The House That Lou Built

by Mae Respicio

  Behind her on set is a humongous screen where I see myself: sawing, hammering, and blowing bangs out of my eyes as I concentrate. Jack’s footage.

  Close-ups capture different hands gripped around tools, and sawdust flying like confetti. Shots show my friends acting silly and having fun.

  The camera zooms in on my face and I cringe, spotting pimples and stray hairs. But it’s me, it’s who I am, filling up the screen.

  Finally, the camera zooms in on my hands, pounding at a nail, before it turns upward into the skyline with trees like umbrellas and the whole thing fades.

  “I am loving your creativity,” Morina says. “Tell me more, Lou. Why are you building this? Why a tiny house?”

  I have to think about it. The camera’s red light points at me and I freeze—I’m not sure what to say. Morina waits, but I’m stuck.

  “Lucinda has a unique knack for bringing her ideas to life,” Mr. Keller says.

  “Because I want to have my own house on my own land!” I shout, to my surprise, in front of everyone. I can feel my cheeks turning hot.

  Mr. Keller puts his hands on my shoulders and I feel him give an encouraging squeeze. I look up at him and he smiles at me.

  Morina laughs and says into the camera, “A house is made of wood, folks, but a home is made of dreams. You heard it here.”

  A home is made of dreams? Not at all. I know a lot better than that now.

  A guy wearing a headset carries out three giant cardboard rectangles and hands one to each winner. They all say Good Day, Bay! Student of the Year. And the best part? The amount says Five Hundred Dollars. What?

  The teachers shake each other’s hands and Haircut Kid, Calculus Girl, and I look at each other with shocked faces.

  “Congratulations! For Channel Forty, I’m Morina Medrano!” A voice somewhere yells, “Cut!”

  * * *

  —

  After the taping, Mr. Keller, Lola, and I go home to a house full of family, cheers, and hugs. I glance around for Mom. I’m ready for her good news so we can really celebrate.

  “Is she back yet?” I ask.

  Auntie Gemma shakes her head. “You were terrific, Lou.”

  “Those big cameras were terrifying. I hardly said anything!”

  “I can’t wait to help you spend that five hundred bucks,” Arwin says, and we laugh as everyone gathers around the table to fill up their plates.

  “I’ll use it for my land to pay off the taxes. I can still stop the auction!” I whisper to Sheryl.

  “What auction?” Uncle Felix, one of my mom’s cousins, asks. I don’t look his way.

  “The city’s going to sell Lou’s land,” Arwin says. Sheryl elbows him. Hard.

  “Hi, sorry I’m a little late!” Mom’s at the door. She holds her arms out to me. “Oh, come here, you. I can’t wait to see the recording.”

  “You’re going to be very proud of her, Minda,” Mr. Keller says.

  “But what’s all this about an auction for Lou’s land?” Uncle Felix asks.

  Mom looks surprised. “How do you know about that?”

  “I overheard the kids,” he says.

  “Are you having financial difficulties, Minda? Is there a way we can help?” asks Auntie Jing, his wife.

  Mom tries to laugh and shrug it off, but I can tell she’s embarrassed.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just nervous,” I say.

  “Sheryl said that Auntie Minda owes a bunch of money, and that’s why they’re holding the auction,” Arwin says.

  “Hoy!” Auntie Gemma says in her best Filipino scowl. “That’s none of your concern.”

  “Come on, everybody! Time for more food! We all need some good energy for the festival tomorrow.” Lola pushes people toward the food table to give us some privacy.

  Mom says quietly to Auntie Gemma, “I didn’t want everyone to know yet.”

  “Min, they’re only asking because they’re concerned. We all want to help,” Auntie says.

  “How was your meeting? What did they say?” I ask.

  Mom whispers, “Honey, we can talk about it after everyone goes home.”

  “Is the auction canceled?” She doesn’t seem happy like I thought she would.

  “You okay, sis?” Auntie asks softly.

  “They called it off, right? You saw Mr. Rodrigo?”

  Mom shakes her head. “No, Lou, I didn’t. I met with other people from his office.” She tries to smile. “Hey, let’s celebrate. I want to hear all about the news station.”

  “But I’ve been waiting all day.”

  Mom looks from Auntie to me. There’s a long silence until she finally says, “Lou…I couldn’t make it work. I thought they’d accept the amount I was able to offer but…they didn’t.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “The auction’s still going to happen.”

  No. I feel sick.

  “I’m so sorry. But listen, I got lots of great information and I have a few more ideas,” she says.

  “Why don’t you go talk on the patio? No one’s out there,” Auntie says.

  “They’re still going to hold the auction?” I ask. Both of them look at me sadly. “They’re selling my land?”

  I run into the bedroom, but Arwin and some of the little cousins are jumping on the beds. I try my closet, but Maribel’s in there texting.

  “Hey,” she says. I shut the door on her.

  This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

  Maribel leaves the closet and I take her place, shutting the door behind me. I close my eyes, but I can’t block out the noise.

  After a while, Lola comes in and says, “Okay, anaks, time for everybody to get some rest now. Let’s go, let’s go…big day tomorrow! Barrio Fiesta!”

