Chapter 1 #3
“Fair,” Diego interjected, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry for my catastrophizing. It’s just… look at the state of climate change and the global resistance to policy change.” He gestured around in the air to underscore his distressed point.
“I know. Believe me, I get the anxiety. None of the original founders would have ever thought the organization would be where it is now, especially during all of those late-night study groups at the library. We were a little delirious then, working until 3am on case briefs and moot court prep. It was our pipedream to get us through exams.” She laughed.
“It’s a powerful organization, Rowan.” Diego’s somber tone brought her self-deprecation back to a minimum.
“Thank you.” She scratched the back of her neck, her nervous tick. “Stepping away was not something I ever imagined I would do. I guess everyone else thought that too. My decision was met with a lot of shock and disbelief from other leadership and staff.”
“You’re staying on in some capacity, though. Right?”
“I’ll be on the board. Just shifting my leadership involvement to a different capacity.”
“So then what’s next? It must be something phenomenal to tear you away.”
“I’m actually headed back home to work for my Tribe as a senior environmental advisor. And I need to spend some time taking care of my dad.”
The last time she visited, which she knew was already too long ago, she was unprepared to see how much a lifetime of manual labor had really taken a toll on his body.
Rowan made a very comfortable living and transferred money to his account monthly, despite Victor’s constant protesting.
But she felt responsible for taking care of him more directly, and she wanted to.
She also wanted to spend more quality time with him, at home and on the river and on the bay like she did as a kid.
She felt like she needed to switch gears for a while and get back to her roots – there was something missing she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
She also couldn’t remember the last time she was able to freely walk outside and onto some naturally occurring grass.
She enjoyed her time in the city with all of its access to intellectual pursuits and opportunities for meeting interesting people, but the reality of city life was beginning to gnaw at her, especially for someone who practically grew up outdoors.
After resisting it for the last year, she could no longer deny the tug she felt back home.
“Well, I wish you the best of luck, and I understand that. My in-laws recently moved in with my wife and I for similar reasons, and we’ve been adjusting to how that works,” Diego disclosed with a you-know-how-that-goes look.
“You’re more than welcome to come out for a visit, when you need a break.
I’d love to have you. Maybe we could even do a segment sometime.
There’s so much good work going on out there now.
It could be an opportunity to show viewers a different view of modern Indigenous ingenuity that’s never represented on national television,” Rowan offered.
“I’m going to have to take you up on that — let’s keep in touch. We’re not going to let you go that easily. Ratings are too good for that,” Diego joked as he extended his hand to Rowan.
Rowan shook it firmly with a self-conscious smile, turned back towards the exit of the studio, and transitioned happily into the bright natural light pouring over the high-rises of midtown Manhattan.
Even with the chill in the air, she loosened her black tie and unbuttoned the top button of her crisp, white shirt collar.
She couldn’t wait to cross the bridge back into Brooklyn, to her mostly packed-up apartment in Cobble Hill, where her first order of business would be to change out of her suit and into her old high school basketball team shorts.
Some things never change, even fifteen years later.
The shorts were hanging on by a thread though.
Before descending the stairs to catch the F train, she opened her phone to check for any missed messages or emails.
Multiple social media notifications popped up, and she swiped those away without looking.
So many notifications that she couldn’t care less about.
They were just a byproduct of having a semi-public persona, something she already felt weird about.
She didn’t want to live life in the public eye but also acknowledged how important it was to tell the story of the work being done.
A very conflicting reality, especially for such a private person.
Then she noticed an email from the Tribal administration’s office.
Dear Rowan,
We’re excited to have you back with us in the community next week and have you join the Administration as our new senior environmental advisor.
As you know you’ll be working directly within the Chairwoman’s office to advise our executive branch of government on environmental policies and engage in consultation with the federal government on land management.
We also thought it would be beneficial for you to start meeting with some program coordinators who are working in areas related to yours.
That way you can get a better idea of the work already going on.
There is one new program just starting up we think you can play a more instrumental role in too.
We can discuss the scheduling more next week once you get set up.
In the meantime, you can meet me at my office at 9am on Monday.
Talk soon,
Theo Tyler, Special Assistant to the Chairwoman
Rowan exhaled with excitement, and a slight nervousness, at the thought of getting to be hands-on right away with some of the programs her Tribe was currently running or getting off the ground.
She hoped she was making the right decision.
After the conversation with Diego and all the others at Climate Justice Collective over the last few weeks, she knew how much she was giving up to make this transition.
The last time she’d made such a huge transition like this, the transition of moving out of her community at eighteen, she hadn’t done it in the right way.
She wanted the transition out of her current life and into her new life to be much different this time.
She paused on the first stair platform before moving underground and losing cell service. She shuffled to the side to prevent a traffic block. After eleven years of living in New York City, she knew that was cardinal sin #1 when it came to the Subway.
She swiped closed her Gmail app and opened up Instagram in its place.
Her finger hovered over the magnifying glass icon at the bottom before blowing out a breath and tapping it.
She tapped the search bar at the top of the new tab.
Just below popped up her most recent search: @JuniperBanks.
Her thumb tapped the edge of her phone in rapid succession while she debated clicking the name again.
Fuck it. She tapped it. She wasn’t sure why she expected her profile to not be private this time.
How many times had she checked it in the last six months while she contemplated moving home?
An uncountable, immeasurable amount of times?
She sighed at herself, but not before tracing her finger across the tiny image of Juniper smiling brightly, her long coffee-colored hair tied into a loose braid swept over the front of her right shoulder as she proudly held up three cornstalks under her chin.
What have you been up to, Juniper Banks?
Her heart momentarily, involuntarily ached. She swiped the app closed, dropped the phone back into her pocket, and descended the remaining stairs.