The House That Lou Built

by Mae Respicio

  Arwin eyes it skeptically. “What’s that supposed to be?”

  “Is it part of an old car or something?” Gracie asks.

  “It’s the base for us to put the subfloor on. Then the house,” I say. I point to the metal beams. “See all these rusty areas? We have to brush that stuff off. Then we’ll paint the metal so it’ll look like new.”

  A funny thing happens, where Sheryl begins walking around the flatbed, and soon we’re all following her like some kooky dance circle.

  “But it seems so small for a house,” Sheryl says.

  “Waaaaay small,” Gracie says.

  “Don’t you guys know anything? That’s why it’s called a tiny house.” Arwin tries to help.

  “Remember the pictures on Lou’s vision heart? It’ll be great,” Alexa says.

  After a minute, the rest of them nod, even though they still look a little doubtful.

  “I’m starving. Is it snack time yet?” asks Arwin.

  “We haven’t even started,” I say.

  “Don’t Auntie and Uncle ever feed you?” Sheryl asks.

  “Ooooh, there’s a yummy pizza place in town. Dad and I go there after hiking,” Alexa says.

  I look back at Maribel in the van. She’s napping.

  I smile. “Guys, listen up. You all wanted in on helping, right? And I promise when we’re done, this house is yours, too. Imagine having our own place,” I say. “We’ll have Nerf-gun parties, get a gigantic TV, and stock the kitchen with junky stuff that our moms never buy. For kids only.”

  They get quiet, and I show them what to do.

  * * *

  —

  From the box I brought, I pull out face masks, goggles, pairs of work gloves, and metal wire brushes. Everybody gets one of each. We slide on our masks, even Jack, who makes Darth Vader noises with Arwin.

  I point out smears of orangey-brown. “Find any rust and erase it.”

  “That’s easy enough,” Gracie says.

  We start, getting on our knees and scrubbing in circles and lines, like brushing teeth. It’s trickier than I thought. At first everyone’s acting silly, but soon they start to concentrate. Even Maribel puts on gear to join us for a little while.

  I stop for a second and notice: No one’s talking. Everyone’s brushing.

  I get up to inspect.

  Arwin and the others push their masks off and stretch.

  “Check out these biceps. I’m getting a solid upper-arm workout,” Sheryl says, flexing.

  “How’d we do?” Gracie asks.

  I walk around and look for any spots we might have missed, but it’s clean. Practically like new.

  “You did amazing! This would have taken me forever by myself.”

  Gracie runs to the van and brings back bottles of water that she hands out, but before they can rest, I say, “You guys are gonna love this next part.”

  I grab cans of spray paint. “Now we coat the beams.”

  Arwin slides his mask and goggles back on. “Me first!”

  He shakes a can, holds it away from his face, and aims, spraying the paint back and forth. He’s doing pretty well. I put on my gear and join him.

  “That’s a ton of chemicals. Don’t breathe any of it in,” Sheryl reminds us, pulling on her face mask.

  They stand back as he and I aim and spray in long, flowing lines. After we finish, I say, “Let’s let it dry before the next coat.”

  When Arwin pulls off his gear, there’s a haze of black paint outlining his eyes and nose, like a reverse raccoon. I take mine off, too, and I guess I look the same, because Arwin starts snort-laughing.

  After a while the others spray on another coat, and the trailer’s ready for the subfloor.

  We did it. We really, truly, amazingly did it—just like I knew we would.

  * * *

  —

  I hand out small reusable towels, which we soak with water to wipe our hands and faces clean. We finish up, and Arwin says, “I have a great idea!”

  He sprints down the slope toward the creek, and we all follow, stopping where the stream cuts across. For a moment everyone’s quiet. I dunk in my fingers, and the water shoots a delicious chill right through me.

  Arwin’s the first to fling off his shoes. “What are you waiting for?” he shouts.

