by Chris Baron
Tell him I said you could go,
that you should go,
that I promised you
that he would understand.
I love you, Etan.
I will see you soon.
I walk over to the couch,
hand him his coffee.
Dad, I need to tell you something.
And I tell him everything all at once—
about the talent show
and sorry for not telling him sooner
and about what Mom said.
He listens for a long time,
stands up,
walks around the couch once,
goes into the bathroom,
closes the door.
When he finally comes out,
he sits down silently,
puts his arm around me.
I understand.
He lets out a long breath.
I’ll take Mike to the game
straight from work;
we have a job near the city.
I’ll probably be home late,
who knows, maybe
you’ll see me on TV?
I can’t tell if he’s upset
or really okay,
or maybe just surprised
by Mom’s words.
He gets his keys,
and I wheel out my bike.
Tell Malia “Break a leg!”
I will see you guys late tonight.
We can celebrate the Giants
because tonight they are going to win!
The Day of Days
On the boldest day
of my entire life,
I feel the least brave.
I ride my bike to school.
11:45: Lunch bell rings.
11:49: I unlock my bike,
and ride,
standing up,
as fast as I can,
all the way
to Forest Road.
12:27: On the very last stretch
of road, before the dragon mailbox,
I try to listen
to the trees,
but they are silent and still.
12:31: Arrival
I hide my bike outside the driveway,
peer through the bushes;
no one’s outside.
I creep around the back of the house,
sweating from the bike ride.
Malia is there
in her window.
She sees me,
dramatically points down
to the front door,
which opens suddenly.
Lola is standing there.
Hello, Etan?
In my mind
I form the best lying sentence
about how school let out early,
but nothing comes out.
Malia blunders down the stairs.
Hi, Etan! Lola, we’re going for a bike ride,
then down to the creek
for the afternoon. Love you!
She kisses her on the cheek,
her overstuffed backpack
like a turtle shell, sunglasses on,
scarf around her whole head.
Before Lola says anything,
we are out the door,
Malia holding my arm.
Then we go to her garage,
where her purple Huffy
with ribbons on the handlebars
leans against the side.
Nervous
Are you nervous? I say.
Malia scratches her arms through her shirt,
opens a cough drop.
Yes! Duh!
Do you want to practice?
Yes! But we need to take the long way
down to our place
so Lola doesn’t see us
going through the yard.
We get our bikes,
walk the long way
through paths I haven’t seen before.
The October forest is warmer than I’ve ever felt,
like the smell of my grandfather’s shop
in the morning before the air comes in.
Malia stops.
I can’t hear the trees, Etan.
Something is happening.
I stop, look around,
Try to listen, too.
The stones wait for us
near the pool,
where the water
is a sheet of glass,
a mirror, perfectly flat.
We sit on the stones,
face each other,
staring quietly
in a long and nervous silence.
I think of my grandfather.
What would he say?
Okay, Malia, are you ready?
Show me what you’re made of.
Slowly she takes off her sunglasses,
her eyes wrinkle together.
What? Wait, what are you talking about? She looks confused.
I look down,
my legs nervously shaking.
Never mind, I say. So are you ready?
No! she shouts. How could I ever be?
We try to stop shaking,
and eventually
she breathes,
listens,
her body shifts,
and in the stillness
of the strange afternoon air
her voice fills the forest.
Maybe, I think,
the trees are quiet
because today
they are listening
to her.
Granola Bars
She opens her backpack,
pulls out a box of apple fruit granola bars.
Here, she says, eat, we have to keep our strength up.
The bars crumble in our hands.
Do you think a lot of people will be there?
I imagine all the people filling the community center.
I think about
the Calypso,
that we’re all connected
like a giant family,
that so many people
will be there tonight,
everyone except her parents,
who don’t even know,
but they will definitely find out.
But Malia is standing now,
her scarf unwrapped,
and even though the swelling in her eye
is not that different,
the redness of her skin
still a slight shine in places,
she seems so much freer.
She spins near the pool
and her body moves in the windless air.
I think I am ready, Etan! Nervous, but ready!
I feel like all of our days here
have really, you know, put me together.
I feel like myself inside my own skin,
like I could handle anything.
The Last Lunch
We pack everything
and get ready for our journey,
when we hear something
moving down the path—
the sound of shuffling shoes
the sudden and bright flowery dress.
Lola?
She comes to the stones,
holds out a platter
where mangoes are cut into cubes.
So lovely here, she says.
Like home maybe.
We eat mangoes,
unsure of what to do next.
So quiet today?
She looks at me.
Malia laughs, pushes my shoulder.
He’s always quiet.
Then Lola stares straight at us,
her face serious, voice low.
But you won’t be quiet later, will you?
When it’s time to siiiiing?
Malia coughs up a mango,
spits it into her hand.
LOLA! But, how …
I feel a wave of fear,
a wave of relief.
Lola smiles,
rests her hand on Malia’s head.
It’s okay, anak.
Grown-ups know everything.
You are safe with me.
Sing with all of your heart.
Now, you better get going!
We ride fast down Forest Road.
How did she know? Malia asks.
I don’t know, I say.
But it feels good,
and every pedal
feels better,
like riding closer
to exactly where we are supposed to go.
Part
6
The Community Center
Malia isn’t the best bike rider.
She’s wobbly, and she knows it.
What?!
She looks at me, almost crashing,
but we make it through town,
past the park where everyone
is gathering again
for the third game of the Series.
We reach the community center right at three.
