I think it’s strange that the boy on the bed, who’s supposed to be me, doesn’t look like either of my parents. I mean, Momma is classic city Japanese, with silky straight, black hair, black eyes, light creamy skin, and a delicate oval face with a high nose. Auntie Doreen says Momma’s blessed because she’s slender and shapely, with big boobies, but not too tall, which is supposed to be good for a lady.
My father’s not very good-looking, poor thing. He’s short and stocky with wiry, black hair and beady eyes that are set wide apart. He has one thick eyebrow with no break in the middle that sits above his eyes like a fuzzy caterpillar. His nose is flat, his chin juts out, and his skin is reddish and splotchy. I’ve seen lots of pictures of Hiro, and he looked almost exactly like my father, except his nose wasn’t as flat, and he had better skin. But his hair was black and wiry like my father’s, and he was short and a bit fat.
But the boy on the bed looks like someone else’s kid.
I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. It’s not black; it’s brown. It’s not straight; it’s wavy. It’s not hard; it’s soft. The boy on the bed isn’t short; he’s tall. His lips aren’t thin and dark; they’re full and red like a ripe strawberry, like a girl’s. Almost like Marilyn’s.
Running my hands along his body, I pull down the boy’s underpants and see that he has hips, almost like a girl’s, which gives me an idea. I tuck the boy’s chinchin between his legs so that it looks like he has an omeko. Then I roll over a bit to one side and see the big bum the kids at school are always pinching and slapping. The more I look at him, the more the boy on the bed looks like a girl to me.
It’s no wonder my father is always saying I’m someone else’s kid. It’s true; I’m nothing like him. But I’m not like Momma either. I’m more like Kevin, who must be wondering what’s taking me so long.
I jump off the bed, pull out a pair of dark blue bikini undies from Kevin’s dresser, and quickly change out of my dirty white ones. Then I go deep inside his closet and pick out a nice light blue button shirt with a red strawberry pattern, a pair of tight white bell-bottoms, and some dark blue leather platform shoes and put them on.
I look at myself in the dresser mirror and notice my hair looks flat and not very stylish. So I try to feather it back with the brush the way Kevin does. But his hair is cut and layered that way. Mine is just a stupid bowl cut because my father doesn’t think boys should spend so much money on their hair. After working with it a while, I step back and look at myself. My hair looks a lot better, but something’s still not right about the overall look.
I open Kevin’s dresser and rummage around in it looking for something else to wear. But it’s just full of underclothes and socks and jammies. Then I look inside his pencil drawer, where he put the picture of James Dean before. I lift the picture and find a cool-looking pukka shell necklace underneath that I think would look great with my outfit. I pull out the necklace, and something else in the drawer catches my eye—the corner of another picture. Pulling out the drawer a bit farther, I slide out the other picture and am surprised to see it’s a naked one of David Cassidy, only you can’t see his chinchin, just the black hair above it like Kevin has. I stare at it for a second wondering why Kevin has a picture of a naked guy, then set it aside and dig around a little more inside Kevin’s pencil drawer. At the bottom of the drawer, I find a few more pictures of naked guys, except the guys in these pictures are completely naked with moustaches and beards and hair all over their bodies. That’s when I realise that Kevin likes guys, not girls like he’s been saying.
Chapter 6
I poke my head into the kitchen and see Auntie Doreen, Kevin, and my cousin Maggie, who’s the same age as me. They’re all working on preparing lunch, chopping, and sprinkling, and pouring, with Auntie Doreen barking orders and Kevin and Maggie obeying like little soldiers. The rice maker is bubbling away on the counter, and there are pans and pots on every burner of the hob filling the house with the aroma of something delicious. It smells like something yummy is baking in the oven, too. Auntie Doreen holds up a red onion to the light, inspecting it for I don’t know what.
“Hi, Auntie,” I say, trying hard not to picture Kevin coming out of her hairy omeko.
Auntie swings around, onion and chopping knife in hand, and smiles at me as I walk into the kitchen. “Well, hello there, young man! Don’t you look handsome.”
