by Mae Respicio
“Ummm…I guess the worst he could say is…no?” Gracie says.
“Exactly.”
“Have you already talked to him?” Sheryl asks.
“I’ve been calling, but I just get voice mail. I’m going to his office. I checked the map. I’ve been to that building with Lola when she had to pay parking tickets. It’s not far. I won’t be long.”
“Maybe we should go with you,” Gracie offers.
I brighten. “Sure! The more of us there are, the harder we’ll be to ignore. He won’t have any choice but to call the whole thing off.”
“But Maribel’s supposed to be here soon, and she’ll see that we’re gone,” Sheryl says.
“Would she drive us?” I ask.
Sheryl thinks. “Maybe.”
Maribel was in a good mood—and I’m persuasive.
The girls and I walk with Maribel out to the minivan. “So, Lou, inquiring minds want to know. Why go through all this trouble just for dirt and trees?” Maribel says.
“Because it belonged to half of me.” Maribel was a little girl when Mom got pregnant, so she met Dad. “Do you remember what my dad was like?”
She nods. “He was nice, and funny, too. He used to play Go Fish with me and Kelvin and he always let us win.” Maribel smiles at me now. “Do what you need to do, little cuz.”
“Thanks, Manang.”
The plan: Maribel’s telling Auntie that we stopped at the mall, Gracie’s telling her mom she’s at Sheryl’s, Alexa’s telling her mom she’s at Gracie’s. And Maribel’s driving. We’re covered.
I slide open the Filipino-Mobile and we help Sheryl up before piling in.
* * *
—
Professional-looking people walk up and down the glossy halls of the Civic Center. We look out of place in our sweats and dance clothes, but no one pays attention to us as we walk straight for the elevator and press the button to go up.
“I see some vending machines. I’ll find you later,” Maribel says. “Do you have an appointment with the guy?”
We jump into the elevator. “Do we need one?” Gracie asks. Maribel rolls her eyes.
Upstairs, our footsteps echo until Alexa stops us at a door.
Terra Vista County Department of Property Tax.
“Okay, big deep breath,” I say, and we all inhale.
* * *
—
In the office, there’s an older lady at the front desk and no one else waiting. She peers at us over her glasses. “May I help you?”
The girls stand behind me protectively, like backup dancers.
“Uh, hi. I was wondering if, um, if I could please talk to someone?” I say, more softly than I imagined myself doing.
“I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time hearing you,” she says.
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Rodrigo, please.”
“May I ask what this is regarding?”
“Well…”
Of all the times for a brain fart. The girls wait for me to convince her. It’s my only chance, and I don’t want to mess it up.
Sheryl steps in. “This is my cousin Lucinda Bulosan-Nelson. She has some questions about her property.”
“Yes, very important questions,” Gracie says.
“About tax collection,” Alexa adds.
The lady seems confused, but finally I find my voice. Sometimes it hides, but it comes out when I need it. That’s what counts.
“I’d like to discuss a property auction.”
“Is there an adult here with you?” the woman asks.
“No, I’m here representing my own property. I’d like to speak with the person in charge.”
Her face softens. “I’m sorry, girls, but Mr. Rodrigo is on a call. You’ll have to make an appointment and come back another time.”
“Okay, she’ll make an appointment, then,” Alexa says.
“Yeah, pronto,” Gracie says. Sheryl elbows her. “I mean please.”
The woman clicks on a mouse and looks at her computer. “It seems that the earliest I have is four months from now.”
“Four months? My land will be gone by then! The auction—” I stop. The girls glance at each other.
“Isn’t there anything sooner?” Sheryl asks politely, and the lady clicks some more but shakes her head.
“It’s all right, I understand,” I say. “Thank you for your time.”
“Are you sure?” Sheryl whispers. The girls give me questioning looks, but I nudge them in the direction of the Exit sign.
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just go,” I say.
I let the girls start walking away and before anyone can stop me, I charge past the receptionist to the closed door behind her and knock.
She jumps up. “Young lady, what are you doing?”
“Go, Lou!” Gracie says.
The door opens and a man steps out. “Yes?”
* * *
—
“I’m sorry, Roger, these young ladies asked to see you, but I’ve informed them that they need to—”
“Mr. Rodrigo, my name is Lucinda Bulosan-Nelson. I was hoping for a moment of your time. It’s very important.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please. You can make a decision that will affect my whole life.”
He looks surprised. I surprised myself. I give my most confident smile. His eyes go back and forth from the receptionist to me.
“Please, sir, I promise to be brief,” I say nicely.
“Of course. Step into my office.” He opens the door wide.
* * *
—
Mr. Rodrigo likes baseball. There’s a gigantic black-and-orange San Francisco Giants flag on the wall, and pictures of fun stuff like him tandem skydiving with two thumbs up.
I think he’ll give me a shot.