  * * *

  —

  Operation Tiny House Fail.

  In my closet, piece by piece, I pry away parts of my heart, stripping off every picture, shredding them down, building little paper piles as the tape sticks to my nails. All these wishes that never had a chance.

  Someone knocks on my door. I don’t feel like talking to Mom right now.

  “Hey, it’s us,” voices say.

  The door creaks a sliver and three sets of eyes appear: Sheryl, Alexa, and Gracie.

  “Can we come in?” Sheryl asks.

  They pull the door open and Gracie’s eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, Lou, why did you do that to your vision heart?” She picks up the torn pieces and tries to pat them back up, but they fall.

  “All righty, all righty…move over, move over…,” Alexa says.

  They squish in and sit.

  “We came to cheer you up,” Sheryl says.

  “These should help.” Alexa holds up a clear bag of cookies. She hands one to each of us and we bite in. “Avocado cacao chip. My mom’s secret recipe.”

  They giggle, but it’s hard for me to laugh. When they see that I don’t, they all get quiet.

  “Well, so what if we kept building?” Gracie asks.

  “Yeah, you could build it on Annie’s lot. She’d let you,” Sheryl says.

  I know they’re trying to help, but there’s nothing more I can do. We’re moving. I lost my land.

  “I don’t have anything left,” I say.

  “You still have us,” Sheryl says.

  “And…you still have Jack Allen,” Alexa jokes.

  I begin to cry. Nobody says a word. Alexa bites into another cookie.

  They stare at the floor and let me cry. I know I have the best friends when even their silence makes me feel better.

  I wipe my eyes. “How am I going to dance tomorrow?”

  “Oh, I know, we can drop some wood on your foot and then maybe you won’t have to!” Gracie says.

  Sheryl starts to laugh—a
nd so do Alexa and Gracie. They link their arms around me and together we knock heads.

  “Will you promise to come visit after we move?” I say.

  “Yes!” they shout.

  The senior center’s parking lot bustles with action. Volunteers set up tables and large white tents. Uncles in aprons start up the grills, and delicious smells waft through. Booths line the lot, selling old things, new things, crafts and jewelry and vintage barongs—you name it.

  I’m at a table with Gracie and some other girls from our dance group. We all wear Hawaiian shirts and leis over our costumes, and the banner I painted says Sari-Sari Store in bright blue, yellow, and red letters, the colors of the Philippine flag.

  Sari-sari means “variety.” Lola loves to tell us her memories of these colorful little stores and shacks in the Philippines where everyone stops for sodas and treats on hot, humid days. We’re selling squares of her sweet, sticky rice cakes, plus drinks. Gracie pushes soda cans into a cooler of ice, then gives a little hula shake. “We look pretty fab if I do say so myself.”

  I try to seem excited—but who am I kidding? Mom’s arranging for the uncles to move everything—the shed and my flatbed—to Annie’s lot for storage. Annie said that one day I’ll find another building spot, but I don’t know about that.

  “You okay?” Gracie asks.

  “We gave it a good shot, huh?” I say, and she hugs me.

  Lola’s manning tables full of rummage-sale items. She waves both arms at me from across the lot and I go over to see her.

  A woman walks up to us holding out a purse. Our first customer.

  “How much?” she asks.

  The bag’s brand-new; it still has the tags. I grab the little paper rectangle and read it. “According to the original price…eighty bucks. But we’re charging half.”

  “I’ll give you ten,” she says. I’m about to say yes when Lola steps in.

  “Sixty,” Lola says forcefully.

  “Fifteen,” the lady says, just as aggressively.

  “Fifty-five.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Forty. This is designer. Never used. Looks good in the nightclubs,” Lola says. “I can tell you understand the value of this, so please do not insult me.” Her final offer.

  “She’s good,” the lady says to me, forking over the cash.

  As the woman walks away, Lola whispers, “I would have taken five.” We laugh. Then she says, “I’ve been searching for your mama. Have you seen her?”

  “I think she’s backstage helping Miss Jovy.”

  “Come on, let’s go find her and your auntie Gemma.” Lola grabs my hand. “There’s something we need to share with you both.”

  Miss Jovy runs through the parking lot frantically, gathering stray kids. She points at me. “You! Dressing room! Now!”

  “It’s okay, we’ll do it later,” Lola says, giving me a smile and a nudge toward the auditorium.

  * * *

  —

  A dark stage, barely lit, covered by a large screen.

  My group and I wait in the wings, lined up in our bright costumes, everyone barefoot. The girls wear their hair in tight low buns and the boys have kerchiefs around their necks.

  I’ve been dancing in this festival since I was little, but this part always feels the same: stomach somersaults and trembly legs. I take deep breaths and try to push the other stuff from my mind.

  Arwin turns around and loud-whispers, “Are you nervous?” I shush him.

  A slow beat begins. That’s our cue.

  The pole holders walk onstage first, carrying the long bamboo reeds, their silhouettes on the screen the only thing visible to the audience. No music plays yet, just a steady beat, which the audience claps to. The pole holders reach their spots and assemble the poles in parallel lines on the floor.

  The music begins with its joyful melody, starting soft, getting louder and louder.