Auntie Doreen looks a lot like my father, short and a little stocky. And her hair is black and wiry, not smooth and silky like Momma’s. But since she has enough money to go to the hairdresser twice a week, it’s always stylish. Today it’s cut into a mullet, like the mom from The Brady Bunch.
Kevin sidles up to me. “What took you?” he says under his breath.
I shrug and mumble something about not being able to make up my mind about what to wear, then lift the pukka shell necklace and wink at him.
Auntie taps her cheek with the onion. “Come, give your Auntie a kiss, and take a seat there while your cousins and I finish preparing lunch.” She points her chopping knife at the island in the middle of the room.
Maggie runs up, throws her arms around me, and squeezes me as hard as she can until I can barely breathe. “Happy birthday to my favourite cousin in all the world!” she says.
“I’m your only cousin,” I say, trying to wriggle out of her bear hug.
“And my favourite!” She finally lets go of me and steps back with a giggle. She’s tall for her age, like me. And her hair is wavy and brown like mine, which she wears in a short bob. She could almost be my twin sister, I think, except her eyes are dark brown instead of blue like mine.
“We’re not finished, kids.” Auntie points at the bubbling pots. “Keep an eye on those.”
Kevin and Maggie run back to the hob, and I take a seat at the island and look around at their fantastic kitchen. It’s comfy and warm, painted mustard yellow, and has a humongous picture window in front of the sink that looks at their backyard and their garage. It feels so special to be there with them, and I try to imagine what it would be like to be part of their family instead of mine.
A few minutes later, Uncle Alistair roars into the driveway in his red Austin-Healey Roadster and pulls to a stop at the garage door. Everyone looks up at the same time, and Maggie jumps around and claps her hands. Uncle Alistair pops out of the roadster with a bunch of shopping bags, glides across the driveway to the sliding glass door on his long spider-monkey legs, and lowers his head as he steps through the doorway into the kitchen carrying a few grocery bags in one arm and a transistor radio in his free hand blaring out the news. Maggie’s fat Persian neko, Daidaiiro, follows him inside, creeps up to me, and rubs his orange face against my leg, and I bend down and scratch his ear.
“Alistair, please turn that off,” Auntie says, waving her hand. “It’s giving me a migraine.” She bows her head toward me. “Kimi’s here, remember?”
“Yes, of course!” he says, switching off the radio. “Happy birthday, young man. Don’t you look smashing!” He puts the bags on the counter and squeezes my hand. “I understand you’re eleven years old today.”
“Yes, Uncle, thank you. But Auntie shouldn’t call me Kimi. Father says everyone’s supposed to call me Clyde now.”
“Oh, pish,” Auntie Doreen says, digging around inside the shopping bags.
Daidaiiro nudges my leg with his head and starts to make cute mewy sounds. So I bend down and pick him up and rub my nose against his head.
“Hey!” Maggie pulls Daidaiiro out of my hands and drops him back on the floor. “Don’t do that! He’s an outside cat. He’s not clean.” She opens the door and lets him out.
“I was just saying hello. Besides, he came up to me.”
“He probably smells Koneko on you,” Auntie says.
As soon as she says that, the sound goes away…
…And then the sound comes back on.
“Clyde, honey,” Auntie Doreen is saying. “Are you all right?
“Young man?” Uncl
e Alistair says, his forehead furrowing into deep lines. “Are you still with us?”
I can see Kevin and Maggie standing far away in the background like I’m seeing them from the wrong side of a pair of binoculars.
“Earth to Clyde! Earth to Clyde!” Maggie is saying, waving her hand from side to side.
“Everything’s fine, sorry,” I say. I jump off the chair and force a smile at them. “This place is great, Uncle Alistair! I can’t wait for Momma to see it. She used to live in a big house, too.”
Auntie Doreen and Uncle Alistair look at each other, and back at me. Auntie Doreen draws in a slow breath and moves back to the kitchen counter. “That was something entirely different, dear.” She cuts a piece of paper towel and dabs her face. “Your mother’s parents were multimillionaires and lived on a vast estate. Your Uncle Alistair’s just an accountant.”
