by Patti Kim
No one claps. We ain’t sure if he’s done yet.
He clears his throat and says, “For a job well done, vote Robinson.”
Randall didn’t finish that quite right. The audience applauds, but it don’t sound like how it sounded after Jack’s and Sydney’s speeches. Like you clap ’cause you gotta clap. It’s pity-plause. Randall’s got all the creds, but he feels too much like being at church.
“Last but not least, Michaela McDonald,” Principal Farmer says.
My turn. I roll on the one skate. I get to the podium and say, “It’s Mickey. Mickey as in the Mouse? And McDonald as in Happy Meals. My mouth’s watering, so I’m going to make this quick ’cause we’re all hungry for lunch.
“First off, I want to thank my very best friend, Sun Joo Moon, ’cause she nominated me. Y’all don’t know her ’cause she’s brand-new to our school. By golly, she’s brand-new to America. She moved here all the way from South Korea. That’s, like, on the other side of the ocean. I know a lot of you came from other countries too. Well, I was born and raised right here, so I can’t even imagine what a heap of trouble that must’ve been. I’m really glad you’re here, ’cause if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be able to vote for me,” I say, wishing so bad I had wings, ’cause I’m running out of things to say, which never happens to me. If I had wings, I’d flap them open right about now and glide across the auditorium. Everyone would ooooh and ahhhh, and I’d fly out the window, up, up, and away.
“Ummm. If I become president, I’m going to make sure no one goes hungry, and ummm, everyone has a friend, you know, like a buddy system, and ummmm, everyone has school supplies like pens and pencils and paper, and ummm, as your president, I promise to give you my Tater Tots. No, I’m just kidding about the Tater Tots. For real though, as your president, I promise to do my best and give you my absolute ultimate. So Vote Mickey McDonald ’cause Mick’s your pick. Thank you,” I say, and roll on my one skate back across the stage.
The kids applaud. It’s not as rowdy as the applause Sydney and Jack #13 got, but it’s louder than what they gave Randall Robinson.
It don’t matter if it’s a thousand pairs of hands or one. I love applause. Something about the sound of all that clapping feeds my soul. I was aiming to roll back to my seat, but when I get to center stage, I so badly want to do something fancy, like a twirl or a spin, but with one skate, it’s impossible. So I just bend at the waist, open my arms like wings, and lift my other leg back, skating to my chair like I’m a butterfly.
I miss my seat. I roll right past it. I’m heading for the edge of the stage. I know I have to stop now or it’s off the cliff I go, but I don’t want to stop. I lean my weight in, and off I fly. I spring off the stage, rolling into the sunset. It’s not even a nanosecond, but it feels like a flash of forever. I stick my landing, skate out the doors into the empty hall, where I spin like Kristi Yamaguchi finishing up her routine, spinning and spinning like the final cycle on a washing machine, wringing out every last drop of sadness. I’m spinning so strong I sprout wings and lift off the floor, ceilings opening wide. Like a shooting star, I zoom straight to heaven, where Daddy and Ma are friends again. They’re holding hands, and Benny’s sitting on Daddy’s shoulders, eating a ham sandwich with crumbs falling onto Daddy’s hair, and Charlie’s barking and our cats meow-meow, cheering me on.
I wish.
eleven
Here’s what really happens: I fall off the stage. I land all wrong. I thought I knew how to fall right, but I crash, face-first onto the linoleum floor. Then I slide like I’m riding a Slip ’n Slide, except there ain’t no water, no sunshine, no fun, just a metal door at the end of the rainbow, where my head rams. Hard. I’m hurting. Breathe. Breathe. Get up. Get up. My throbbing face is sopping wet. Am I crying? These ain’t tears. This here’s blood, gushing out of my nose, my mouth, my eyes, my ears. I can’t even tell where all this blood is coming from. I taste metal. The room spins. Ms. Larkin hovers over me, her rhinestone earrings dangling like Christmas. The voice of Vice Principal Graves pounds in my head. He yells at everyone to “sit, sit, sit, settle, settle, settle,” ’cause the kids are oooooohing and aaahhhhing and ewwwwwing as they move in on me to get a closer look at the blood and gore.
