by Thanhha Lai
MiSSS SScott hushes them.
All day I hear whispers:
Boo-Da, Boo-Da.
I watch the clock,
listen for the final bell,
and dash.
Pink Boy and friends follow,
releasing shouts of
Boo-Da, Boo-Da
as I put one leg
in front of the other
faster
faster
but not fast enough
to not hear them
scream
Boo-Da, Boo-Da.
I turn down
the wrong street,
away from the corner
where Brother Khôi would be.
I have no choice
but to run.
I turn right where purple flowers
curve like baby moons
over butterfly bushes.
Footsteps pound
right behind me.
Turn left where flowers grow blue.
I wish I could control it,
but the plates of flowers
are now blue smears
from my near tears.
Boo-Da, Boo-Da
breathes into the back
of my neck.
Faster, faster.
My legs try,
but the shouts are upon me.
Someone pulls my hair,
forcing me to turn
and see
a black hole in a pink face:
Boo-Da, Boo-Da Girl.
My palms cover my eyes.
I run.
All the while
surging from my gut:
fire
sourness
weight
anger
loneliness
confusion
embarrassment
shame.
November 7
Hate It
I don’t make it inside the house,
but sit
under the willow tree,
dig a hole
and into it
scream scream scream
I hate everyone!!!!
A lion’s paw rips up my throat,
still I scream
I hate everyone!!!!
Hands grip my shoulders.
MiSSSisss WaSShington
is on her knees.
Child, child, come with me.
I hate everyone!!!!
She hoists me up
by my armpits
and drags me across
the yard.
You poor child,
tell me, tell me.
It hurts too much
to keep screaming,
but it feels good
to thrash about
like a captured lizard.
Inside her house,
MiSSSisss WaSShington throws
her body on mine.
Hush, hush,
hush, hush.
She says it over and over
like a chant,
slowly.
Slowly
the screams that never stopped
inside my head
cool to a real whisper.
I hate everyone!
Even your mama?
She crosses her eyes,
puckers her lips.
I stop myself from laughing.
She pats my hand.
That one gesture
dissolves the last
of my hate spell.
November 7
After school
Brother Quang’s Turn
Brother Quang comes home
with happy shouts.
He did it,
repairing a car
no one else could.
From now on
he’s to work
only on engines.
Mother smiles so hard
she cries.
I pout.
When is it going to be
my turn?
November 12
Confessions
It’s time to tell Mother
why misery
keeps pouncing on me.
I used to buy less pork
so I could buy fried dough.
I know.
You do?
What else?
I used to like making the girl
who shared my desk cry.
She tilts her head.
I know, Mother, I know, very bad.
She nods.
Now they make me cry.
Will I be punished forever?
Forever is quite long.
There’s more;
it’s really bad.
She lifts an eyebrow.
At dawn on Tt
I tapped my big toe
to the tile floor
first.
She widens her eyes.
I hate being told I can’t do something because I’m a girl!
She doesn’t scold me,
just nods.
Did I ruin the luck
of the whole family?
Is that why we’re here?
My child,
how you shoulder the world!
I was superstitious,
that’s all.
If anything,
you gave us luck
because we got out
and we’re here.
Lucky
to be here?
Just wait,
you’ll see.
I don’t want to wait.
It’s awful now.
Is it really so unbearable?
They chase me.
They yell “Boo-Da, Boo-Da” at me.
They pull my arm hair.
They call me Pancake Face.
They clap at me in class.
And you want me to wait?
Can I hit them?
Oh, my daughter,
at times you have to fight,
but preferably
not with your fists.
November 14
NOW!
Brother Quang takes us
to the grocery store.
Mother buys everything
to make egg rolls
for a coming holiday
when Americans eat a turkey
the size of a baby.
She has me ask the butcher,
Please grind our pork.
I’m sure I said it right,
but the butcher
sharpens his face,
slams down our meat,
and motions us away.
Mother wrinkles her brows,
thinking, pausing,
then rings the buzzer again.
Please, she says.
It comes out, Peezzz.
The butcher turns away
without a word.
Mother presses the buzzer
for a long time.
When the butcher returns,
he hears a lot of Vietnamese
in a voice stern and steady,
from eyes even more so.
Mother ends with a clear, NOW!
The butcher stares
then takes our meat
to the grinder.
November 22
u Face
Again they’re yelling,
Boo-Da, Boo-Da,
but I know to run
toward Brother Khôi
two corners away.
Enough time
for them to repeat
hundreds of Boo-Das.
Enough time
for me to turn and yell,
Gee-sus, Gee-sus.
I love how they stop,
mouths open.
My heart lifting,
I run and shout,
Bully!
Coward!
Pink Snot Face!
Words I learned from them
on the playground.
I turn to see
Pink Boy coming
close to me.
No longer pink,
&
nbsp; he’s red,
blood-orange red
like a ripe papaya.
u Face!
It’s not my fault
if his friends hear
Doo-doo Face
and are laughing
right at him.