  We all do the same and wade in, ankle deep. Underneath, the pebbles feel smooth and bumpy at once.

  Soon Arwin’s jumping into the shallow bank as hard as he can, making huge splashes. “Don’t get my camera wet, you turkey!” Jack shouts, putting his camera down near a tree. He runs to get a scoopful of water and tries to hit Arwin. Everyone’s screaming and laughing.

  I love that they love it out here. Still, we can’t waste any time. Next step: unload wood from the shed and get it ready to measure and trim. With their help, this part should go fast.

  * * *

  —

  We run back to the clearing and my neighbor Mrs. Hawkey walks up, dusting her hands on an apron covered in colorful paint drips. She’s an artist. The Hawkeys are an older couple who live a few yards from here in a cabin hidden by trees. Because of them, I have even more stories of my dad. Every summer Dad and Grandpa Ted would bring sleeping bags and a guitar, and the Hawkeys would join them for late-night bonfires and s’mores.

  She hugs me, Sheryl, and Maribel.

  “I thought I heard some noise out here. What are you kids doing? Where are Minda and Gemma?”

  I look at Maribel—so do the rest of the kids.

  Manang Maribel gives Mrs. Hawkey her perfect smile. “Oh, Lou and her friends are doing a project for extra credit. I’m watching them until…uh…until Auntie Minda gets back…soon!”

  Maribel looks at me with a face that says I own you now.

  “I’m just a few seconds up the hill if you kids need anything,” she says, and walks away with a wave as we all thank her.

  The group steps back and examines our handiwork. Not bad.

  “Hey, Louie, please don’t kill me, but I still don’t get it. How are you going to build a house on that?” Alexa says.

  “And it’s going to be on wheels like you’re going to drive it around? Is that how it works?” Gracie asks.

  “Sure, my house can go anywhere I decide to take it,” I say, but Sheryl stares at me. She seems doubtful. “What?” I say to her. “Spit it out.”

  “It’s just that, well…what if this doesn’t convince your mom to stay?”

  Did she really just say that? Even now I can see the whole house, inside and out: a welcome mat at the door, a red kettle on the stove, the million stars shining in through the skylight at night. If we build more, so they can see more, they’ll get it, too.

  “Guys, shhhhh, listen closely. Can you hear?” Arwin whispers, and we all get quiet. He lifts his shirt and squishes down on his belly, making his stomach talk to us in a deep voice: “Feeeeeeed meeeeee.” The girls say, “Grosssss!” and Sheryl punches him hard in the shoulder.

  Jack packs up his camera.

  “Let’s go eat,” Alexa says.

  “But it’s not lunchtime yet. This was just a break. It’s time to prep the wood,” I say, but Arwin’s yawning and the other kids are grabbing their stuff.

  “Guys, we still have work to do!” I say.

  “Geez, Louie, maybe chill out a little?” Sheryl says.

  “Let’s go, little humans. Time’s up,” Manang Maribel says, and they jump back into the Filipino-Mobile.

  Tonight’s our family dim sum dinner at Lola’s favorite Chinese place. She says that even our rice cooker needs a night off every now and then. Sheryl’s family and Lola are already at the restaurant.

  Mom and I get off the bus in Chinatown and stroll down a packed street. It’s still light out.

  Puffy red lanterns hang high betwee
n buildings, strung like beads on a necklace. Trinkets in large baskets line the sidewalks, and stores show off rows of yummy things like savory buns and whole fried ducks.

  I’m amazed at how much we got done today. We’ll finish the house in no time. Mom will see, and we’ll stay put. A smile stretches across my face.

  “Did you have a good day?” I ask Mom. She seems surprised at my question.

  “I did. I went to visit one of the Oakland hospitals I interviewed with.”

  I freeze. People around us keep walking.

  “You’re not taking the job in Washington?”

  “Well, Oakland General hasn’t made me an offer—not yet. But it seems like they’re interested, so I went to find out more about their benefits. Unfortunately, they don’t pay as much. My decision hasn’t changed, honey. The Washington hospital is still our best choice in the long run.”

