Revenge of Cleotina

The present:

"Kira, you don't have to get so butt hurt about a writing assignment. It's a research paper on King Tut. So why were you being such a bitch in class today? The professor almost asked you to leave."

Maybe it's not my place to correct history, but I know the truth about how King Tut died in my bones.

"King Tut didn't die from a chariot racing accident or a fight to the death. My ancestor, Cleotina, murdered him, and I'm going to prove it."

My high heels click the sidewalk. I pull my backpack strap over my shoulder and head toward the library.

"Kira, where are you going? Hey, wait, come back," Asher shouts.

Asher's been my boyfriend since high school. He knows me better than anyone. But today, I am more interested in research and history than an excellent make-out sesh.

The library steps ascend toward the large brick building. The architecture resembles famous cathedrals from Paris. The brick on the building is faded with greys and browns.

The librarian sits toward the front of the library. Her round glasses and frizzy blonde hair tell me her story that she is a woman who is determined to research and help others do so.

"Excuse me. I am looking for the Egyptology section."

She puts her book down and places a bookmark within the pages. The librarian would call me a book murderer if she knew I bent the pages to mark my place in a novel.

"Upstairs on the third floor. It's near the fireplace. You can't miss it."

She continues reading and leaves me to my own devices. Then, finally, I take the elevator to the third floor and find the fireplace.

I find the E-section along the wall and start searching for anything I can find on King Tut.

"If you're here to do Professor Chang's King Tut paper, don't bother. These books are either picked over or are a complete waste of time. Instead, I suggest you find a museum and do your research there. It would be a much better paper, don't you think?"

A young man with black head buds in his ears says to me.

"I'd like to try my research from the library first, thanks. I am going to prove Professor Chang wrong," I say as I tighten my fist.

"What are you going to prove him wrong about? It's a paper on how King Tut died. There isn't much to tell other than what's been discovered by archeologists and recorded in history books."

"Ugh, not you too. I am going to prove that my ancestor murdered King Tut. This paper means everything to me. So if you'd excuse me, I have research to do on Cleotina."

I turn away from the young man and start looking for anything the books have on my ancestor.

"Did you say, Cleotina? Was your ancestor Cleotina? Hmmm, that's interesting. I suggest you go to the museum then and ask to speak to Dr. Sawyer. He may have the answers you are looking for. I heard he's recently returned from Egypt with papyrus scrolls mentioning a Cleotina. If she really is your relative, you are not going to find your answers here at this crummy university library."

The young man seems to know his way around this subject.

"How do you know so much about Egypt? How can I trust you?"

"Because Dr. Sawyer is my father, just tell him Alex sent you," Alex says as he shows me his identification card. The card says 'Alexander Sawyer.'

"Thanks. I'm Kira, by the way. Which museum is it," I ask, wondering if this is too blunt of me.

"The Field Museum in Chicago. I can take you if you'd like. My dad will understand. What's your real name," Alex asks as he tilts his glasses back toward his nose?

"Kira."

"And that's short for?" Alex knows my first name is a nickname. Not even my boyfriend knows that.

"Neferekira."

"Like the pharaohs. Yes, my dad will definitely want to speak with someone with your ancestry."

Alex stands up and packs his backpack. He grabs my hand and takes me to the elevator. I leave the library without any books or research to back me up.

"Why are we leaving the library? How do I know I can trust you?"

I follow Alex to the parking lot, and he opens the passenger door for me.

"Don't you want to find out the truth? Isn't it time the world knows the truth about why King Tut died at the young age of nineteen? He was our age when he died. It's not only about his death. Don't you want to know how he lived?"

I get into the passenger seat as Alex closes the door behind me. I don't usually get in cars with strangers, but if my gut tells me to follow Alex, I know it's the right thing to do. I want to be on the right side of history and discover for myself if my ancestor is the murderer that my great-grandma described Cleotina to be.

Time to start speaking to me from your grave, Cleotina. Because your legacy is about to be put on trial.

The past:

"Slow down, Cleotina. Today is your selection day. You're going to have to be on your best behavior," the mother says as she grabs my hand and walks me to the bed of our tiny house. This morning, the dirt floor is extra dry, and the air is hot. Egypt is hot, and sweat pushes my makeup toward the ground.

"I don't care about being selected. Why can't the Pharaoh collect other women from other countries for his play collection?" My words are harsh, and I snap at my mother like a poisonous viper. It's not her fault our culture is the way it is. Women aren't really seen. We are there to produce heirs, honor the gods, and serve the pharaohs. So the noblest thing I can do is be selected by the Pharaoh.

"Gyasi, come here and tell your sister to behave. She won't listen to me," mother demands as she finishes brushing my hair and painting eye makeup against my eyes. Our eye-liner looks like hieroglyphs.