This butterfly is going to butter-cry, get stomped on, and butter-die if she don’t get herself up.
I sit up, holding my face, blood oozing out between my fingers.
“Stay put, child,” Ms. Larkin says, giving me a wad of paper towels. Feels like sandpaper against my face.
I slowly rise.
“You sure?” she says, holding my arm.
I stand up. I hear applause. The kids clap for me.
Ms. Larkin grabs Asa off the wall and tells him to walk me to the nurse’s office.
As I limp out the door, I raise my bloody hand and give everyone a wave.
The metal door shuts behind Asa and me. The hall is quiet. The ruckus from the cafeteria sounds like it’s coming from the apartment next door. They’re having a party. I hobble. My wheels sound like a baby rattle. Asa’s hand is on my back, I guess so he can catch me quick if I fall. It’s barely touching me, but I know it’s there.
“Man,” he says.
“I ain’t a man.”
“Woman, that was wreck.”
“I think I lost a tooth.”
“No way.”
“Look,” I say, stopping in the hall. I take the bloody paper towels off my face and show him my teeth ’cause I can’t believe the hole my tongue keeps poking through, and I need me a witness.
“Yeah, it’s lost,” he says.
“I think I swallowed it. You think the tooth fairy would mind a poopy tooth?”
“That’s nasty,” Asa says, chuckling. “You still believe in the tooth fairy?”
“I do.”
“You do-do?”
I burst out laughing so hard I almost fall backward. Asa’s hand steadies me. We’re at the nurse’s door. He opens it.
“Thanks,” I say, walking in.
“You got my vote,” he says, patting my shoulder.
I don’t know what it is, but when Asa says that, I get this huge knot in my throat and my eyes pool up with tears. I hide my face behind the bloodied wad of paper towels so he can’t see how his kindness is making me cry.
The door shuts. Nurse Hyde rushes over, puts her arm around me, and says, “What happened, baby?”
“I fell,” I say, sniveling like a toddler.
She sits me down on one of them bench-looking beds covered with white tracing paper, which reminds me of the time in kindergarten we outlined our bodies on the same kind of paper and drew whatever outfit our hearts desired. I made myself Miss America with a tiara, a princess dress, a sash, and a bouquet of flowers. The teacher cut them out and taped them up all around the classroom so it was like everyone was holding hands in a big circle.
“Let me have a look,” she says.
While Nurse Hyde cleans and bandages my wounds and dries my tears and takes the skate off my foot, with not one word of how stupid and thoughtless and selfish I am, how I’m such a hog for attention, how this here’s going to cost us an arm and a leg, how we’re going to have to give Charlie away, how this here’s the kind of thing that drove Daddy to the hills… I wish to the heavens she were my ma. I know it’s mean, but that’s what I wish. I keep thinking if Ma were more like Nurse Hyde, maybe Daddy wouldn’t have left us. I get it. I get how he wanted to leave. I want to go away too. If I had me a big truck to drive into the sunset, I’d leave Ma too.
But what I don’t get is how in the heckers he could leave me.
twelve
It’s late Sunday afternoon. Monday’s creeping in on us. We need clean clothes for the week, so me and Ma walk two baskets full of dirty laundry over to the washer room in another apartment building on the other side of the creek.
“Ouch,” I say ’cause I keep stepping on holly leaves. They prick at my feet like tacks.
“Why didn’t you wear shoes
?” Ma asks.
“ ’Cause they’re falling apart, and I’m trying to make them last as long as I can ’cause you need your smokes. That’s why,” I say. But honest to angels, I just didn’t feel like bothering, so I came out barefoot.
Ma don’t say nothing. She keeps walking. I hate it when she don’t come back with a jab ’cause it makes me feel so lousy. I step on the holly leaves to make myself feel worse.
“I’m working on it. I got overtime. We might have something left over this month. I’ll have you know I’m trying to quit,” she says.
“Your job?”
“No. I can’t quit my job. You want to be camping in the woods? I meant smoking. I’m aiming to quit smoking. I wish I could quit this job,” she says.
