My Name Is Not Easy (19 page)

One of the ladies shopping plops a bolt of fabric on the counter and says, “Th

ree yards.” Th

en she turns back to

the older woman and asks, in Iñupiaq, if that’s going to be enough.

I stand there watching Swede measure the material,

thinking about how the English language makes me so mad sometimes.
She needed to be there.
How can a person use the word
needed
in a sentence that has nothing whatsoever to do with need?

LUKE

—

Bunna and I are standing by our duffl

es, all ready to go. It’s not

like the fi rst time we left, that’s for sure. I’m thinking about all the kids I’m going to see—Amiq and Donna and Junior.

I miss them all—even the Pete boys. Even Sonny, which surprises me. We are watching the plane land, and I’m already thinking about soaring back up into those summer clouds and landing in the middle of all those trees. I even miss the trees.

I’m holding Uncle Joe’s gun with Bunna right next to me like a sergeant at arms. Mom is standing off to the side,
72

my name is n ot easy final text_.indd Sec1:72

18/07/2011 8:25 PM

T H E S I Z E O F T H I N G S B A C K H O M E / L u k e , S o n n y & C h i c k i e
looking lonely. Jack’s gone now, has been for months. No one’s sure where he went, and none of us miss him much, either, except for Mom. I put my arm around her, looking down at the gun, proud of myself. I want her to be proud, too, but Mom’s not looking at the gun; she’s looking fi rst at Bunna, then at me, then back to Bunna, like she’s trying to memorize our faces, trying to keep herself from crying by looking extra hard. And then Uncle Joe is here, striding cross the tarmac and smiling big as day.

“Hey!”

He nods at the gun one last time. “I’m only loaning her to you, remember. Don’t you forget to bring her back.”

I hold the gun up, smiling as hard as a person can smile.

“I won’t,” I say.

“Yeah?” Joe winks, which makes his whole face wrinkle up like tissue and makes me notice, for the fi rst time, all those little wisps of gray hair around his ears.

All of a sudden I want to say no—no, don’t get gray hairs, no, don’t let us get on this plane, no, don’t let us leave with this gun of yours.

But before I know it, I’m sitting in the seat by the window, listening to the rising roar of the engine and watching everything get smaller—and smaller—and smaller.

CHICKIE

—

When we land in Fairbanks, all I can think about is the word
home,
the home where Aaka Mae is at—somewhere here in
73

my name is n ot easy final text_.indd Sec1:73

18/07/2011 8:25 PM

M Y N A M E I S N O T E A S Y

Fairbanks. Where exactly is it and what’s it like? Th e home I

am imagining is a very lonely place. I look around and spot the little knot of Sacred Heart students congregating in the corner of the airport. Like orphans. Watching them, I have a sad thought: I’m halfway to being an orphan myself, Swede getting older and all.

How come I always have to think like this? I try to make my mind go somewhere else by imagining myself way up high, looking down at this fi dgeting little fi stful of kids, standing together at the Fairbanks airport, the boys making jokes and the girls ignoring them. Th

en I have another one of those

thoughts: Maybe someday all of us will be like Aaka Mae, sitting in homes that are not really homes. All alone and forgotten.

Suddenly, Evelyn hollers out my name, and I run to her like I’m running to meet a long-lost sister.

74

my name is n ot easy final text_.indd Sec1:74

18/07/2011 8:25 PM

PART II

The Day the Soldiers Came

1961–1962

We are living underground and we are many.

I can’t see the others but I can feel the warmth of their bodies and
feel their hunger, too.

Th

eir hunger is my hunger.

Up on the surface, there is meat, frozen meat.

We know this.

“Is it warm enough to go up?” they ask.

“Too cold,” I say.

We all know the danger of cold and so we sleep,
dreaming our collective dream.

Sleep until the time comes.

Sleep.

my name is n ot easy final text_.indd Sec1:75

18/07/2011 8:25 PM

my name is n ot easy final text_.indd Sec1:76

18/07/2011 8:25 PM

Rose Hips and Chamomile

SEPTEMBER 1961

DONNA

—

We work in the garden, Sister Sarah and I, silent as stones. In the quiet between us, you can hear the things you can’t hear when people are talking and making noise. Like birds way up high, calling back and forth to each other, and the soft sound of wind tapping against the birch trees. Yellow leaves fl oat down around us like feathers.

Sister stands to move from one part of the garden to another. Her habit fl ickers in the light, casting shadows where she walks, and I think of myself, always living within the shadow and light of the nuns.

Th

e fi rst one was Sister Ann. I really didn’t understand that she wasn’t my real mother. It was winter, cold enough to freeze our blankets to the wall, and all anyone ever said was,
her time to leave the Mission has come
.

I thought I was going to leave with her, but I was

wrong.

I watched her dash out across the runway, her white habit
77

my name is n ot easy final text_.indd Sec1:77

18/07/2011 8:25 PM

M Y N A M E I S N O T E A S Y

slapping in the wind, the wind that is always with us. Slapping back and forth across her legs, telling her to stay.

She pressed something cold and fl at into my hand, and I stood there clutching it for dear life, watching her leave without me. Because I knew right then, without anybody having to say it, that I couldn’t run after her, couldn’t even say how much I wanted to.

She had tears in her eyes, too. Th

is is what I saw. Tears

that made her eyes look shiny when she turned to look back at me—me, standing still and dumb on the edge of the tundra, unwilling to believe the truth of what my eyes were seeing.