“Just?” Uncle Alistair’s mouth turns down at the corners.
“You know what I mean, Ali.” Auntie Doreen tosses the crumpled paper towel into the rubbish bin and goes back to digging around in the grocery bags.
“I’m no industrialist, but I’ve done quite well for myself if I do say so myself.”
“OK, OK,” Kevin says, throwing his arms around his father and giving him a big hug. “Let’s not argue. Clyde and I are starving.” He winks at me. “We’re well spent after that game. Right, Slugger?”
I nod.
“How was the game, Clyde?” Maggie asks. “How many home runs did you bat in this time?”
“Game was OK,” I say.
“OK? Oh, my God, give me a break. You practically won it for us single-handedly.” Kevin turns to his parents and announces: “Clyde batted in four home runs!”
“Really?” Maggie says. “That’s way cool.” She skips around the kitchen like a little bronco, her hair bouncing all around. “Cool, so cool, that’s way coolio! Did you hear, Mommy? Clyde won the game for Kevin’s team!”
“Congratulations, Kimi,” Auntie says. “Your grandparents would have been very proud of you.”
“We’re all very proud,” Uncle Alistair says. “You can tell us all about it over lunch. Now move along into the dining room, Maggie, boys. Mother and I will be serving in a moment.”
Kevin gives me a gentle push from behind and walks me out of the kitchen and into the dining room. We sit around the table, me at the end, Kevin to my left, and Maggie on my right. It’s a big room with a chandelier over the table and a glass door with another view of the back garden.
“Hungry?” Kevin asks.
Starving!” I say. “I can’t wait to see what your mom made.”
“She didn’t make anything,” Maggie says, nervously kicking my chair. “We made it! She’s just putting it all into serving dishes and bringing it in here.”
Auntie Doreen marches into the room followed by Uncle Alistair, and they put a few bowls and some dishes on the table. After they’ve brought out all the food, Auntie lights a couple of long white dinner candles, and Uncle Alistair stands at the head of the table holding out his arms in our direction.
“Please join me over here,” he says to us, “I’d like to say a special blessing over my children. You too, Clyde.”
We all go to the head of the table and Uncle Alistair puts his hand on top of Maggie’s head, which makes her go all quiet and peaceful, and he chants something religious. Then he turns to Kevin and me and puts his hands on top of our heads, and Kevin slips an arm around my waist. Auntie joins us and pulls the three of us into a huddle, and both she and Uncle Alistair say a prayer over the three of us and get all teary-eyed. They kiss each of us on the top of our heads and invite us to serve ourselves.
I don’t remember ever feeling as happy as I do now. Auntie and Uncle Alistair are so kind to me even though I’m not their kid. And Kevin and Maggie smile at me and nod their heads whenever I say anything. I think about how lucky they are, and my throat starts to go tight. Auntie and Uncle Alistair ask me about the game, and about school, and they say how smart I am, and they tell me I’m welcome anytime I want to come over; then they bring out an ice cream cake from Baskin-Robbins with eleven burning candles just for me, and they sing happy birthday, and give me presents, and, and, and…
“Kimi!” Auntie says, “Kimi, what is it?”
Kevin hurries to my side and hands me a napkin. “Are you OK, little cuz?”
“Look, Daddy,” Maggie says, jumping up from her chair. “He’s crying.”
“Young man, what’s wrong?” Uncle Alistair says. He walks over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder.
I scoot away from the table and wipe my face with my hands. They’re all looking at me again, which makes me feel self-conscious and stupid. So I run out of the dining room, through the kitchen, across the foyer, and hide behind a sofa in the living room.
Auntie Doreen follows me, and so do the rest of them. But she shooshes them back to the dining room and tells them to wait there. Auntie Doreen marches to the sofa I’m hiding behind, drops onto it, and pats the cushion next to her. “Come, join me here, Kimi.”
I come out from behind the sofa and climb into it next to her, then I rest my head on her lap the way I used to when I was little, and I start to cry again.
