Melba Redclay stood with her husband, her face a cold mask. Tears ran in streaks down her cheeks to be flung away by the cold wind.No sound other than...low murmurs was heard among the nearly two hundred tribal people gathered. The Redclay family moved away from the open grave and trudged down the slope to their car. Others followed and dispersed. This was not a funeral to celebrate a life lived long and full among the people. This was the grim silence of loss; the loss of a young life torn away. So she told me to keep my hand on her hip and dance. I never denied her words. I immediately kept my hand on her hip and just below her boobs and danced. I made some steps like lifting her, hugging her, getting my chances to make her boobs crush over me.That was great and it went with fun because many were dancing and no one bothered to notice my actions. But she is not the heroine of the story. The main heroine is another aunt. While leaving she was talking to my dad. My dad called me and. More

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