The Covenanteers are there,
hats in full bloom,
welcoming all the talent,
holding big bowls of apples,
Fruit Roll-Ups, and water cups.
We pass by the little gym,
full of chairs lined in perfect rows
all the way to the stage.
In the rec room,
kids and parents are everywhere.
Tiny ballerinas spin
on the slippery floor.
One boy holds up a pickle
while his little dog
leaps in the air,
its jaws snapping.
And then,
I see Jordan there, holding a guitar,
trying to play through chords.
When he sees us,
he smiles, waves.
I wave back.
Hi, Malia, he says. You feeling better?
Malia, her head scarf-wrapped,
sunglasses tight, her Cyndi Lauper
cassette tape wrapped tightly
inside Blankie,
smiles wide. Hi … Jordan.
He stops playing and looks up.
Hey, you guys going
to the park with everyone after this?
First pitch at 5:35?
It’s Candlestick this time.
I bet they are going to wreck the A’s.
We find our own corner of the rec room.
Malia lays out Blankie
like we’re at a picnic.
We sit, open the program.
It says she’s fourteenth, just after Molly,
who’s playing piano,
and before William,
who is doing a monologue
from Shakespeare.
She curls her knees into her arms,
hugs them tightly,
rocks back and forth
to the timing of the music,
the lyrics forming on her lips.
Right Before:
Malia puts her hand on my foot.
I don’t feel like the creature any more.
Because you never were! I say.
Remember you asked me
what I am made of?
I feel my face redden.
It was a good question, Etan.
I just want to say thanks.
I think part of me feels
like it’s made of clay,
the old clay and the new clay from the river,
and my Lola’s adobo,
and my grandfather’s dragon mailbox,
and your drawings.
All of it all together.
Malia can say everything
on her mind all at once.
Are you ready? I say.
She looks around the room.
Almost, she says.
She unwraps the scarf
from around her head,
takes off her glasses,
her swollen eye partially closed,
that side of her face,
a little red from the eczema.
She breathes deeply.
When we go in, will you hold Blankie?
3:52
While the rec room
takes deep breaths
with everyone getting ready to perform,
I peek out the door and into the gym
to see if anyone is actually here yet.
It’s full.
Parents, grandparents, teachers,
everyone dressed in Giants jerseys
and hats, the Covenanteers
handing out cookies
and Dixie cups of Crystal Light.
I walk over to get a cup for Malia,
and then, near the front,
already seated, I see them:
my grandfather, Mrs. Li, Mr. Cohen,
and more empty seats.
3:58
Malia gulps down the punch,
throws the cup at me,
laughs.
I need to tell you.
Tell me what?
I mean, it’s no big deal.
What!! she demands.
Well, just that
my grandfather,
and Mrs. Li, Mr. Cohen,
and maybe some others, well, you should know
that they are here.
Her eyes widen
and she coughs.
But my parents. They’ll tell my parents …
Don’t you think they were going to find out anyway?
Malia picks up the cup,
throws it at me again.
We hear the loud screech
of a microphone,
a muffled voice,
the show is starting.
4:08
The host looks over at us.
All right, Jordan,
you are starting us off.
Jordan grabs his guitar like a rock star,
walks toward the stage.
Tammy Stinton, you are next!
Tammy skips toward the stage
with a recorder in her hand.
4:14
We can’t really see onto the stage
but we hear guitar chords
and the occasional clapping,
the voice of the emcee,
and finally Jordan
makes his way back in,
holding his guitar in one hand.
He packs up his stuff.
See you guys later at the park?
4:27
Malia paces
and I go out to the tables
to get her another cup of punch
and that’s when I see it.
All the way by the stage,
the seats that were empty before
are filled.
Mr. and Mrs. Agbayani!
Lola must have told them!
But I don’t see her.
I bring the punch to Malia,
and I say
absolutely nothing.
4:36
When the little ballerina
slips on stage,
her parents
pick her up,
help her finish,
to a standing ovation.
4:45
Molly waits nervously,
steps onto the stage,
and that means
Malia is next.
She gets up,
crumples Blankie into a ball,
and puts it in my arms.
Don’t lose Blankie!
She looks at her cassette
to make sure it’s wound to the right place,
then hands her cassette to the Covenanteer,
who takes it to the theater tech.
We look at each other,
and I think something
like a prayer in mind.
Molly plays “The Entertainer,”
and when she finishes,
she plays the whole thing again.
Malia stands up on her toes
and back down
and up again.
>
William stands
way too close to her,
since he’s next,
the sleeves of his shirt way too long,
a Shakespeare wig fixed to his head
leaning slightly to the left.
My heart feels tight
from the pressure of breathing.
I want to be on the Sitting Stones
near the pool,
both of us
listening to the trees.
When I look at her,
she’s holding one hand
over her swollen eye.
You can do it! I whisper.
4:52
Please welcome Malia Agbayani!
I wait without breath until
I hear the applause.
Singing
When Malia sings,
it’s like stones dropping into a deep pool
or skipping across the surface,
but more than that;
her voice has so much light,
a voice that understands
the language of the trees,
the language of her family,
and even me who has trouble
saying anything at all.
I listen to the words fill the gym,
amazed at the beautiful quiet
of “Time After Time,”
and I feel like she’s singing the song to me.
Then I remember
her parents sitting in the front row,
and I wonder
if a mountain of trouble
is about to fall
on our heads.
4:58
Applause.
Loud, like at a baseball game.
I peek around the corner.
Malia stands on stage
and everyone is cheering,
she’s smiling,