He sits at his desk and we stand in front. The girls form a horseshoe around me.
“So what’s this all about, kids?”
“You can’t sell my land,” I say. “The property on Stone Canyon Drive out in Terra Vista Valley, sir.”
“Are you sure Marge didn’t put you up to this?” He points toward the receptionist’s desk and chuckles. I give him a serious look to show that I’m not pranking.
“Please, Mr. Rodrigo, you have to cancel that auction.”
“Lucinda, I apologize, but the only way my office would not move forward would be for the owner of your land to pay what is owed by the deadline.”
“We’ll have it for you—my mom’s working on it, and I’m helping. If you give me a little more time, I’ll raise the rest of the money. I just need a chance.”
“Is there someone I can call to pick you girls up?” he asks.
He’s not hearing me; he only sees someone who doesn’t know what she’s doing. I yank the phone from my backpack and rush up to his desk.
“Okay, Mr. Rodrigo, picture this. A tiny house,” I say, playing the video Jack made. “That’s me, and all the people I love, working on it.”
He watches the video as the girls and I watch him, but it’s hard to figure out what he’s thinking. At the end of the video he asks, “Is this on your property?”
I nod. “It’s what my dad left for me. I never knew him, but I have our land. He was going to build our house there, but he passed away, and now it’s my turn.”
“And she can do it, you know?” Alexa says.
“Totally. Lou has the brainpower—” Gracie says.
“—and the muscle power,” Sheryl adds. “Sometimes people underestimate kids, but Lou can do this. More than anyone we know.”
I swipe through pictures of my heart collage and blueprint, and of women I admire who create things. The last images show different angles of my house-to-be, surrounded by friends.
“Th
e front door goes here, the ladder to the sleeping loft there, and this corner’s the special reading nook. I bet you didn’t know you could fit so much into the smallest space, huh?”
Without asking, he swipes through the pictures himself.
Convince him, Lou. Say something more.
“Do you have any kids, Mr. Rodrigo?”
He gives me an odd look, but he nods. We all smile.
“That’s great! May I ask you something?” I say.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Let’s pretend you have a daughter and you’ve given her something that means the world to you. But suddenly you have to leave, and it’s not your fault, but you’ll never see her again. Shouldn’t she have something to know you by?”
Mr. Rodrigo clasps his hands and looks directly at me.
“Lucinda, this is very unconventional. I can tell you’re a smart young lady, but this matter is something I would need to discuss with your mother since she has guardianship of the property. She should contact my office.” He hands me a business card. “I appreciate you all coming by, but I’m afraid I have another meeting.”
I’ve lost my shot. He was supposed to shake my hand and say, “Calling off the auction! The land’s all yours!” Instead, he’s opening the door.
“Thanks for your time. Let’s go,” I say to the girls.
* * *
—
We stand outside in the hallway. What now?
I wish I could get to my best thinking spot. I check the time. “I’m going to the land.” Mom will be angry, but I have to.
“Right now?” Gracie asks.
“I know it sounds strange, but when I’m out there, it’s like my dad’s with me. Maybe he can tell me what to do, give me some sort of a sign.”
“Should we all go?” Sheryl asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to get everyone in trouble. But thanks for all your help in there. You were amazing.” I smile at them.
The elevator at the end of the long hall opens and Maribel steps out.
“Tell Manang I’m in the bathroom. I’ll be fine getting home.”
The girls look at each other like they’re not sure how far to take this for me. Maribel heads our way.
“Quick, hide,” Alexa says.
Gracie opens the door to a random office and shoves me in.
“May I help you?” a man says. I stand there, frozen.
I can hear them through the door as Maribel asks, “How’d it go? Where’s Lou?”
“She’s…in the bathroom. She’ll meet us at the van,” Sheryl says.
That was close.
* * *
—
As soon as I think they’re gone, I wave to the surprised man at the desk and slip out.
A stairway exit!
I run down four flights as fast as I can, exiting somewhere on the opposite side of where we parked. Perfect.
Now, where’s the bus stop? I spot it across the street.
Cars jet quickly in both directions and I wait for the road to clear. Minutes feel like hours until it’s safe for me to cross. I sprint over and my bus pulls up right on time: Route 143.
Passengers step off.
I’m out of breath.
Almost there.
“Lou! What are you doing?” Maribel yells from across the street. The girls are stopped at a red light as more traffic whizzes by.
I hear their shouts:
“Hurry, Lou!”
“We tried to stall!”
I glance at the bus driver, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“You better not get on that bus!” Maribel yells, but I step on and the doors clamp shut. I take a seat all the way in back.
Maribel runs across, Sheryl limping behind with Alexa and Gracie.
“Sir, please, I’m in a hurry, can you go now?” I shout to the driver, but he’s checking his phone. Maribel makes it to the door and pounds on it.
