The Language Inside

by Holly Thompson

  there’s not much room

  for doing what I want

  what is it you want to do? I ask

  I don’t know he says

  but I want to figure it out myself

  I tell Samnang

  what Zena told me

                 take control of what you can

  and I tell him to call me

  if he feels the need to see his father

  if it’s really just a need to drink

  and then I say

  I could go with you

  to see him sometime

  if you want

  I could be there, nearby

  he says thanks

  and then he’s silent

  and I give him more silence

  as we go through the pile of fries

  the six-pack with one missing

  is at my feet as we buckle our seat belts

  Samnang turns up the heat

  and starts reversing to head out of the lot

  but I tell him to drive around

  to the back of the diner

  when he does I get out

  and place the five beers

  on the ground by the back door

                 an offering

  then I jump in the car

  say go!

  and we drive around the front

  without being seen

  now, take me to Chris and Beth’s I say

  then I’ll have Chris drive me home

  but Samnang pulls out onto the main road

  going the opposite direction from Chris and Beth’s

  and says no

  no?

  no he says

  why? I say now nervous

  I’ll take you home first Samnang says

  then I’ll go home

  I didn’t drink, I won’t drink

  so don’t you doubt me, too

  okay, I won’t doubt you

  ever he says

  and I’m surprised by this word

  he glances at me

  slows the car

  says it again

  softly

                 ever

  and I take a breath and say

                 ever

  Samnang doesn’t go see his dad

  and when he and I arrive

  at the Newall Center the next morning

  chairs and wheelchairs

  are already arranged in a circle

  and Lin, the rec director

  is laughing and chatting with everyone

  and I’m beginning, just beginning

  to get her jokes

  Samnang sits by Leap Sok

  I sit by Zena who’s grinning

  seated as she is in her chair

  radiant, in full mermaid costume

  Serey’s between two Cambodian women

  and there are a number of

  university students, it seems

  paired with other patients

  the poet introduces herself

  and says how happy she is to be with

                 all of us poets

  that she can’t wait to hear

  what we’ve been working on

  she tells us first

  we will go around the room

  and read, each read

  a poem

  or a stanza from a poem

  or a paragraph or two from a story

  or a section from a memoir

  and she looks at each of us students

  and says you, too!

  aside from Zena

  and my English teacher Mr. Hays

  and on birthday cards

  I have never shared my poems

  with anyone

  I lean toward Zena

  and read over her shoulder

  the page displayed on her computer

  a poem As a Mermaid

  written on her own

  with blinks

  then we sit

  ready

  in turn

  patients and students

  and students for patients

  read poems

  on all topics—

                 a bicycle, storms, fingers, memories

  in all sorts of forms—

                 odes, haiku, free verse, even a sonnet

  and after each one

  people clap and aah

  and sometimes whoop

  and Zena sometimes growls

  and Serey and Samnang

  and Portuguese and Spanish and other language speakers

  murmur translations to their patients

  Serey reads one woman’s memoir scene

  about a way to catch fish in a lake

  and another woman’s list poem

  of things learned from her mother

  then Serey reads her own poem

  an ode to her kben

  which she explains is the long cloth

  that is folded and wrapped around the body

  and twisted and pulled

  between the legs

  to make the loose trousers

  she dances in

  my stomach flutters

  as the turns to read

  go around the circle

  and approach

  Zena and me

  when it’s Zena’s turn I announce to the group

  that Zena wrote her poem by herself on the computer

  and everyone cheers

  I read from the display:

      As a Mermaid

      wearing the tail

      I can swim

      not walk

      but good enough

      wearing the tail

      I can repel

      mean nurses

      and get away

      wearing the tail

      I can lounge on the rocks

      and watch the world

      go by

      wearing the tail

      I can propel

      myself forward

      to poems

  Zena beams her widemouthed smile

  as everyone claps and woots

  then it’s my turn

  and I release all the air in my lungs

  take a huge breath and start

  by explaining

                 that I’m from Japan

                 was raised in Japan

                 that I was reading in Japanese

                 before I was reading in English

                 and that I just recently moved here

                 and I’ll show them the kanji as I read

  then I read my poem:

      Lonely Is

      when the language outside

      is not the language inside

      and words are made of just 26 letters

      not parts that tell stories

      like sun over birth for star

      or four people under a roof for umbrella

      or person and heavy and strength for work

      when you stare at letters that make up

      a word and the letters themselves

      are just lines and shapes

      that don’t tell stories that join

      to create the story of the word

      like a hiding sun

      is dark

      like a long road

      is
far

      like a heart a long time

      endures

  everyone claps

  Zena growls

  and I turn to Samnang

  and he’s looking at me funny

  your turn I whisper

  then Samnang snaps to

  and reads for Leap Sok

  a Cambodian village memory

  in honor of Chea Pen

  first in Khmer

  then in English

  Samnang then

  reads his own poem

  which he says is maybe not a poem

  since he didn’t use line breaks

      Coins

      My grandmother goes to a friend’s house for coining. The copper coin is rubbed over her back. Red lines appear, swell and sting. The rubbing makes friction. The friction makes heat. The heat battles the cold inside. So she says in Khmer to me.

      Coins drop into a jar. Coins are collected and saved. Coins are counted and donated. Coins become cash. Cash becomes a chance for a kid to learn to dance.

