Little Tribe 1973

Ten houses up our street, then down an embankment filled with trees and brambles, was the secret meeting place. Dawn, who lived next door to me, led me there on a spring day, near the end of fifth grade. I didn’t know much about the world, but I knew I loved the thought of adventure, so I willingly followed.

Dawn and her family had moved into the little green house next door to mine before the school year began. I thought her family was exotic because they had moved to my little town in Indiana from Boston, and they were second generation Italian. In my corner of America, people spoke in a straight Midwestern accent and the population was mostly of German descent. Dawn's tall, dark haired older brother was the heartthrob of the neighborhood. Her Dad was an early 1970s incarnation of a modern-day technophobe. At their home, I saw my first microwave, played with my first calculator and watched the debut of MTV.

Dawn and I walked to school together, giggled until we couldn't breathe at frequent sleepovers and shared our magical-minded imaginations as we played in our spacious backyards and roamed the sidewalks of our neighborhood. We had never been down to the creek's edge. I was terribly excited to go there.

While picking our way through thorns and spider webs, I listened to the sound of the rushing water. My quickening pulse made me light-headed and chatty, but Dawn shushed me. The tribe wouldn’t let us in if we didn’t understand how to be quiet, she told me.

Down near the creek bank, one of the older neighborhood girls, Kim (the daughter of our high-school principal), welcomed us. There were five or so other kids there, but I didn’t recognize them all. Some of the girls wore twisted flowering weeds around their necks and arms, and had placed dandelions in their barrettes.

Kim told us the rules of the tribe. After swearing never to tell, I had to decide whether I wanted to be a Blood Brother or a Spit Sister. Blood Brothers pricked their fingers and mingled the tiny spot of blood with another. Spit Sisters spit on theirs, then touched another persons spit soaked finger. I already knew that I was born destined for Spit Sisterhood. It was an easy process.

To my surprise, my friend Dawn chose to become a Blood Brother. Kim held the flame of a lighter to the tip of a needle, then wiped the needle with the hem of her shirt. Dawn closed her eyes while Kim jabbed her index finger. Another girl got a jab too, then pressed her finger to Dawn's.

We spent the afternoon making more flower jewelry, Dawn let me wear all the creations she made. I didn’t have a barrette in my short hair, so I tied together dandelions to make a crown. It was an idyllic few hours. We were all very quiet and happy; consumed by the work.

When Kim announced that the meeting was over, everyone took off the flower jewelry and tossed it into the creek. I didn’t want to part with my dandelion crown, but I followed the rules. Before we left, every Blood Brother had to kiss a Spit Sister through a leaf. Kim oversaw this ritual, carefully holding a leaf between the lips of each pair. Dawn and I were the last to do it. I was glad she wasn’t a Spit Sister too, since I didn’t know the other girls who called themselves Blood Brothers very well. I didn't have any interest in kissing those other girls, even with a leaf between our lips.

I never returned to the little tribe beside the creek. Although it was beautiful and adventurous in its way, I felt like I didn’t belong there. I couldn't place my finger on just why I felt like it wasn't for me. I spent the rest of the summer at the community pool, or riding my bike to and from gymnastics camp. I don’t know if Dawn went back. I never asked her.

But I really think she did.