“Hey, young lady, take it easy,” the driver says, holding his hand up.
The doors open.
“Sorry, I just need to grab my little cousin—she’s not supposed to be here,” Maribel says, charging toward me with her you’re-in-huge-trouble-now face.
The passengers watch as she drags me off.
At home, I have nowhere to hide. I sink into the couch while Mom paces. She stops and gives me her best disappointed look. I hate that look.
“This is so unlike you, Lou.”
“I was trying to save things!”
“By barging in on a county official?” Maribel told her everything.
“I had to. I can’t lose my land.”
“Lucinda, you may not cross the bridge again on your own, or take the bus, or do anything else without my permission.”
“Can I at least show you my house?”
“This is the end of any house talk.”
“But, Mom—”
“You’re grounded—again. The only thing you’re allowed to do until we move is dance practice.”
“Don’t you even want to know what I’m talking about? Can you please come see?”
Mom lets out a sigh and sits next to me. I watch her face soften.
“Oh, Lou, all this auction stuff…it’s a lot to deal with, huh? I’m trying to fix everything so your land doesn’t get sold—I want you to know that—but it’s not okay for you to be running around wherever you like.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say. And I am. But I need her to understand, to see what I’ve done—even if it won’t change her mind about moving.
“May I ask you something?” She nods. “Have I ever done anything I wasn’t supposed to? I’ve always done what I’m supposed to as part of this family, right?”
She puts her arm around me and I look her in the eyes.
“Please, can I just show you what I’m talking about? It’s important to me. Then I’m one hundred percent grounded,” I say, crossing an X over my heart.
Mom pauses for what feels like forever.
“Go get your jacket,” she says.
* * *
—
I can’t remember the last time I saw Mom out here. She notices the trailer bed and I peel the tarp off so she can finally see.
“So this is the reason you’ve been sneaking out here, huh?” she says, surprised.
“Yeah. Annie and Mr. Keller helped me a ton, and so did Sheryl and Arwin and our friends. It’s the base. Phase one.” I smile.
“Gosh, Lou, you really built this?” she says, touching the planks like they’re precious. “You have the same gift that your dad did, you know? I’m proud of you, honey. He would be, too.” She hugs me.
I sit on my subfloor with Mom.
“My meeting at the county office is scheduled now. I’ll be talking to them the day before Barrio Fiesta. I wish it was sooner,” she says.
“Then what happens?”
“Then we work something out, the way we always do.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. We never stop. I learned that from your grandparents and all the other lolos and lolas.”
Mom rises and peers around, resting her fists on her waist the way a superhero might. She notices the shed with its doors slightly open from the wind. “May I look in there?”
I nod.
While she’s inside, I try to imagine how good it will feel to pound in the last nail.
“Got something for us,” Mom says, carrying out the box I found when I first pried the shed open. “I think these may be old family movies that belonged to the Nelsons. Let’s take them home. Keep them safe.”
“If you want.”
“There’s another place we should go today.”
* * *
—
As soon
as we reach the bottom of the hill, I know.
“Dad,” I say.
Mom nods. She’s driven us to the cemetery where the Nelson family is buried. We park, and an easy walking trail leads us to a beautiful, wide view of Mount Tam. I open the gate.
“A visit might help us,” she says.
We weave through lines of headstones and grass. The only sounds are birds, a plane overhead, and leaves rattling across the grass like crumpling paper.
Mom stops at three markers made from a speckly granite—Theodore Nelson, Beverly Nelson, Michael Nelson. Together we kneel and she carefully touches each stone.
There’s something calming about knowing that they’re here, near me.
“Did I ever tell you that Lola didn’t want me to go to Michael’s funeral?” she says.
“How come?”
“Oh, one of her annoying superstitions. You were still in my belly. It had something to do with a baby getting bad luck if the mother looks at the dead.”
“How’d you convince her to let you go?”
“I told her there wouldn’t be an open casket. Your dad was cremated, not like the kind of family services you’ve been to.”
“What was his funeral like?”
“A few relatives and close friends. Beautiful prayers. People gave little speeches about him, and Grandpa Ted and I held hands. Gemma called it very tasteful.” She pauses. “Ted and I were still…in shock…the accident.” Her voice gets soft and trails off.
I think of Lolo’s funeral, which stays sharp in my mind. He wore a barong, a sheer ivory shirt made from pineapple fabric that Filipinos wear to weddings and baptisms and things. Thin black veils covered the lolas’ faces as they clutched their rosaries and wept loudly over his casket. Some people even took pictures of Lolo or leaned in to kiss his cheek. Mom and Auntie did, and it freaked out the cousins and me.
Afterward, Lola announced that for her death she wanted a FUNeral and for all the guests to sing Michael Jackson songs and eat a mango sheet cake with her face on it. Everyone laughed. She cheered up the room even though we should have been doing that for her.
