Somewhere Among Read online

  I have been to friends’ houses; their mothers are not so picky.

  Later, while Mom naps,

  Obaachan strongly suggests

  we discourage visitors, and

  mentions dusty,

  sweaty,

  holey socks

  on the floors

  where we sit,

  eat,

  and sleep.

  Besides, my lessons were disturbed, Obaachan says.

  I gently tell Mom.

  She is disappointed,

  almost a little mad, but says,

  “Good thing my supervisor didn’t come—

  his feet stink.”

  She tells me stinky-feet stories about

  how the faculty avoids

  end-of-year parties at restaurants

  where you have to take your shoes off.

  We have lots of what Mom calls

  “belly laughs.”

  Good for this baby. Good for us.

  ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD

  A day late

  but at the same time

  fireworks are bursting

  in America’s air

  Mom and I are eating a midmorning

  bowl of yogurt

  with bottled blueberry sauce

  and a Japanese cherry on top

  in place of our traditional

  evening dessert of

  raspberry and blueberry crumble

  topped with vanilla ice cream

  (no oven at Obaachan’s).

  America’s Independence Day

  is not a school holiday

  but Obaachan lets me have today

  off from studies.

  Noon here

  night there

  a news clip at lunch

  is the first time

  I’ve seen fireworks in America

  in real time

  on their fourth of July.

  JULY 5, 2001

  FEELS LIKE SHOOTING STARS

  bursting

  sparkling

  fizzling

  in my heart

  I missed

  Tanabata

  with my friends at school

  making decorations

  making wishes

  and singing songs

  without them

  for the first time

  I feel

  how Mom must feel

  being far away

  from celebrations.

  I can only watch

  and sing along

  with children on TV,

  “Bamboo leaves

  rustle and sway

  at the eaves

  Stars twinkle

  on gold and silver sand

  I have written

  on colorful paper strips

  Stars twinkle

  watching from above.”

  JULY 7, 2001

  THE DAY AFTER

  Obaachan stands over

  Jiichan untying paper

  stripping leaves

  feeding flames

  in a rusted paint can

  to send our wishes

  up, up, up

  into the universe.

  They will come back to us

  if our hearts are pure.

  From Papa’s window

  I watch

  ashes

  curl and climb

  up, up, up

  into the air.

  Great-Grandfather’s palm

  bats

  and catches

  wisps.

  Obaachan climbs the ladder

  fans a newspaper

  with one hand

  to free them

  up, up, up

  away from the tree.

  Burning trash is forbidden,

  but Obaachan risks paying a fine.

  I hear her tell Jiichan

  no one gets a ticket for burning wishes.

  RETURNED

  Obaachan’s slippers

  clobber

  the stairs

  up, up, up

  to Papa’s room.

  She knocks

  don don don don don

  finds my wrist

  presses

  my blue-sky wish

  into my hand

  and says,

  “An only child can have a room alone.”

  MY SELFISHNESS

  Obaachan says nothing else to me.

  But I know—

  “Thinking about wrong behavior

  is punishment.”

  Everyone in this house

  has no brothers or sisters.

  Everyone in this house

  knows I want a brother or sister.

  Everyone in this house

  wants this baby.

  I don’t tell Mom about the wish.

  She would tell me

  we make our own luck

  with our thoughts.

  Besides,

  a school friend, Hiroko,

  has a little sister

  and a room of her own.

  So, it’s not out-of-this-world

  impossible.

  And if wishes do have power,

  the Healthy Baby wish

  I made for myself and for Mom

  is double strong

  and will cancel

  my room wish,

  but

  just in case

  for this baby’s sake

  I put my blue-sky wish

  in a safe place.

  FOLLOWING OBAACHAN’S RULES

  Along with my school assignments

  starting today

  Obaachan makes me read from

  a copy of

  Customs and Manners

  she pulled from Papa’s closet.

  She stands over me

  neglecting dirty dishes

  in the kitchen.

  My NASA pen

  with the blue-sky wish

  rolled

  around its ink cartridge

  sits beside my eraser,

  three pencils, and a sharpener.

  Obaachan reminds me

  again today like every day

  not to use ink for schoolwork.

  OUR SPACE AND TIME

  This baby hears

  more Japanese here—

  Obaachan’s fussing

  about Jiichan

  leaving tea rings on the table,

  bruising tomatoes on shop errands,

  forgetting something on her list

  the TV blaring

  recipes,

  drama,

  and news

  all day long.

