As soon as the picture comes to life my gaze goes straight to the screen. It’s a show called Leave It to Beaver.
“A rerun,” Sirona says, as if every episode isn’t brand new for me. I’ve never seen any of them.
Like me, the minute the TV is on, all the women look up from their magazines and drop their conversations in midsentence, as if someone yelled, “Freeze!” in a game of “statue.” Even Sirona stops knitting the socks she’s working on to gawk at the talking box on the wall. I watch as several stitches fall off one of her needles, leaving a row of suspended curlicues. “I remember this one,” she says to Jade. “He gets stuck in the teacup and the fire department has to rescue him.”
Jade glances up from a well-read issue of Mother Earth News. On the cover photo, a mother and father lean over two boys, one wearing a Boy Scout uniform, as they kneel in the straw near a box of chicks. Jade closes the magazine and sets it on the table. She folds her arms over her chest and leans back in the hard plastic chair. “It was Eddie’s fault.”
Sirona frowns. “Everything was usually Eddie’s fault. I hated that smarmy jerk.”
I resist the urge to keep staring at the TV and instead scan the room, where all the women have turned to watch, some with their mouths slack. The two young sisters in the corner stop playing with their dolls, craning their necks to see. Our Youngers know they’re not supposed to watch the thing Goji calls “Big Brother in a Box.” Aura moves toward Jade, who scoops her into her lap. Moon looks at Sirona, begging with his eyes.
Sirona sighs. “Okay, just this once.”
Moon climbs into the chair next to me and takes off his glasses. He hands them to Sirona, who huffs on them before wiping the smudged lenses on her skirt and handing them back.
I continue studying the room, how the nurse now has to call names twice before people hear them and how the women giggle like kids as they watch. The children stare wide-eyed, like those weird little velvet paintings I’ve seen at the flea market. Every once in a while I sneak a peek at the TV, where a boy scales a billboard with steam coming off a coffee cup. The sound is turned low so I don’t hear much except the commercials, which blare louder than the show.
As I watch, Goji’s reason for the assignment becomes clear. The TV has sucked the liveliness out of this room. It’s like a giant magnet the way it keeps all eyes glued to the screen. Even the receptionist stops filing her folders and stares at the TV until a nurse rounds the corner and tells her to quit watching and get back to work.
I scribble notes as fast as I can so I won’t forget anything. And so I can see how the show ends, even though Sirona already spoiled it. Sure enough, the fire department shows up and rescues the boy from the cup. His father waits below, looking worried, then relieved when his son is safely on the ground again.
The nurse reappears in the doorway that leads down a hall. She’s holding a clipboard. “Judy? Judy Whitman?”
Sirona nudges Jade. “You’re up.”
It’s weird seeing the Olders answer to names other than the ones I’m used to. I don’t know all their old names but now I know one more. When Jade gets up and walks toward the nurse I say, “See you soon, Judy.”
She wheels around and glares at me. Sirona starts going a mile a minute on her knitting, her needles clicking together like chattering teeth. Jade walks back and stands in front of my chair. “Don’t ever call me that again.”
“S-sorry,” I say.
When she disappears down the hallway behind the nurse. I turn toward Sirona, who doesn’t look up from her knitting. “Respect, little brother.”
I pick up the magazine Jade was reading and stare at the cover. The people in the picture look like normal families I see in Freestone and Sebastopol and Santa Rosa. Boys who wear scout uniforms and girls playing hopscotch or jumping rope on the sidewalk in their neighborhoods. Families with dinner on the table and a TV in the corner of the living room. The kind of people who live in regular houses all lit up at night when we pass them on our way home from town.
I wonder what my first home looked like. Was it in the city? Did it have a fireplace? Did I have my own bedroom full of toys and books? I run my finger over the picture of the lady on the cover. She has neatly combed brown hair and she’s wearing a necklace. Her name could be Judy. The father, with the bushy mustache, he looks like a Dan or a Steve. I’d name the red-headed boy in the blue uniform Doug, and the younger boy, Ricky. None of them are named Moon or Clover or Jade, I’m sure of that. And I’m betting they aren’t sitting in a women’s clinic waiting for their sister-mothers to get birth control.