Brother Khôi is waiting.
I jump on.
December 4
Rumor
Friday
SSsì-Ti-Vân heard it from Pem
who heard it from the honey-hair girl
who heard it from the dot-on-face girl
who heard it from the white-hair boy
who heard it from all three girls in braids
that
Pink Boy
has gotten his sixth-grade cousin,
a girl two heads taller than the tallest of us,
with arm muscles that run up and down like mice,
to agree
to beat me up
when we come back
Monday.
December 5
A Plan
I don’t have to tell Brother Khôi,
who heard in the halls
of his school
that my face
is to be flattened
flatter
tomorrow.
You don’t have a flat face,
he says.
Besides, I have a plan.
December 7
Run
Five minutes
till the last bell
I lean toward the door,
legs bouncing,
books left on the floor.
Rrriiinnggg
I run,
Pem and SSsì-Ti-Vân
close behind.
Outside
Pem and I exchange
coats with hoods.
Pem heads down
my usual path.
I zip to the left.
SSsì-Ti-Vân
stays to block the door.
Running so fast,
I fly above the sidewalk.
Alone.
They must all be with Pem.
I stop at the new corner
where Brother Khôi said to wait.
Where is he?
Footsteps explode
from the street
that smacks into mine.
Pink Boy!
December 8
3:36 p.m.
A Shift
Pink Boy plows
toward me.
I squat in ng tn,
facing him.
His right arm extends
in a fist.
When he’s close enough
for me to see
the white arm hair,
I shift my upper body
to the left,
legs sturdy,
eyes on the blur
that flies past me.
A thud.
Pink Boy writhes on the pavement.
I thought I would love
seeing him in pain.
But
he looks
more defeated than weak,
more helpless than scared,
liked a caged puppy.
He’s getting up.
If I were to kick him,
it must be
now.
December 8
3:38 p.m.
WOW!
A roar.
Pink Boy and I
turn.
A gigantic motorcycle.
The rider in all black
stops.
The helmet comes off.
VU LEE!
WOW!
Pink Boy disappears.
Brother Khôi runs up,
out of breath,
pushing a bicycle
with a flat.
Vu Lee flicks his head.
I climb on first,
wrap my arms around a waist
tight as rope.
Brother Khôi climbs on next,
one hand holding
the handlebar of his bike.
We fly home.
December 8
3:43 p.m.
The Vu Lee Effect
Vu Lee
now picks me up
after school.
So
someone is always
saving lunch seats
for me, Pem, and SSsì-Ti-Vân;
someone is always
inviting us
to a party;
someone is always
hoping Vu Lee
will offer her a ride,
as he did the huge cousin,
who now not only smiles
but waves at us.
Pink Boy
avoids us,
and we’re glad.
December 16
Early Christmas
Mother invites our cowboy
and MiSSSisss WaSShington
for egg rolls.
They brought gifts,
not saying
Early Christmas,
not wanting
to embarrass us
for not having anything
to exchange.
From our cowboy
to Mother: two just-caught catfish
to Brother Quang: tuition for night college
to Vu Lee: jerky in ten flavors
to Brother Khôi: two fighting fish in separate jars
to me: a new coat
We laugh and say,
Perfect!
From MiSSSisss WaSShington
to Mother: a gong and jasmine incense
to Brother Quang: an engineering textbook
to Vu Lee: jerky in ten flavors
to Brother Khôi: a hamster
to me: three packages of something orange and dried
My family claps and says,
Perfect!
I frown.
December 20
Not the Same
Three pouches of
dried papaya
Chewy
Sugary
Waxy
Sticky
Not the same
at all.
So mad,
I throw all in the trash.
December 20
Night
But Not Bad
Mother slaps my hand.
Learn to compromise.
I refuse to retrieve the pouches,
pout
go to bed,
stare at the photograph of a real papaya tree,
wonder if I’ll ever taste sweet, tender, orange flesh
again.
GOOONNNNGGGGG
rings out;
how soothing a real gong sounds.
Swirls of incense
reach me,
hovering like a blanket,
tugging me in.
I wake up at faint light,
guilt heavy on my chest.
I head toward the trash can.
Yet
on the dining table
on a plate
sit strips of papaya
gooey and damp,
having been soaked in hot water.
The sugar has melted off
leaving
plump
moist
chewy
bites.
Hummm…
Not the same,
but not bad
at all.
December 20–21
PART IV
From Now On
Letter from the North
Eight months ago,
war ended.
Four months ago,
Mother sent our letter.
Today,
Father’s brother answers.
Still, we know nothing more.
Our uncle even went south
to talk with our old neighbors,
to find Father’s old friends.
He consulted,
left word,
waited
until it became obvious
he woul
d know nothing more.
His letter
doesn’t tell us
what to do
from now on.
We look to Mother.
She doesn’t tell us either.
Ours is a silent
Christmas Eve.
December 24
Gift-Exchange Day
Pem comes over
on gift-exchange day
with a doll
to replace
the mouse-bitten one