“There, there, Kimi.” She rubs my back a little, which calms me. “What’s this all about? Have we upset you?”
“No, Auntie. You’ve all been really nice to me.” I sit up and hug her. “Thank you for the cake and the presents.”
“Then what is it? What’s got you so upset?”
“It’s my father,” I say. “He’s so mean to me and to Momma. He hates me!”
“Don’t say that, Kimi. Your father loves you.”
“No, he doesn’t! He hates me! He says I was a mistake.”
“When did he say that?”
“Last night! He came home drunk again and screamed at Momma and me, and said I was a mistake. And it’s not the first time he said it either. He says it every time he gets drunk. And he says other things, too.”
“What other things?”
“He thinks Hiro’s bad parts are inside me.”
“Oh, my Lord.”
“And he calls me names, too, like bastard. Why does he call me that?”
“Kimi, sweetie…”
“Stop calling me Kimi, Auntie, please.”
“But it’s your name!”
“Please, don’t,” I say. “Nobody calls me that, not even Momma.”
“You should be proud of your name, sweetie. It’s your heritage.”
“I don’t want a heritage name. I have my own American name, just like Kevin has.”
“Please, Kimi, sit down.” She pats the cushion next to her once more.
I sit down again, feeling kind of sore at her because she keeps calling me Kimi even though I’ve asked her a zillion times not to.
“Sometimes I wonder if they’re even my parents, Auntie.”
“Yoshi and Tomo?” Auntie cuts her eyes at me. “How can you think that? You’re the spitting image of your mother. And you have something of our family too in your solid build.”
“No! I don’t look anything like them, Auntie. They have straight, black hair, and I have wavy, brown hair; they have black eyes, and I have blue eyes! And they’re short, and I’m tall.”
Auntie jumps up from the sofa and looks at me, her eyes widening.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“Oh, honey…” she says, taking me by the arm and leading me to a mirror. “Look at yourself, Kimi. Your hair is black, just like your mother’s. And your eyes are dark brown, almost black, not blue.”
I blink at myself a couple of times trying to see what Auntie is seeing.
“You do see that, don’t you?”
I shrug and pull away from her. Auntie follows me back to the sofa.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to speak with your mother and father, honey.”
“About what?”
“About this silly belief you have that
they’re not your parents when they clearly are.”
“But how can you be sure?”
“Because I was in the hospital the night you were born.”
“You were?” I whip around and face her.
“Yes, I was. Your father couldn’t be there, so I was with your mother, holding her hand, in fact, when you arrived. You caused quite a stir; I can tell you that. Especially with the midwife.”
“Maybe someone switched me.”
“Nobody switched you, dear. I can assure you of that.”
“But if I’m my father’s kid, it doesn’t make sense that he hates me so much and is so mean to me and Momma. He makes her cry all the time.”
“That’s another matter entirely. Your father has a serious problem; there’s no denying that. Your uncle and I are trying to convince him to get some help. But he wasn’t always this way. He used to be a hardworking, sober young man. He was actually able to buy his own house when he was only eighteen years old with the money he earned from repairing cars. But what happened with your brother Hiro broke him. He loved your brother so much that when he became ill, your father almost lost his mind. And after Hiro’s accident, well, you know, he was so angry at your mother.”
“That wasn’t an accident, and it wasn’t her fault!”
“Your father didn’t see it that way. And neither did I, frankly. Your brother was a sick boy and shouldn’t have been left alone. By the time you arrived, poor Yoshi was lost and broken. And then our parents died the same year. Your poor father’s never been the same since.”
“That doesn’t change anything for me, does it?” I sit up and wipe my face on the sleeve of Kevin’s shirt. “Or for Momma.”
Auntie pulls back my hair and kisses my forehead. “If things get too bad at home, just let me know. You can always come stay with us for a while, yes?”
“You promise?”
“Yes, I promise, Sweetie. Anytime.” Auntie hugs me tight.
“Momma, too?”
The Death of Baseball Page 4