“Well, it’s about time you quit those cigs ’cause that’s a early death sentence. They are. And not just for the one who’s doing the smoking, but for the loved ones getting the secondhand fumes. Yeah, Ma, me and Benny and all our animals, we might die of lung cancer ’cause of you. You ever think about that?”
“I do. All the time. That’s why I’m trying to quit, Mickey. How about a little cheerleading?”
“Rah-rah for Ma.”
“Bite me, why don’t you?” she says, and stops. She puts down the basket and rummages through our dirty clothes. She pulls out a pair of socks and holds them out, telling me to put them on.
“They’re smelly,” I say.
“They’re yours. Beats getting your feet cut up and infected. Last thing we need’s an ER visit,” she says, tosses the socks at me, and gets back to walking.
I put them on, and it does feel better to walk. I hurry to catch up to her and say, “You should know Benny needs shoes more than I do.”
We get to the laundry room. Dryers tumble. Washers shake. It smells like Downy fabric softener. I love this smell.
“Try and get it all in one load,” Ma says, dumping clothes into a washer. It’s stuffed pretty tight. She pulls out a towel, then another, gives them a whiff and a shake, and throws them back into the basket, saying, “These can go another week.”
As she pours detergent into the load, something catches her eye, and she reaches into the washer, pulls out my stained underwear, and asks, “This here yours?”
“No, Ma. It’s Benny’s.”
“Benny got his period?”
“Yup. While he was at school. Lucky for him, his friend had a pad to spare.”
“You all right, baby?”
I nod.
“Why didn’t you say nothing?”
“ ’Cause there’s nothing to say. I handled it.”
Ma feeds the machine quarters, and water gushes out strong like a fire hose. She’s doing that thing with her fingers she does when she’s hankering for a smoke. She shuts the lid.
“Well, welcome aboard,” she says, walking out of the laundry room.
I follow her out. She walks up the hill, sits down, and pats a spot on the grass next to her, telling me to take a seat. I sit down.
“How’s school?” Ma asks.
“I ran for president,” I say, and lie down on the hill. Grass pricks at my back.
“No kidding,” she says, lying back with me.
“I lost.”
“That’s too bad. President Mickey McDonald. It’s got a nice ring, don’t it?” she says, resting a wrist on her forehead.
“I was sad at first, but then I was like, ‘Phew,’ ’cause I made some promises I know I couldn’t deliver.”
“Like what?”
“I said if I’m president, I’d make sure everyone got plenty of food and friends and school supplies.”
“Then good thing you lost. Nothing worse than broken promises.”
“You mean like how Daddy done?”
If she had a cigarette, she’d be blowing a long stream of smoke at the orange sky and flicking ashes into the grass just about now. Instead, she rubs her eyes and runs her hands through her frizzy hair. Ma looks worn out. Last time I saw her looking fresh and pretty was when she and Daddy were getting ready for a funeral.
“Oh yeah,” she says, and sighs.
We both look up at the sky. It’s spacious and majestic. Light flickers from some fireflies hanging on to summer. The machines in the laundry room rumble and tumble.
“Ma?”
“Mick?”
“You ever wish he’d come back?”
“Sometimes.”
“Like when?”
“Like when I’m at work, sitting in that booth in the middle of the night, worrying if this lousy job’s even going to last. They’re automating these tolls, you know. Then I get to worrying about you and Benny. After all the worrying quiets down, it gets so darn lonely.”
Ma starts to cry. A tear slides down the side of her face. With my thumb, I stop it from reaching her ear.
“You don’t have to worry about me and Benny, Ma. I’m taking care of us,” I say.
She sits up, wipes away tears, and says, “I’m sorry, Mickey. Oh, good Lord. You ever wonder how you end up somewhere? How in heavens did I get here? I need to find me another job. Wooo-weeee. All right. Enough of this,” she says, fanning her face. “We got to look on the bright side. Bright side, where are you?”
“You got a job,” I say.
“We got a roof,” she says.
“We’re soon going to have clean clothes.”
“We got our fur babies.”