  Mom looks at me with concern, but I don’t get upset. “That’s too bad.” She studies me as we keep walking.

  “What about you and Alexa? What did you girls do today?”

  “We just hung out,” I say cheerfully.

  I pause at a storefront full of tchotchkes. We love looking in the Chinatown shops at all the fun knickknacks. She picks up a small grinning Buddha and rubs its round belly.

  “You know, Lou, we haven’t really talked since the other day, but I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better about everything.” She smiles at me like she thinks I’ve accepted her decision.

  I pick up a ceramic fortune cookie with a slip of paper sticking out: Your strength is your own belief.

  “Much better,” I say, because my house is on its way.

  * * *

  —

  Mom sits with our family at two huge round tables. Dim sum ladies wheel silver carts of small platters up to them, and everyone points to what they want.

  I find my cousins at their normal spot, around the lobster tank, where Sheryl taps on the glass. We watch the creatures crawl over each other. A lobster’s home is its shell, which it sheds to grow. How can I leave my tiny house when I haven’t had the chance to grow into it yet?

  * * *

  —

  After family dinner Lola and I hang out in her favorite spot: her backyard. She uses clippers and expertly snaps at leaves and branches.

  My grandma’s garden feels like a wonderland, with trees full of bright lemons and limes, and large wooden planters overrun with leafy greens and all kinds of herbs. I rub a sprig of rosemary and bring its clean, strong scent to my nose the way she taught me.

  Lolo and I built these planters—my first time using a handsaw. Lola said I was too young, but Lolo said not to worry since in the Philippines I’d be tending the farm, so what was the harm? We filled them with dark soil, deep and cool. He let me sink my hands and feet in.

  Lola brought out a tray of halo-halo to celebrate the finished product. Our spoons clinked in the glasses as we mixed up the ice, and Lolo told me about his farming days in the Philippines. During dry seasons they planted tobacco and in wet months, rice.

  “But these planters won’t be for tobacco,” Lola said that day. “We will grow beans and squash and kamote.” Sweet potato. “This is not the right climate for kamote, but we will still try. That’s our only job, anak, simply to try.”

  My whole life I’ve watched Lola work this garden with her small but strong hands. When they first came to California, my grandparents picked asparagus in the spring and grapes in the summer and fall. For days at a time they’d leave my mom and auntie with relatives so they could travel for work.

  It used to upset me hearing stories of how people treated them because of their dark skin and thick accents—until Lola taught me that everyone has a history and theirs gave us our good life now. “That’s how sacrifice works.”

  Now Lola takes a break from clipping bushes and reclines in a lawn chair, tilting her face toward the sky. It’s getting darker, a dreamy nightfall-gray.

  I wish she could fix how mixed-up I feel.

  “Lola, do you remember how you promised to help me grow a garden in front of my tiny house?” It was her suggestion. “How will we do that if Mom and I don’t live near you anymore?”

  I take my phone and show her pictures of the trailer bed all cleaned up. She squints and pushes the screen away.

  “Anak ko,” she says. She claps her hands in a rhythm and sings:

  “Bahay kubo, kahit munti.

  Ang halaman doon, ay sari-sari.

  Sinkamas at talong, sigarilyas at mani.

  Sitaw, bataw, patani.”

  “Ay nako! My voice used to be prettier,” she says, laughing. “Do you remember that song?”

  She’s always sung it to us. It reminds me of nights I loved, Lola and Mom singing me to sleep together. They would try to harmonize but always sounded kind of awful. Mom would laugh and laugh.

  Nipa hut—even though it is small,

  The plants that grow around it are varied.

  Turnip and eggplant, winged bean and peanut,

  String bean, hyacinth bean, lima bean.

  “When I was a girl, my wish was to get far away from the bahay kubo. I wanted to give my family more. And now look at you, bringing the one-room house back into style,” she says, chuckling.