* * *
On our drive home I apologize to Jade. “I’m sorry I called you Judy.”
She turns in the front seat and tilts her head to one side, her mouth in a pout. “Do you understand why I was upset?”
“Not really. It’s your name, right?”
“Judy is the name I was given twenty-eight years ago. I’m no longer that person. Just like you’re no longer a baby in diapers.”
“I’m sorry, Jade.”
She smiles and reaches over the seat to pat my knee. “I know you are. Thank you.”
We’re almost home by the time I get the nerve up to ask.
“Do you know what my first name was? The one I was given when I was born?”
Jade twists the top half of her body to get a good look at me but I don’t meet her eyes. “I don’t, Blue. I don’t think anyone knows. Does it matter?”
I shake my head no, but inside my head I’m saying yes.
* * *
I spend most of Sunday following Willow around, hoping for a moment alone with her. She’s elbow deep in the worm bin when she turns and says, “What is it, Blue?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’ve been like a shadow all day.” She uses her hands to gently sift the composted dirt. I know she’s trying not to squish any of the worms.
“Have I?”
She twitches her nose, then bends down. “Scratch my nose, will ya?”
I use my index finger to soothe the itch so she doesn’t end up with worm poop on her face.
“Thanks. And yes, you have. You know you have.”
I kick at the dirt with my heel. “I was just wondering . . . do you know what my name was when you, um, when I first got here? Before Goji named me?”
Willow freezes for a moment. Without turning, she says, “How would I know that?”
“Gaia told Rain that you’re the one who brought me here.”
Willow removes both arms from the worm compost and wipes them on her dirty bib overalls, her back still to me.
“Is it true?”
She turns, leaning back against the bin with her hands on the rim and nods. “Goji doesn’t want us to talk about it.”
“I just want to know my name.”
“Blue . . .”
“My real one.”
Willow worries the metal clasp on her overalls. “You know we could be arrested, right?”
I nod. I don’t want any of my family to be punished and I don’t ever want to lose them. But I don’t understand why it’s such a big secret. They must have adopted me because I was in danger. They were protecting me.
“Sorry. It was a stupid question.”
When I turn to walk away Willow calls me back. “Wait. Look, this is just between you and me, okay?”
I wheel around. “Of course.”
“Wave said he thought he heard a girl calling but we were pretty high, you know? He thought he heard a girl calling out the name Noah.”
“Like the guy that built an ark?”
“Yeah.” She smiles. “Like that guy.”
“Where did you find me?”
“I shouldn’t . . .” She closes her eyes as if searching the memory on her eyelids. “It was so long ago. We were near a small lake. There was a picnic area.”
“Anything else you can remember?”
She opens her eyes. “Only how beautiful you were and how absol
utely sure I was that you were destined to be with us.”
“Do you still believe that?”
She tosses a long blond braid over her left shoulder. Her eyes glisten then bubble over with tears. She lets go of the worm bin and slides down until her butt hits the dirt. “I’m sorry, Blue. I’m so sorry. I believed with all my being that you were sent to me, my little Buddha child.” She buries her face in her hands. “Once you were here it was too late.”
“What do you mean? Too late for what?”
She holds her right arm out toward me. “We fell in love with you, so deeply in love with you. Goji assured us it was meant to be and I believe that.” When I don’t move closer she drops her arm and hangs her head. “But sometimes I have doubts. I lie awake at night and I wonder. . . .”
“Wonder what?”
Willow breaks down into heaving sobs and I feel terrible. But I have so many more questions. Where did I come from? Why didn’t they legally adopt me? Are my parents still alive? Willow mentioned that Wave was with her. Maybe he’ll open up. Or maybe Goji will finally have that talk with me.