  We dancers sway out, single file. Slowly the screen rises and the lights brighten until our shadows fade. We hit our marks sharply.

  The lights shine. The music stops.

  It’s quiet—until the clacking of wood to wood: boom boom click boom boom click. There’s energy in the air.

  I raise my flouncy skirt in time with the others and hop into and out of the reeds as the audience cheers.

  * * *

  —

  Not a single person tripped or missed the beat, not even me! I’m so relieved. Happy sounds bounce off the walls as everyone gathers onstage—dancers, family, friends. It’s a colossal Filipino party. People give flowers wrapped in plastic or take pictures next to the bahay kubo.

  Alexa and her mom meet me, Mom, and Lola in the middle of the crowd.

  “You guys were great!” Alexa says, and she and her mom give us hugs before Alexa runs off to congratulate her other friends.

  Mom hands me a bouquet of red mums, which I cradle like a Miss Preteen Sampaguita. Mom’s ring dangles from a golden chain around her neck, and the stage lights make the diamond twinkle.

  “Oh, Lou, you were so much fun to watch. I remember dancing Tinikling, but I wasn’t nearly as good as you kids.”

  “And you didn’t fall up there, anak. Nice job,” Lola says, patting my back.

  Auntie Gemma and Sheryl rush toward us.

  “There you are,” Lola says to them.

  Sheryl says, “We’ve been looking for you guys everywhere!”

  Auntie holds an envelope out to Mom. “For you and Lou.”

  My mom and I look at each other.

  “What are you waiting for, Auntie? Open it!” Sheryl says.

  Mom opens the envelope and pulls out a check.

  “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh…,” Mom says, shocked.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Auntie Gemma says, “If you add the amount to what you’ve already saved, you should have enough for the county. We held an emergency family meeting and everyone gave what they could.”

  Mom holds the check out to me—I’m just as stunned.

  “This is so much money,” Mom says.

  “Even the community center donated a little, for all the help our family’s given over the years,” Auntie Gemma says.

  “Anak ko,” Lola says, “we know how hard you’ve worked to take care of Lou, and we’re so proud of you both. What happens to you and Lou matters to all of us. This is what we do for each other.” Mom turns to Lola and holds her close.

  I grab Mom’s arm. “Can we still stop the auction?”

  “I think so. I’ll call the tax office now,” Mom says. “And leave a message. They open on Monday. I can’t believe this.”

  But actually, I can. I’d do anything for my family, too. We all know this is how it works.

  I throw my arms around Sheryl and Auntie Gemma.

  Mom and I are crying now—and laughing and hugging.

  “What a day,” Lola says with a smile. She sits on the couch, closing her eyes for a rest, and I join her. We’ve made it through another festival.

  I’m not really sure what to feel right now—happy that the land’s still mine, but sad that we have to move.

  I’m tired. Time to veg out.

  “My show’s recorded. Is it okay if I watch?” I ask, and Lola nods.

  I turn on the TV and find the title: Get Decked Out.

  Mom walks in. “Fashion makeovers? I don’t think I’ve seen this one before.”

  “No, it’s construction TV, about building house decks.”

  “Oh, Lou,” Mom says with an exaggerated groan, and we laugh. After everything, it feels great to do that.

  “Popcorn?” I ask.

  “Yes, please,” Lola says.

  I pause at the opening credits and run into the kitchen to grab the bowl.

  “Loaded with butte
r,” I say, setting it on the coffee table and stuffing a huge, salty handful in my mouth. I join Lola on the couch and spread a blanket across our laps.

  Mom’s hooking cables into the TV from a rectangular silver box.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “A videocassette recorder, VCR for short. It’s how your auntie and I used to watch movies….But let’s see if I can get this dinosaur to work.” Mom presses buttons and says, “I lost some important tapes your dad and Grandpa Ted made a long time ago. I’m hoping the ones from the shed might be them.”

  She grabs a video from Dad’s box and pushes it into the machine. The VCR clunks and swallows it up.

  Mom joins us under the blanket, me in between, and points a remote. An image plays.

  It’s a little fuzzy. That’s when I see him.

  Him.

  It’s my dad. He’s on the screen, and he’s moving. I’ve never been able to picture how he moved. Mom grabs my hand and squeezes.

  Dad’s right in front of the lens, fiddling and setting the camera onto a tripod.

  Up close, Michael Nelson has pale skin and hair the color of mine, sandy brown, definitely not Filipino. He looks like a guy lost people might ask for directions from because he seems friendly.

  Dad’s wearing what I normally do, jeans and a T-shirt. He smiles into the camera. Weird; it’s like he’s looking at me. The frame shakes as he adjusts the lens, and after it steadies he walks backward, still peering my way.

  Now I know why she fell in love with him: My dad was handsome.

  I’d recognize the setting anywhere—our land.

  The orange hammock’s strung between the same two trees, but it’s brighter, not faded like it is now.

  Please say something so I can hear your voice.

  “Hello. I’m about to do the biggest, most important thing I’ve ever done in my life,” he says.

  His voice! He sounds kind. My heart is full, hearing it.

  Dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small red box. He opens it up and shows off the ring, the one I know.