“She's the Sandwhich Lady.""Excuse me?""She delivers sandwiches to the homeless.""Really. I can't imagine her in such a role.""What do you mean?" "Well, she always seems so impulsive, so emotional. What's the word I'm searching for? So individualistic. Not tribal at all...”

“I mean, why are you trying so hard to impress me? I'm really sorry your mother died, but it doesn't mean much to me...”

“Maria was staring at me like I was wearing purple socks. ‘Wow,” she said. “That’s exactly what music is.’ And then she started crying again. But this time, she wept quietly. ‘You understand,” she said. 'You really understand.”

“The white woman across the aisle from me says 'Look, look at all the history, that houseon the hill there is over two hundred years old, 'as she points out the window past meinto what she has been taught. I have learnedlittle more about American history during my few daysback East than what I expected and far lessof what we should all know of the tribal storieswhose architecture is 15,000 years olderthan the corners of the house that sitsmuseumed on the hill. 'Walden Pond, 'the woman on the train asks, 'Did you see Walden Pond? 'and I don't have a cruel enough heart to breakher own by telling her there are five Walden Pondson my little reservation out Westand at least a hundred more surrounding Spokane, the city I pretended to call my home. 'Listen, 'I could have told her. 'I don't give a shitabout Walden. I know the Indians were living storiesaround that pond before Walden's grandparents were bornand before his grandparents' grandparents were born.I'm tired of hearing about Don-fucking-Henley saving it, too, because that's redundant. If Don Henley's brothers and sistersand mothers and father hadn't come here in the first placethen nothing would need to be saved.'But I didn't say a word to the woman about WaldenPond because she smiled so much and seemed delightedthat I thought to bring her an orange juiceback from the food car. I respect eldersof every color. All I really did was eatmy tasteless sandwich, drink my Diet Pepsiand nod my head whenever the woman pointed outanother little piece of her country's historywhile I, as all Indians have donesince this war began, made plansfor what I would do and say the next timesomebody from the enemy thought I was one of their own.”

“She was in pain and I loved her, sort of loved her, I guess, so I kind of had to love her pain, too.”

“James tells the crowd that the river is just a few yards from where we stand is all we ever need to believe in. One white woman asks how old James is and I tell her he's seven and she tells me that he's so smart for an Indian boy. James hears this and tells the white woman that she's pretty smart for an old white woman.”

“What's the difference between bulimics and anorexics?" I ask. "Anorexics are anorexics all the time," she says, "I'm only bulimic when I'm throwing up." Wow. She sounds just like my dad! "I'm only an alcoholic when I get drunk." There are all kinds of addicts, I guess. We all have pain. And we all look for ways to make the pain go away. Penelope gorges on her pain and then throws it up and flushes it away. My dad drinks his pain away. (107)”