I kneel beside Willow and touch her shoulder. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
She widens her long fingers and peers through them at me. “I love you so much, Blue. I hope someday you can forgive me.”
“I already do. You only did what you thought was right.”
Willow throws her arms around me. Her sobs eventually ease but she never lets go. We sit that way until the dinner bell chimes three times, the signal that our evening meal is ready.
* * *
During dinner Goji keeps glancing from Willow to me back to Willow again. He’s always so intuitive. Nothing gets by without him noticing. When sharing time arrives he asks us if there’s anything we’d like to share with the group. Willow looks down at her lap. Harmony practically stares a hole in my left cheek waiting for me to say something.
“Willow accidentally crushed some worms while mixing compost,” I finally say.
Willow lifts her head to meet my gaze.
“It was my fault. I startled her when she was working.” Willow shakes her head just the tiniest bit.
I look at Goji and my thoughts flash to Gaia’s letters, the secret that he’s keeping from Harmony. I think about the way he constantly counsels Rain, leaving her doubting herself. Willow had to have been a teenager when I arrived at Saffron Freedom Community. Goji was the Older, the leader. He could have fixed it. He should have fixed it.
I keep the lie about the worms going. “It was probably their destiny, right?”
Willow bursts into tears. Wave throws his arm around her and squeezes. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to kill them, sis. I know how gentle you are with those little guys.”
Goji glances toward Willow, who buries her head in Wave’s shoulder. He looks back at me, expressionless for what feels like an eternity. Finally, a smile breaks across his face and he nods. “There are no accidents, Blue. Everything happens for a reason.”
“Everything?” Harmony asks.
“Everything,” he says to her, still looking at me.
17
August 1977
Aura runs behind Coyote carrying a basket of wild berries in her chubby arms. She follows Coyote everywhere. Half the time he has Aura’s little legs curled around his neck as he moves around the compound with her on his shoulders. She hangs on to his dreadlocks like reins, leaning this way and that as if they’re two heads on one body. Coyote often has bits of food in his hair from her munching on apples or carrots while she floats around on his shoulders.
I help load the truck with summer squash, sweet corn, cucumbers, beans, and peas along with Rain’s macramé hangers and Sirona’s handmade soaps and candles. Willow sets her homemade pies in boxes and slides them onto the tailgate. I was hoping we’d get to eat them, but she’s raising money for a yoga retreat that she and Wave hope to attend in Big Sur. She grabs my wrist when I try to break off a piece of the crust. Normally she’d scold me, but ever since our conversation at the worm bin, she’s let the other sister-mothers take the lead when it comes to interacting with me.
Willow lets go of my hand. “Sorry, Blue. I’ll make some for all of us next time.”
When the truck is all loaded up, Coyote drives slowly over the bumps in the long driveway until we reach the roadside stand that Wave and some of the early family members built. A wooden awning swings out and props against the frame, exposing the counter. Along with the pies and homegrown veggies, we spread out bushels of apples gleaned from the wild trees growing in an abandoned orchard behind the redwood grove.
Jade walks off to drop a sign at the corner of the highway. Coyote pulls two stools out from under the counter. He props Aura on one and takes the other for himself. We line the counter with pint baskets of wild blackberries and Sirona’s soaps and candles. I hang Willow’s and Rain’s macramé designs on hooks before placing handwritten sandwich board signs along the road several yards apart. By the time Jade returns, two cars have already pulled up to the stand, both regulars.
The preacher’s wife, the one who picked up Stardust from SFC last January, buys a pie and some sweet corn. Her chubby husband waits in the car, fanning his sweaty face with a church bulletin. I help her carry her purchases back to the car. I can tell the preacher doesn’t like us. He mutters something about heathens and “filthy lucre.” His wife slams the trunk before propping the pie in her lap in the front seat. “We’re all His children, Stanley.” She turns and smiles at me through her open window. “You’re getting to be such a handsome young man. What’s your name, son?”
