"What are you?"

Soon after moving to the reservation, I found myself in the public school as one of the only white kids at Harrah Elementary. Most of the kids were native though there were also many Mexican kids. Myra was one of the first people who was able to overlook the color of my skin and the twang in my speech and see me as someone who just needed a friend. I don't know what ever happened to Myra, she moved away after a while, but she was a comfort to me when I felt utterly abandoned. It's only now that I look back that I realize how blessed I was to have her as a friend.

This is a conversation I once had with Myra after being friends for quite some time. We were waiting in line at the cafeteria:

"What are you?" She asked, studying me from head to toe.

"What do you mean?"

"What are you?" She repeated, enunciating each word as if I had been unable to comprehend the question rather than unable to understand its meaning. She saw my confusion and pointed to herself, "I'm Mexican, you're...." She gestured to me as she waited for me to fill in the blank. 

I'd stared at her for some time, not sure what she wanted me to say, the answer was so obvious I wondered that she would ask me rather than just use her eyes, "...white." I'd answered. Surely she knew that, I've never been one to get a good tan and my pale skin made me stick out like a sore thumb then just as much as I do now. 

She wasn't satisfied, "No, really, what are you? You're not Mexican."

I shook my head in confirmation, " I'm not Mexican." 

"But you don't look full Native." 

I shook my head again, "I'm not Native."

"Yeah, not full. What else are you?"

"I'm white."

"Native and white?"

"No, just white."

Myra, sassy as she was, made a clicking sound by snapping her tongue off the roof of her mouth, "Morgaaaan!" Her tone made it clear she thought I was teasing her.

"What?" I asked innocently.

"You're not white, you don't act it."

"I'm... Alabamian?" I'd shrug.

She'd laugh when I said that and I'd laugh too even though I didn't get the joke. I still don't. Was it the southern accent that made it sound funny? I'll never know.

I don't find the story funny because Myra thought I was Native nor is it funny because she thought I was lying when I persisted in saying that I was white. It's funny because today, I'm the one asking the question. It's funny because today, I'm the one who doesn't feel white. It's funny because, ten years later, I'm the one asking, "what am I?"