spray the rent-controlled apartments. They are hoping we will be overrun with bugs and will move out, so they can sell our apartments for a half million dollars each. That is also why they do not fix Mrs. Lau’s broken windows or the crack in our ceiling that leaks.
I still have not gotten The Outsiders from the library. All the copies are lost or missing. But I have put in a request for Old Yeller . I have finished A Tree Grows in Brooklyn for the third time. It taught me a lot, and I cried all over its pages because it was so real. When I returned the book to the library, I thought about how maybe someone else will cry over it, too. I like that library books have secret lives. All those hands that have held them. All those eyes that have read them.
I keep forgetting to tell you that Mrs. Lau uses something called Tiger Balm when she has a headache. It is a minty kind of oil, and when you rub it on your skin, you feel warm and tingly and the pain goes away. If you do not have this in Black Banks, I will ask Mrs. Lau if I can put some in a bottle and send it for your mother. Mrs. Lau also puts Tiger Balm on her hands, which have arthritis from sewing in a factory for thirty-three years. The factory used to be on the next block, but it closed down after Mrs. Lau retired, and now there are fancy shops there and a high-rise luxury building.
I was very glad to read about you making friends with Mrs. Patel. Her first name, Chandra, means moon. I knew from her last name that she was Gujarati. Indian last names tell you things about a person, like what part of the country they are from or what their religion is. Now that you and Mrs. Patel are friends, I am thinking you will not make fun of the way I talk. And if you ever go someplace where you are the only person like yourself, you’ll see how it feels to be stared at, and maybe then you will better understand what I was saying.
Today I am writing from Mrs. Lau’s apartment. Cuba is lying across my feet and the parakeets are angry. Mrs. Lau is at the senior citizen center on Gold Street. On Monday nights, they have ballroom dancing. Now that Mrs. Lau is retired and in her “golden years” (this is what she calls them), she goes out and enjoys life. She eats dinner at the senior citizen center two nights a week. It is only $1.25 for a plate of food, either chicken and vegetable, beef and vegetable, or baked fish. Mrs. Lau likes that they have disposable plates. She used to go to the senior center on Essex Street, but they used real plates and didn’t clean them properly.
The sun sets so early these days. This week, the ivy on the building across the way has changed from green to red. The delis on Delancey are selling pumpkins and gourds, and the big oak on 12th is full of acorns. The mannequin in the new boutique next door is wearing a wool hat and a scarf and a big red sweater. Right now, at Mrs. Lau’s apartment, there are six pigeons looking in the window at me. They are wanting Mrs. Lau because she feeds them seed every morning and night. Whenever there is not seed on the fire escape, the pigeons wonder what is wrong, and they look in the window to see if Mrs. Lau is home. If they don’t see her in the living room, they fly to the bedroom window and look for her there. If she is not in the bedroom, they fly back to the living room and wait.
When the parakeets see the pigeons, they get reallllly mad. They scream and flap around their cages. I think it upsets them to see birds that are free. Parakeets are also very jealous animals. They don’t like for Mrs. Lau to love anyone but them. They pull on poor Cuba’s tail with their beaks if he stands too close to their cages. He wants so badly to be friends. He wags politely and tilts his head and cups his ears forward when they squawk. But only Xie-Xie will be his friend. She is a white parakeet with a yellow crest, and when she is out of her cage, she sits on Cuba’s rump and cleans herself. Sometimes she even lets
I still have not gotten The Outsiders from the library. All the copies are lost or missing. But I have put in a request for Old Yeller . I have finished A Tree Grows in Brooklyn for the third time. It taught me a lot, and I cried all over its pages because it was so real. When I returned the book to the library, I thought about how maybe someone else will cry over it, too. I like that library books have secret lives. All those hands that have held them. All those eyes that have read them.
I keep forgetting to tell you that Mrs. Lau uses something called Tiger Balm when she has a headache. It is a minty kind of oil, and when you rub it on your skin, you feel warm and tingly and the pain goes away. If you do not have this in Black Banks, I will ask Mrs. Lau if I can put some in a bottle and send it for your mother. Mrs. Lau also puts Tiger Balm on her hands, which have arthritis from sewing in a factory for thirty-three years. The factory used to be on the next block, but it closed down after Mrs. Lau retired, and now there are fancy shops there and a high-rise luxury building.
I was very glad to read about you making friends with Mrs. Patel. Her first name, Chandra, means moon. I knew from her last name that she was Gujarati. Indian last names tell you things about a person, like what part of the country they are from or what their religion is. Now that you and Mrs. Patel are friends, I am thinking you will not make fun of the way I talk. And if you ever go someplace where you are the only person like yourself, you’ll see how it feels to be stared at, and maybe then you will better understand what I was saying.
Today I am writing from Mrs. Lau’s apartment. Cuba is lying across my feet and the parakeets are angry. Mrs. Lau is at the senior citizen center on Gold Street. On Monday nights, they have ballroom dancing. Now that Mrs. Lau is retired and in her “golden years” (this is what she calls them), she goes out and enjoys life. She eats dinner at the senior citizen center two nights a week. It is only $1.25 for a plate of food, either chicken and vegetable, beef and vegetable, or baked fish. Mrs. Lau likes that they have disposable plates. She used to go to the senior center on Essex Street, but they used real plates and didn’t clean them properly.
The sun sets so early these days. This week, the ivy on the building across the way has changed from green to red. The delis on Delancey are selling pumpkins and gourds, and the big oak on 12th is full of acorns. The mannequin in the new boutique next door is wearing a wool hat and a scarf and a big red sweater. Right now, at Mrs. Lau’s apartment, there are six pigeons looking in the window at me. They are wanting Mrs. Lau because she feeds them seed every morning and night. Whenever there is not seed on the fire escape, the pigeons wonder what is wrong, and they look in the window to see if Mrs. Lau is home. If they don’t see her in the living room, they fly to the bedroom window and look for her there. If she is not in the bedroom, they fly back to the living room and wait.
When the parakeets see the pigeons, they get reallllly mad. They scream and flap around their cages. I think it upsets them to see birds that are free. Parakeets are also very jealous animals. They don’t like for Mrs. Lau to love anyone but them. They pull on poor Cuba’s tail with their beaks if he stands too close to their cages. He wants so badly to be friends. He wags politely and tilts his head and cups his ears forward when they squawk. But only Xie-Xie will be his friend. She is a white parakeet with a yellow crest, and when she is out of her cage, she sits on Cuba’s rump and cleans herself. Sometimes she even lets
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