Read Online The Purple Heart by Vincent Yee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vincent Yee
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that it was tangled and knotted. She
walked toward the mirror. She was a mess. Her mother always said she had a
classic beauty to her. Her unusually large oval eyes stared back at her, but
they didn’t convey her usual joyfulness. They were tired, and the last few
arduous weeks of working at the local fishing cannery had taken their toll. Before,
she would have taken the time to make herself up every morning, applying just
enough makeup to accentuate her pretty features and no more. Otherwise, her
father would immediately send her back to her room with his disapproval. She
picked up her favorite brush and began to gently brush out the knots in her
hair as her thoughts wandered.
She was excited about
turning twenty-one. She wanted to possibly enter nursing school, but she was most
excited about the possibility of dating. Her parents wanted her to find a
responsible young Japanese man. She had worked through the knots on the right
side of her hair as it fluttered downward. She was about to brush the other
side when she stopped and slammed the brush down on the dresser along with her
other hand. She hunched over the dresser and looked down at her makeup,
everything from her lipstick, hairpins, perfume and the other little bottles
any young woman would have.
She looked up and still saw
the same tired eyes staring back at her but there was also anger. She tossed
her hairbrush onto the dresser as it ricocheted off the mirror and settled on
the dresser. “Whom am I going to impress now?” she thought. She was being taken
away, and for how long she didn’t dare guess. Would her young life be taken from
her while confined at a relocation center before it had even begun? How many
years will be robbed from her? Why was the Japanese American community being so
obedient to some order that was so wrong? But ultimately, she knew. They had no
choice. To America, Japanese Americans were not Americans and if you’re not
American, you deserved fewer rights than white Americans.
She straightened up. With
firm determination, she picked up each cosmetic item on her dresser, one by
one, and tossed it into the trash. Each item hit the metal trash can with its
own tone and it only encouraged her to pick up the pace until finally, the only
thing left on the dresser was her hair brush. She grasped the handle and was
about to toss it, when she paused. Unlike the other items that could be
replaced, the hairbrush was a gift from her mother. It was a pretty hairbrush,
with a silver handle inlaid with a waterfall scene. She brought the brush to
her chest with both hands and held it there for a moment before turning around
and tossing it into one of the suitcases. She went back to choose which items
to bring with her and which to abandon.
Her mother came into the
room and looked haggard. She had little sleep over the past few days. It was
tougher for Minami’s mother since she had to make the important decisions that
related to the family’s affairs. Her father was usually the decision-maker. She
looked at the remaining piles in Minami’s room and scolded Minami for not
packing faster. Only forty-eight hours remained to finish packing and in an
effort to raise money, Minami’s mother decided to sell the things that they
could not take with them. Minami assured her that she would be done and her
mother sighed at her response. She asked Minami if she had anything to sell.
Minami turned her head from side to side and said she hadn’t decided. Again her
mother scolded her and left the room in exasperation.
Later that day, Minami,
along with her siblings, brought down all the items to be sold. Among the
clothing and furniture were some Japanese heirlooms that were missed by the FBI
agents. Of particular interest was an ornate Japanese bowl and tea set.
Minami’s mother knew that
the buyers would try to take advantage of their plight. Many offered
ridiculously low prices. Only with a nod of approval from their mother, would
Minami agree to sell an
walked toward the mirror. She was a mess. Her mother always said she had a
classic beauty to her. Her unusually large oval eyes stared back at her, but
they didn’t convey her usual joyfulness. They were tired, and the last few
arduous weeks of working at the local fishing cannery had taken their toll. Before,
she would have taken the time to make herself up every morning, applying just
enough makeup to accentuate her pretty features and no more. Otherwise, her
father would immediately send her back to her room with his disapproval. She
picked up her favorite brush and began to gently brush out the knots in her
hair as her thoughts wandered.
She was excited about
turning twenty-one. She wanted to possibly enter nursing school, but she was most
excited about the possibility of dating. Her parents wanted her to find a
responsible young Japanese man. She had worked through the knots on the right
side of her hair as it fluttered downward. She was about to brush the other
side when she stopped and slammed the brush down on the dresser along with her
other hand. She hunched over the dresser and looked down at her makeup,
everything from her lipstick, hairpins, perfume and the other little bottles
any young woman would have.
She looked up and still saw
the same tired eyes staring back at her but there was also anger. She tossed
her hairbrush onto the dresser as it ricocheted off the mirror and settled on
the dresser. “Whom am I going to impress now?” she thought. She was being taken
away, and for how long she didn’t dare guess. Would her young life be taken from
her while confined at a relocation center before it had even begun? How many
years will be robbed from her? Why was the Japanese American community being so
obedient to some order that was so wrong? But ultimately, she knew. They had no
choice. To America, Japanese Americans were not Americans and if you’re not
American, you deserved fewer rights than white Americans.
She straightened up. With
firm determination, she picked up each cosmetic item on her dresser, one by
one, and tossed it into the trash. Each item hit the metal trash can with its
own tone and it only encouraged her to pick up the pace until finally, the only
thing left on the dresser was her hair brush. She grasped the handle and was
about to toss it, when she paused. Unlike the other items that could be
replaced, the hairbrush was a gift from her mother. It was a pretty hairbrush,
with a silver handle inlaid with a waterfall scene. She brought the brush to
her chest with both hands and held it there for a moment before turning around
and tossing it into one of the suitcases. She went back to choose which items
to bring with her and which to abandon.
Her mother came into the
room and looked haggard. She had little sleep over the past few days. It was
tougher for Minami’s mother since she had to make the important decisions that
related to the family’s affairs. Her father was usually the decision-maker. She
looked at the remaining piles in Minami’s room and scolded Minami for not
packing faster. Only forty-eight hours remained to finish packing and in an
effort to raise money, Minami’s mother decided to sell the things that they
could not take with them. Minami assured her that she would be done and her
mother sighed at her response. She asked Minami if she had anything to sell.
Minami turned her head from side to side and said she hadn’t decided. Again her
mother scolded her and left the room in exasperation.
Later that day, Minami,
along with her siblings, brought down all the items to be sold. Among the
clothing and furniture were some Japanese heirlooms that were missed by the FBI
agents. Of particular interest was an ornate Japanese bowl and tea set.
Minami’s mother knew that
the buyers would try to take advantage of their plight. Many offered
ridiculously low prices. Only with a nod of approval from their mother, would
Minami agree to sell an
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