standing outside all this time while they talk, I am almost frozen. Foggy white air comes from my nose and mouth as I breathe. Finally, we get back in the warm van and drive on toward town.
Dad tells me that there will be trouble on the Reserve when we get back home. He was looking in the door of the room and saw beer, coaches, and some of the team.
I ask, “Are you going to tell?”
“No way, I won’t have to tell. The girls will tell without any encouragement from me.”
Dad warns, “Heather will have something to say to anyone who gets out of line. She protects everyone, but especially the young girls. Chester is there and he will try to keep things from getting out of hand. But, they say when Edwin has too much to drink, he becomes a different person, evil.”
Arriving at the north end of town, we park near the jail.
“We’ll be better off in the jail where we can’t get involved in this,” Dad mutters.
The building is rectangular with steel bars on the windows and doors. It stands alone, by itself, with vacant lots on either side.
The downtown district is full of businesses and stores. Rows of two-story buildings line Main Street going toward the center of town. It looks like a typical Midwest town with angled parking up and down the street and tall curbs along the sidewalks of the storefronts. Lights from the storefronts illuminate the snowy sidewalks.
Walking back to the car after taking Neewa for a run, I marvel at how busy the downtown area is.
A casino at the end of town has so many blinking and flashing lights it looks like Christmas in New York City. There are lots of fancy cars parked under the marquee out front, and people are coming and going through the revolving doors. You’d think they were giving something away.
Also within view are the souvenir shops the locals depend on for survival.
Various Indian Nation buildings such as the community center and several schools are also located in the opposite direction. One of them has a gym attached where the teams will be competing tomorrow.
Suddenly, I look up. Out of nowhere comes Edwin’s truck speeding down Main Street. In the front seat, next to him, are three girls waving at us as they go racing by. I wave back in dismay as the truck passes us out of control. I can see more girls in the back of the pickup sitting on thirty packs of beer they just picked up at the store.
Dad, exasperated, says, “It’s against the law to give alcohol to anyone under the legal drinking age. Some of those kids are fourteen. They are heading back to the motel I hope,” Dad says in disgust. “That is, if they don’t kill themselves before they get there.”