did you know the moment to release waiting?”
“After the war ended, I hoped. Every day I looked into the horizon for his frame. Soldier after soldier returned, on feet shredded like cloth, on bicycles of dented wheels and without tires, they returned from the lowest tip of the South. Each year fewer came home. By the third year, I saw nothing but dust in the horizon. Day after day. Then his mother stepped into the next life and took him with her, side by side.”
Bà nods. Ông’s Brother looks deeper into the horizon. They return to silence. I understood every word, but somehow the meaning is as impossible to hold as each drop of rain.
As quickly as the rain slammed down, it suddenly thins to brushstrokes. Bà stands up and walks toward the birdhouse, her head uncovered, striding with purpose. She will get damp, enough to chill her. I scramble after her. Right then, the doves fly out of the birdhouse, and by some invisible cue, they hover above us with white wings wide, creating a feathery, rhythmic umbrella.
Bà traces each circle on the birdhouse, sixteen in all. I know she’s thinking Ông’s own hands had carved these circles. Somehow, that makes him more real to me. Ông walked this village; he slept in the blue goddess room; he ate grapefruit from the garden tree. I trace each circle too.
Bà starts a long, murmuring chant. I listen, not to actual words but to their undeniable weight.
I’m all set to hate it here, then something magical has to happen.
CHAPTER 9
I ’m pinching myself to stay awake. Twenty-three more minutes until midnight, which will be 10:00 a.m. the day before in Laguna, the time Montana should be up but not yet at the beach.
All night I’ve planned as much as possible, channeling efficient Mom. I borrowed a pair of Bà’s pajamas, saying I want to be comfortable, and they are supercomfortable, but really I need to cover as much skin as possible so I can talk outside without bloodsuckers devouring me. I practice sounding light and fun, like I’m calling to check in. I have to make sure I do not slip and mention HIM, even though I hope Montana will refer to HIM in an offhanded, flighty way. Montana doesn’t have Mom’s power to X-ray thoughts, so my secret is safe.
I do feel guilty having missed Mom’s call at 10:00 p.m., the phone vibrating like a silent scream. Mom texted and texted, but it was a perfectly believable time to be asleep. Bà was. Mom must be worried, her mind automatically imagines the worst. I don’t know how long I can avoid her. But she would have interrogated me, plucking out each little bit about HIM. The sad truth is we barely have bits. We know who each other is and have said hi, that’s about it. HE’s always been around, but I didn’t notice HIM at school until a few months ago when HE talked about a love poem in class. HIS face softened to reveal a look of longing I grew up seeing in Bà.
It’s time. I crawl out with Bà’s socks on. That leaves just my hands and face exposed. Surely, I can jiggle to protect three little areas. I rush past the birdhouse, all the way to the grapefruit tree at the farthest edge of the garden.
I punch 001 before Montana’s number, harder to do than you’d think while jiggling. She’s supposed to have memorized my number too, in case an earthquake happens and we have to call from someone’s phone. But I have a feeling she memorized as far as the area code.
“Mont, it’s me.”
“Is it really you? I can just die. It’s been so weird without you. I can’t believe it’s really you. You have no idea how wrong my life is right now. Like yesterday, Hadley was over, and I could not for the life of me teach her the lobster tail. Then she just put on my favorite lip gloss, without even asking, then she was all ‘I don’t like the smell.’ Can you believe that? She’s shuttling in any minute and I swear I’m done, like done done. I think she likes that boy in English class, you know, the one who talked about
“After the war ended, I hoped. Every day I looked into the horizon for his frame. Soldier after soldier returned, on feet shredded like cloth, on bicycles of dented wheels and without tires, they returned from the lowest tip of the South. Each year fewer came home. By the third year, I saw nothing but dust in the horizon. Day after day. Then his mother stepped into the next life and took him with her, side by side.”
Bà nods. Ông’s Brother looks deeper into the horizon. They return to silence. I understood every word, but somehow the meaning is as impossible to hold as each drop of rain.
As quickly as the rain slammed down, it suddenly thins to brushstrokes. Bà stands up and walks toward the birdhouse, her head uncovered, striding with purpose. She will get damp, enough to chill her. I scramble after her. Right then, the doves fly out of the birdhouse, and by some invisible cue, they hover above us with white wings wide, creating a feathery, rhythmic umbrella.
Bà traces each circle on the birdhouse, sixteen in all. I know she’s thinking Ông’s own hands had carved these circles. Somehow, that makes him more real to me. Ông walked this village; he slept in the blue goddess room; he ate grapefruit from the garden tree. I trace each circle too.
Bà starts a long, murmuring chant. I listen, not to actual words but to their undeniable weight.
I’m all set to hate it here, then something magical has to happen.
CHAPTER 9
I ’m pinching myself to stay awake. Twenty-three more minutes until midnight, which will be 10:00 a.m. the day before in Laguna, the time Montana should be up but not yet at the beach.
All night I’ve planned as much as possible, channeling efficient Mom. I borrowed a pair of Bà’s pajamas, saying I want to be comfortable, and they are supercomfortable, but really I need to cover as much skin as possible so I can talk outside without bloodsuckers devouring me. I practice sounding light and fun, like I’m calling to check in. I have to make sure I do not slip and mention HIM, even though I hope Montana will refer to HIM in an offhanded, flighty way. Montana doesn’t have Mom’s power to X-ray thoughts, so my secret is safe.
I do feel guilty having missed Mom’s call at 10:00 p.m., the phone vibrating like a silent scream. Mom texted and texted, but it was a perfectly believable time to be asleep. Bà was. Mom must be worried, her mind automatically imagines the worst. I don’t know how long I can avoid her. But she would have interrogated me, plucking out each little bit about HIM. The sad truth is we barely have bits. We know who each other is and have said hi, that’s about it. HE’s always been around, but I didn’t notice HIM at school until a few months ago when HE talked about a love poem in class. HIS face softened to reveal a look of longing I grew up seeing in Bà.
It’s time. I crawl out with Bà’s socks on. That leaves just my hands and face exposed. Surely, I can jiggle to protect three little areas. I rush past the birdhouse, all the way to the grapefruit tree at the farthest edge of the garden.
I punch 001 before Montana’s number, harder to do than you’d think while jiggling. She’s supposed to have memorized my number too, in case an earthquake happens and we have to call from someone’s phone. But I have a feeling she memorized as far as the area code.
“Mont, it’s me.”
“Is it really you? I can just die. It’s been so weird without you. I can’t believe it’s really you. You have no idea how wrong my life is right now. Like yesterday, Hadley was over, and I could not for the life of me teach her the lobster tail. Then she just put on my favorite lip gloss, without even asking, then she was all ‘I don’t like the smell.’ Can you believe that? She’s shuttling in any minute and I swear I’m done, like done done. I think she likes that boy in English class, you know, the one who talked about
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