  “I don’t want to move.”

  “I don’t want you to, either, but your mama’s working hard to give you the same thing I wanted for my daughters—a better life. You will both figure it out.”

  I wish I could feel the same.

  * * *

  —

  The doorbell rings and I open it to find a person in a brown uniform.

  “Delivery for Luzviminda Bulosan.”

  Mom zips over. He hands her a large envelope and an electronic clipboard to sign. The envelope looks official.

  “What’d you get?” I ask as she shuts the door.

  Mom opens the package and pulls out a sheet of paper. I watch her eyes move, reading it. “Oh my.”

  “What happened?”

  She covers her face with her hands for a second.

  Lola walks in. “Who was there?”

  My mother looks at me. “Lou, honey, we need to talk.”

  * * *

  —

  Mom and I sit down in the dining room, the letter resting on the table in front of us.

  “It’s from the county,” Mom says. “A notice of public auction.”

  “What does that mean?” Lola asks, taking a seat.

  Mom picks up the letter and stares at it for a long moment. “This has to do with Lou’s land. If the taxes aren’t paid on time, then after a certain number of years, the county has the right to auction it off.”

  “I don’t get it,” I say.

  “Lou, the county’s going to sell your land if we don’t pay them more money.”

  “What?” Am I really hearing this? I look from Lola to Mom.

  Lola leans forward. “How much more do you owe, anak ko? I thought you had gotten things under control?”

  “I worked out a settlement plan a while back, but between the taxes and late fees and paying for school…it’s been impossible to keep up.”

  “Is this the first time they’ve contacted you about this?” Lola asks.

  Mom shakes her head. “No.”

  Her face wrinkles and she begins to cry. I feel numb.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Lola asks calmly.

  Mom wipes her eyes and scans the letter again. She reads it aloud, slowly. “ ‘We have the right to redeem the property by the close of business on the last business day prior to the sale….The auction is planned for twenty-one days from now.’ ” She grabs her phone and looks at the calendar. “That means we have until the Monday after Barrio Fiesta to pay everything off.”<
br />
  “Are you kidding me?” I say. I can feel my hands trembling.

  “There is still time. We will figure out what to do,” Lola says, though she looks worried, too.

  My mind races as I try to understand. “I’m still building my house. I just went out there today. If I finish, maybe the county won’t go through with the auction if they see a structure there.”

  “Your house?” Mom looks at me, still shocked. “Lou, have you been going out there again on your own?”

  “I wasn’t alone. I had helpers. What else am I supposed to do?”

  “Lou. You are grounded. No trips to the land.” Mom sighs, then shakes her head. “Let’s all calm down and try to think logically,” she says. “With my new job I’ll get a big raise—so between that and what I’ve been saving, I’ll pay what I can, then arrange another payment schedule. They allow people to do that.”

  I jump up. “Are you sure that’s going to work?”

  “I can help, too.” Lola takes Mom’s hand.

  “You already have, but somehow I still got us to this point.”

  “I wish you had told me sooner, Minda,” Lola says.

  “I didn’t want to burden anyone,” Mom says.

  “Is there anything else we can do right away?” I ask, but they start talking to each other, leaving me out. “Mom?”

  She looks into my eyes. “Lola’s right, honey. We’ll figure this out. I’ll fix this.”

  “How could you let this happen?” I yell before running into my closet and slamming the door as hard as I can.

  * * *

  —

  I’ll have to figure this out myself. On my phone, I search for taxes and land. A bunch of legal stuff pops up, and I’m not sure what any of it means. My head throbs. It’s too hard to think.

  Okay. Breathe.

  If the county wants to sell…I know! I’ll chain myself to my land! People did that in Berkeley when the city wanted to cut down a hundred-year-old tree. My friends can come, and when the tax collectors see us, they’ll be so confused they’ll leave it alone!