They’ve bought lots of stuff from us over the years, but she’s never asked my name before today.
“Clover Blue.”
The preacher rolls his eyes. “What did I tell you?”
She shushes him and points to Jade. “That’s a beautiful name. Is that your mom over there?”
“No, ma’am.” I blush. “I mean yes, ma’am.”
“Well, which is it?”
My mouth suddenly feels too dry for words. She seems nice, but Goji has warned me not to talk to strangers about the family. He says most people don’t understand authentic relationships due to cultural brainwashing.
“I . . . I have to go.” I make a dash for the back of our stand.
Coyote peers down at me, crouching under the counter. “You okay, brother?”
“Yeah. It’s just so hot and the shade under here feels good.”
When I hear the car pull away I pop back up from under the counter. Coyote takes Aura into his lap and pats the empty stool. “Pull up a squat, Blue.”
I sit on the stool, glad for the soft breeze. It’s been over one hundred degrees more days than it hasn’t this summer. Mrs. Fuller was so worried about us having heatstroke that she ran a couple hundred feet of hose from one of their livestock faucets to SFC. At first Goji politely refused her offer but then changed his mind after he saw all our faces go from glee to misery. I can’t wait to get back to SFC for a real rushing cold shower.
The next customer is a middle-aged man wearing army clothes. Not the faded secondhand ones like some of the family wear. A crisp army uniform. He picks several items from the produce, filling a cardboard box with a carton of eggs, a pint of berries, and a half-dozen ears of sweet corn. He sets the box in front of Coyote.
“How much?”
Coyote scans his box. “Three bucks.”
The man pulls a five from his wallet and lays it on the counter. Coyote shoves the bill in his jeans pocket. The army guy watches carefully as Coyote counts out two dollars and hands over the change.
“Thanks, man.”
The army guy raises his head to meet Coyote’s eyes. “You mean, ‘Thank you, sir.’ ”
Coyote doesn’t flinch. He’s used to this kind of stuff. “Thank you, sir.”
The man moves his gaze to the dog tags around Coyote’s neck, the ones he got in boot camp before he went AWOL.
“You serve in Nam?�
��
Beads of sweat glow on Coyote’s forehead. “No, sir. I was 4A, sir.” He repositions Aura closer to him on his lap. “Flat feet.”
The man’s army cap falls off when he peeks over the counter to look at Coyote’s bare feet. “Don’t look flat to me.”
I retrieve the hat and hand it to him. “Here you are, sir.”
He takes the hat from me and dusts it off on his pants before resting it back on his crew cut. He starts to turn away, then wheels around and yanks the tags off Coyote’s neck. “I don’t know how you got those, boy, but they’re only meant for soldiers.” He spits on the ground. “Have some respect.”
Coyote hands Aura over to me and slides off the stool to a stand. He’s almost a full foot taller than the army guy. Jade hops off the back of the tailgate and runs up behind Coyote.
“Don’t,” she whispers, smoothing her hands over the back of his cotton shirt. “It’s not worth it.”
Coyote remains standing, his lips set firm, staring back at the army guy. Aura climbs out of my lap and onto the counter, facing the man. She reaches for his nose with her tiny hand and says, “Boop!” just like in the game Coyote often plays with her.
The man loses his staring contest with Coyote. He backs away from Aura like she’s poison and gets in his car. Dust flies from his tires as he peels out, coating our fruits and vegetables with a fine brown layer of dirt.
I look at the dusty pies and pretend to be disappointed. “Guess we’ll have to eat these.”
Since all the produce is covered in dust we pack up early and head back home. Coyote asks Jade to drive. As soon as we reach the end of the driveway he bolts from the truck.
Harmony looks up from where she’s working on her mosaic when Coyote runs past her. She sets a jagged piece of a former plate on the tabletop and makes her way to the truck to help unload our stuff.
“Why is everything so dirty?”
Clover Blue Page 13