  Before I was born,

  Mom read English books to me.

  That’s why my English is so good, she says.

  Upstairs,

  between meals,

  Mom lies or sits on her futon

  reading magazines and books

  to this baby.

  The fan’s propeller head

  clicks back and forth

  pushing water-thick air toward them.

  Upstairs,

  after school hours,

  we speak English together

  to this baby

  or

  we listen to music

  or

  she reads to us

  while I sit

  at her futon

  fanning a magazine or

  at the desk

  rattling Papa’s dried lotus pod.

  When the city chimes call children home

  from the park or friends’ houses,

  I start homework exercises before dinner.

  On the phone I tell Papa, “I think it’s getting too hot for this baby.”

  BEYOND THEIR CONTROL

  Papa has arranged

  installation of

  air-conditioning

  in Great-Grandfather’s old room

  for Mom

  and

  cable TV in the family room

  for Jiichan.

  Obaa
chan, standing over the servicemen,

  mumbles, “We don’t need this.”

  I agree we don’t need

  more channels of TV.

  STAYING COOL

  Mom will endure

  the heat without AC

  as long as possible

  she says

  that she’d rather have

  a big telephone bill than a big electricity bill

  that she doesn’t like to

  come in and out of a cool room, but I know

  she really doesn’t want to

  be downstairs.

  When Mom’s friends call

  Obaachan makes Jiichan pull the telephone and fan

  from the TV room

  into Great-Grandfather’s room

  after Mom comes downstairs

  so she doesn’t trip over the cords.

  (No danger of her falling down the stairs—

  if she takes a deep breath, she’ll get stuck in the stairwell.)

  Mom sits on a cushion

  calm as Buddha

  telling her friends

  she can endure non-stop TV

  no Internet access

  no sweets

  anything

  for this baby.

  HOT SEAT

  Meanwhile,

  there is no fan for us.

  I fold a piece of newspaper into one.

  Jiichan opens the closet,

  finds a collection of

  big, stiff paper fans,

  advertisements from shops.

  He gives me a choice.

  I choose one and swat the air

  SWOOSH.

  It’s not easy to hold a pencil

  and a fan at the same time

  so Jiichan fans me

  while I work math problems.

  Shaped like a dish

  of blue shaved ice

  the fan looks cool.

  But it’s not.

  WHITE PAPER, “THE DEFENSE OF JAPAN 2001”

  I am trying to concentrate on

  a list of kanji

  filling in

  box after box

  stroke by stroke

  page after page, but

  Jiichan turns up the TV volume.

  He does not miss the news

  ever since North Korea shot missiles into Tokyo Bay

  a few years ago.

  Today,

  lots of discussion

  criticism

  and protests

  from Korea and China especially

  about recent Japanese textbooks.

  They say Japan should write more about

  and apologize more for

  World War II.

  I have multitudes to learn.

  When Papa calls

  I tell him,

  “Mom needs earplugs.”

  JULY 12, 2001

  HOT WATER

  Bath time comes early.

  Mom has always been first in line at Obaachan’s.

  Papa told them Americans don’t soak in the same water

  but, at home, we fill the bathtub only once too,

  and I am first in line.

  Obaachan insists Mom go first. Then me.

  Especially because of this baby.

  Obaachan gets her way.

  Mom comes out peach pink

  complaining

  the water is too warm again.

  I’ve heard Obaachan fussing

  at Jiichan

  saying a cool bath will shock the baby.

  Obaachan gets her way.

  Mom tells Papa

  Obaachan is trying to kill us.

  Papa tells Mom to cool off

  to stay calm

  to choose her battles

  reminding her

  he will be here on Sunday.

  I take the phone to Obaachan.

  “You shouldn’t come,” she tells Papa. “Save energy.”

  Obaachan gets her way

  until Papa shows up the next day

  on a thunderous Friday the thirteenth.

  AT GREAT EXPENSE

  After much money

  many hours

  and much energy

  Papa arrives

  bringing Mom a portable music player with headphones,

  telling her to wear them especially at meals, and

  convincing her to move downstairs into AC

  at least on humidity mode.

  He moves our futons, books, and clothes downstairs

  instructs her and everyone on how to use the AC

  reminds her and Obaachan both (separately)

  to stay cool (calm)

  —at all costs—

  for this baby.

  PURSE STRINGS

  Obaachan holds the money in the household.

