It Chooses You (15 page)

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Sun Valley was familiar to me; earlier that year I’d worked with a fabricator based there who helped me make a series of sculptures. I had driven through the area a couple times a week, but always with my mind on myself and always in a hurry — the car is so hard to stop once it gets going. Now I noticed that lots of other things were manufactured in Sun Valley too, giant props for movies and enormous metal beams. Big things were also destroyed and recycled here, like cars and appliances. And as I walked toward Dina’s house I suddenly became aware of the largest of all the large things, the Verdugo Mountains. Sun Valley lived in their shadow. I wondered how I’d missed those all the other times I’d driven through here, and I felt like I was probably a better person now — a woman who wasn’t interested only in her own internal landscape. I might never finish the script, and the world would be none the worse for that. Most likely I would go into one of the helping professions, maybe become a secular, married nun.

We clattered into a fenced-in lot filled with rows of movable-looking houses forming carless streets. The community had a tidy FEMA quality to it. It wasn’t depressing, but only because it was so new; like new Tupperware, it would become old immediately. Dina and her daughter Lenette had just moved in and were thrilled to be there. It was a brand-new life and a good time to get rid of things.

Miranda: So it works?

Dina: Oh, it works. It works.

Miranda: And how long have you had this hair dryer?

Dina: Oh, the hair dryer I’ve had for a long time, a long time. Since junior high or high school at least, so that’s been many years. But it has issues.

Miranda: You have it here?

Dina: Yeah, I do have it.

Miranda: Could you get it?

Dina: Want me to get it now? Okay. It’s not bad for being that old.

Dina left and came back with a very old hair dryer.

Miranda: Yeah, that is actually not a modern dryer.

Dina: No, it’s not, but still — it’s got the cold button, the cool button.

Miranda: So you got it in junior high or high school — do you actually remember getting it?

Dina: I remember using it. I think my mom bought it. Yeah, I remember using it. We used to do hairspray.

Miranda: Do you have pictures from back then?

Dina: No.

I wanted to see how she had become the mysterious woman she was. Her large, freckled body was decorated with tattoos and piercings, and her painted eyebrows only loosely referenced real eyebrows — they were the color of wine. She wore a hot-pink cell-phone earpiece like it was jewelry, and a picture of Popeye scowled on her T-shirt. I didn’t know if she was older or younger than me, or maybe she was a new age, one that didn’t involve numbers.

Dina: You know what — wait a minute. I do have a scrapbook. I can show it to you.

Miranda: That’d be great. I’d love that.

She opened a closet and bumped around in there for a while, talking out loud to the scrapbook, asking it where it was at. Finally it revealed itself and she carried it over, shaking her head.

Dina: This scrapbook is looking bad, huh?

Miranda: It’s the real thing.

Dina: Yeah, this is the original. Look at that! Look at that! Very creative — I took them out of the magazines.

Teenage Dina had glued magazine pictures of black women into the scrapbook — they were her pretend sisters. It seemed everyone I met had an imaginary paper family. Dina smoothed the face of the model and deciphered her own bubble handwriting.

Dina: “Wish, wish, wish upon a star for sisters.” Isn’t that something else? But if I remember correctly, the best sister is on the next page. I even named them.

Miranda: Right. So this is Sharon and that’s Linda. “I want my best, truly sister. I really mean she is always my sister. She loves me too.”

Dina: That’s pretty deep.

As Dina talked about her family I studied the living room. It didn’t have the layers of living that I was used to drawing my questions from. Most of the furniture looked as temporary as the house, designed for dorm rooms.

Miranda: How’s the inflatable couch?

Dina: That’s awesome. We haven’t put it to the test yet, but that thing can hold… it’s a queen size. It’s five-in-one, actually.

Miranda: It turns into a bed.

Dina: Yeah. It’s five-in-one.

Miranda: So a couch, a bed… that’s two.

Dina: I forget.

Miranda: Maybe it floats, so it’s a boat — that’s three.

Dina: It does look like one, huh? And you know the good thing — it can hold up to six hundred pounds. Seriously, it can hold a lot of weight, so that’s good. I like different things, you know what I mean? I like that.

Finally I realized Dina herself was the most intricate, storied thing in the house. Her size might have been intimidating, but her decorations were a clear invitation.

Miranda: Tell me about your amazing face — your piercings and stuff. When did you get into that?

Dina: I just like decorating the body, even though we shouldn’t — okay, we know that. The thing is, I love decoration. I like art. So why not?

Miranda: Can you do anything special with your tongue piercing?

Dina: Yeah, you can. You’re gonna take me there?

Miranda: I’m curious.

Dina: I don’t know if I should say this.

Miranda: You totally can.

Dina: Actually, when I got older, I started getting curious, so I — I’m blushing now. I’m gonna say it. Oral sex, yes. This will put a really good spice to it. I called the shop way before I got this done, and they actually had vibrating ones.

Miranda: No way.

Dina: Yes way. So I was like, “Wait a minute! That sounds awesome for me, in my book!”

Miranda: So has that been put to the test?

Dina: It’s too soon.

Miranda: Because it’s still healing?

Dina: Yeah, still healing. I’m waiting for that.

Miranda: And do you have a partner?

Dina: Well, not really, but their dad, you know. He’s an iffy-sometimes person, but yeah. He would be a candidate.

Miranda: And what is this tattoo?

Dina: Oh, that’s the kids’ father. I didn’t do my homework and I didn’t know how much it would cost to laser off his name. So what did I do? I put “RIP” underneath it — “Rest in Peace.” He kept hearing I took it off, and then when I saw him again, I showed him. That surprised him. I said, “Well, at least I didn’t put ‘RIH’” — like “Rest in Hell,” you know what I’m saying?

Miranda: Oh, right — that’s true. You said “Rest in Peace.”

Dina: I was just trying to tell him, you know, break it down. Because when you’re done, you’re done. You may go back to the people, whatever, but you’re done. I wanna get one that says, “Respect the Queen,” on my back, by my skirt line. That’s next.

I asked Dina to give me a tour. It was a short one. We poked into the bedroom of Dina’s daughter Lenette; she was texting while watching TV, but after her mother cajoled her, she agreed to come out into the living room and sing a Miley Cyrus song for us. It was called “The Climb.” Lenette sang it with a wide mouth, waving arms, and hands that clutched the air.

I can almost see it,

That dream I’m dreaming, but

There’s a voice inside my head sayin’

You’ll never reach it.

Every step I’m taking,

Every move I make feels

Lost with no direction.

My faith is shaking but I

Got to keep trying,

Got to keep my head held high.

There’s always going to be another mountain.

I’m always going to want to make it move.

Always going to be an uphill battle,

Sometimes you’re going to have to lose.

Ain’t about how fast I get there,

Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side,

It’s the climb.

Keep on moving.

Keep climbing.

Keep the faith, baby.

It’s all about

It’s all about

The climb.

Keep the faith.

Keep your faith.