      In Cambodia no coins were used. I paid with dollars. Sometimes I received Cambodian riel bills as change. But no coins. When I helped my village cousin with his English homework, he practiced his pronunciation. He asked me to say each word, then said it after me. When we got to the word coin, he said, “You know—coin”—making a circle with his thumb and finger—“like you can see in the National Museum.” Then I emptied my pockets and gave him all my quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies.

  after the readings everyone cheers

  and the poet says she is moved

  by what we have all accomplished

  then we talk about journeys

  the different meanings of the word

  and we brainstorm going around the circle

  words that come to mind

  when we hear the word journey—

  airplane

  backpack

  journal

  Puerto Rico

  dust

  sneakers

  hotel

  reunion

  luggage

  sunset

  tears

  cockroaches

  immigration

  money

  magic carpet

  legs Zena says

  and I say Tohoku

  the poet hands out three poems

  that are all about travels and journeys

  one called “Enough”

  in which the journey

  vaguely contemplated

  has not yet been taken

  another by Maxine Kumin

  about running away together to an island

  and another by Chinese poet Bei Dao

  about standing by a boundary

  and wanting to cross to the other side

  she says to read these poems

  again at home

  and for next time

  to write a poem or memoir

  or something

  that has something

  to do with travels or journeys

  and my mind

  is already churning

  with ideas

  Samnang, Serey and I

  leave the Newall Center together

  and I sit in back

  as usual

  we talk about the poems

  and the poets

  and we’re all jazzed

  and I feel like right now

  I really, really am lucky

  in the backseat I am thinking

  I have so much I want to write

  and so much more I want to hear—

  like, what other poets have to say

  and how other poets experiment

  and play with words

  and now that I know

  that everyone

  is a poet

  or can be a poet

  in a way . . .

  but I stop thinking poetry

  because in the front seat

  Samnang is singing along

  loud to a Bruno Mars song

  and Serey is joining in

  and Samnang knows all the lyrics

  and whistles

  and moves

  and he has to slow the car to drive and sing

  and do the hand motions

  and I nearly pee in my pants

  I’m laughing so hard

  and I’m so glad to see Samnang

  back to himself

  after we drive into the center of Lowell

  to drop Serey at her house

  Samnang turns the car around

  pulls over by a curb and says lunch?

  and I want to say yes

  but I say well . . . kind of slow

  because YiaYia said to come straight back

  to watch Toby while she takes my mother

  shopping for shirts that aren’t tight on her chest

  then Samnang says

  noodle soup?

  and I say

  in that case, yes

  but then I have to get home

  we go to the same restaurant

  where we ate with the dance troupe

  but this time we take a small table

  and I order the Phnom Penh noodle soup

  which comes with seafood and meat and stuff

  that I like except for the thin slices of

  what Samnang calls liver sausage

  we have tea

  and we don’t talk

  until we’re done slurping and drinking

  then Samnang says

  thanks for your help last night

  that was the worst I’ve been

  in three years

  I thought I was too late I say

  I’m going to AA tonight he says

  good I say

  and remind him he can call me

  anytime

  and he says

  I know

  I look at him

  and he looks straight back at me

                 into me

  and there’s a calm

  between us

  we are just sitting, breathing

  I think we are smiling

  with our eyes

  and I feel like we just turned a corner

  but I don’t yet know

  what’s around the bend

  when he pulls up in front of YiaYia’s

  I ask him if he’s going to his

  dance practice tomorrow

  and when he says yes

  I ask if I could maybe join in

  from, like, next week

  learn the folk dances

  just following along in the back if it’s okay

  and he says he’ll talk to the director tomorrow

  I know I’m only here for a year

  but I’d like to learn what I can

  he thinks it’s fine

  and reminds me

  the performance is next Friday

  so I might have to wait a week or two

  to start

  I ask if I can watch his performance

  if that’s okay with him

  and he smiles

  shakes his head, says

  sometimes Zena’s right

  you really are a dodo

  he peers into my eyes

  and again practically right through me

  then he leans over

  lightly turns my chin

  kisses me

  and says

  yes

  I’m practically flying

  when I get in the house

  for a minute I just hold still

  in the quiet kitchen

  breathing

  not sure if I should

  sit

  stand

  walk upstairs

  or put my arms out

  and try to soar

  up there

  I shout

  but no one’s home except Toby

  on the computer in Mom’s room<
br />
  so I go upstairs and flop onto my bed

  delirious

  when Mom and YiaYia finally arrive

  home from shopping for loose shirts

  I’m writing in my journal

  I go down to the kitchen

  and Mom shows me

  first one top with asymmetrical lines

  then two loose and billowy

  next another smocklike—

  and she seems so pleased

  and I’m pleased for her

  but I’m dying to say

  something

  about Samnang

  to someone

  anyone

  so when she finally

  stops talking about the tops

  I’m just about to tell her

  that things may have changed

  between Samnang and me

  when Dad calls

  Mom slips into her bedroom

  kicks Toby off the computer

  and out of the room

  and closes the door

  and she and Dad have a long

  drawn-out conversation

  Toby and me trying to catch snippets

  from the kitchen

  nearly twenty minutes later

  Mom comes out

  and sits down

  YiaYia sets chamomile tea

  before her

  then me

  and Toby’s looking from Mom