“My butt don’t get dunked in toilet water no more. You don’t know how many times that happened when he was home,” I say, sitting up.
“Good one. And even when he was here, he wasn’t here,” she says.
“His talk was too sweet to be true,” I say.
“Left us with nothing but cavities.”
“I didn’t like when you two got to fighting. That was scary. I hated the D word. Divorce. Don’t it sound like someone forcing you to divide yourself in half? Divorce. That’s what it felt like, Ma. When y’all fought, it was like I was getting split in half. Like I was getting torn.”
“Oh, Mick.”
“But I don’t know why I was so scared of the big D, ’cause the fighting happened when y’all were together. That’s how it went. He’d come home. We’d all be happy for a minute. Then the fighting,” I say.
“Unless he was sleeping.”
“Daddy slept a lot.”
“And I hated his snoring.”
“It was so loud. He sounded like a tortured hippo.”
“One time I thought it was Charlie howling.”
“It’d wake me up in the middle of the night. But it was weird ’cause… I don’t know… I kind of didn’t mind it too much. I don’t know… I guess it kind of made me feel safer when I heard his snoring,” I say, my voice cracking.
I wipe my tears. Ma puts her arm around me. I lean into her. She says, “I guess I’m going to have to start snoring, then.”
thirteen
Ok’s postcard sits on a pile of junk mail on the couch. It’s made from a Ritz cracker box. Took him long enough to write back. It says:
Hi President Yoo No Hoo,
Did you win? My new school is kind of like your knock-knock jokes—predictable yet unpredictable and funny yet not. Sometimes. I was going to complain about how hard my summer was, but yours sounds worse so I’m not even going to mention how scary and annoying new stuff can be. Things are different here. It’s kind of fancy. I thought I liked fancy, but I’m not so sure anymore. But I do like Lassie, my new dog. He’s actually the deacon’s dog, but he’s been following me around like he’s mine or I’m his. He sleeps at the foot of my bed. Yeah, I still call him the deacon. Appa doesn’t feel right. Not yet. Appa is “dad” in Korean. FYI. Anyway, Chesterfield who?
From,
Ok
I go to the kitchen and rummage through the cabinets for boxes. Nothing catches my eye. I look in the freezer. We got Ellio’s frozen pizzas. I open the box, empty it, and cut out a postcard. It’s the perfect size. I hurry to my room, shut the d
oor, and write:
Chesterfield like a semi loser ’cause he lost the election to Sydney Stevenson. I gave it my all. I fell on my face, lost a tooth and swallowed it. It was a canine, my last baby tooth, which is a total phew ’cause I won’t have a toothless grin for the rest of my days, but as God is my witness, there is indeed a black hole in my smile for now. Benny says it looks like I got a black bean stuck in my teeth. All my baby teeth are gone now. You know what that means? I’m a grown-up. We should swap ’cause I love fancy. Lassie sounds like the sweetest thing. You think him and Charlie would play nice? Before I forget, I got something urgent to ask you. What do you know about chew-suck? I need info on Chuseok ASAP. Like, what am I supposed to wear? Write back fast. You take too long. You move slower than molasses on a snowy day.
Your friend,
Mickey
fourteen
I’m trying so hard to mind my manners that I’m sweating bullets underneath this potato sack of a sweater. The only reason I wore it was ’cause of the leaves embroidered in the colors of autumn, and Sun Joo said Chuseok is all about the autumn harvest. It’s like Thanksgiving, but Korean-style.
There’s a bunch of people here at Sun Joo’s home, but not one of them is wearing anything with the autumn-harvest theme.
What I needed to mind was my socks. I had to take my shoes off. My socks look like rags, all covered in dog and cat hair. It’s like I got a pair of ferrets for feet. They got holes, too. My big toes stick out like a pair of naked mole rats.
I follow Sun Joo in her apartment like the way she follows me around at school.
We walk past this big low table in the living room. Every inch of it is covered with food. And it ain’t set up like a church potluck with Crock-Pots and casseroles and bags of chips. This food don’t look like it’s meant for eating. It’s like the mannequin of food. It’s too pretty to eat.