  She plans

  money for daily expenses,

  payment for bills,

  and an allowance for Jiichan.

  The rest is saved.

  Mom says Obaachan is sitting

  on a mountain of money

  saved from

  scrimping on Jiichan’s salary

  living rent-free with Great-Grandfather

  inheriting everything as his only child.

  Jiichan’s retirement pension tops the pile each month.

  A bell hangs from the zipper pull of Obaachan’s money purse;

  the deeper she digs, the more it jingles

  its warning:

  Too much. Too much. Too much.

  Mom and Papa share money matters;

  Mom works outside the house like Nana.

  Here in this house, we are guests.

  Obaachan won’t take money.

  Our hands are tied.

  We are marionettes dangling from Obaachan’s tight fists.

  Papa is trying to loosen her grip

  on everything.

  He has a hard time leaving money

  with Obaachan for expenses;

  she argues with him.

  He has a hard time leaving Mom and me;

  we cling to him.

  He heads back, tired,

  uncomplaining

  in rain and thunder for work on Saturday.

  LOTUS WATER

  Rainy Saturday morning of cartoons

  Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother smile at me

  (without showing teeth)

  from faded photos

  on the family altar next to the TV.

  They have pleasant smiles every day

  while I do my schoolwork

  while we eat

  while we watch TV.

  Today,

  I ask Jiichan if I ever met them.

  Great-Grandmother, no,

  but he tells me a story of

  a four-year-old me

  making Great-Grandfather smile by

  dipping his cane

  down to the muddy bottom

  of a blue

  wide-mouthed

  potbellied jar

  of rising lotuses,

  making prints

  of the wet cane tip

  on the stone path,

  watching them evaporate,

  then searching for them.

  The cane is gone

  cremated with him

  and his favorite hat

  and wool winter coat.

  The lotus was burned in the garden when it died.

  Shards of its jar are

  at the bottom of potted plants.

  Jiichan says we use Great-Grandmother’s dishes every day.

  LEFT BEHIND

  Great-Grandfather’s calligraphy inkwell is mine.

  Made of stone,

  it couldn’t go with him.

  I keep it in Papa’s desk.

  Bonsai trees, metal garden tools,

  et cetera,

  were left behind in the garden.

  Jiichan waters, clips, and

  sifts through Great-Grandfather’s

  et cetera

  left unt
ouched for years

  until now.

  Clearing out things too early?

  What would neighbors think?

  Obaachan says

  considering the right way to act

  is a sign of respect.

  Today she mentions again

  the old sink rusting near the garden wall.

  Non-burnable

  and too big for trash day,

  it will have to be

  hauled away.

  She doesn’t want to spend the money.

  “We’re paying for war mentality,” Obaachan says.

  “Metal was saved

  in World War II

  to make weapons,” Jiichan explains.

  EAT WELL WHEN YOU CAN

  Obaachan is generous with food.

  Cooking is her affection,

  passing rice bowls from her hand to ours.

  Eat to keep up strength.

  She insists I need more than a bowl of cereal at breakfast.

  This could be the last meal for a while.

  She lived through the bombing of Tokyo in World War II.

  Don’t leave one grain of rice in your bowl!

  She cooks a lot in the morning.

  Whatever is left from breakfast

  she covers with paper.

  That is lunch.

  Whatever is left at lunch is part of dinner.

  Mom is eating everything

  Obaachan cooks at breakfast.

  Obaachan is a little pleased, I know,

  but today at lunch

  before Mom sits down

  before she puts headphones on

  before she picks chopsticks up

  Obaachan instructs her,

  “Have small, grow big,”

  which means have a small baby to fatten up

  which means Mom is eating too much

  which means Obaachan is not following

  Papa’s—at all costs—rule

  of keeping Mom calm.

  Mom doesn’t need more suggestions.

  I think she is finishing everything

  to avoid

  food set out

  all day in the heat.

  And because she vomits a lot.

  I notice Jiichan isn’t eating much.

  TOO BUSY

  Shuttered up in this house

  at night

  I hear it creak.

  I hear Jiichan up late

  at night

  he does not sleep.

  By five thirty a.m.,

  except when it is raining,

  he’s up to sweep

  the stone path and the garden.

  Sweeping dirt.

  Walking to the shops with Obaachan,

  I once pointed out a house with a patch of grass

  just to show her.

  “More work, more water,” she said.