Same Sun Here (20 page)

Me and Kiku sat by the water, on big cool rocks, next to the red lighthouse, the bridge spanning above us. The river made a long swirly circle around the jetty, and there were lots of boats going by. Across the way were little hills, almost like Garhwal mountains, but much smaller.

Kiku said to me, “I thought this was a place you and Dadi would have gone to together.” I felt sad missing Dadi, but I was also happy to be there with Kiku. The river was louder than everything — except the occasional truck on the bridge thumping heavy and loud. No ambulances or garbage trucks or honking cabs. No subway. We could hear the sound of cars on the West Side Highway, but somehow it was so far away and mixed with the river’s voice that the cars sounded like trees swaying in a forest. I had not seen hills or sat on a big rock in many years. The city, the skyline, looked blue and distant. It made me feel like we are all very small and unimportant. It is just when you are inside something that you forget that. But when you are outside of it and looking from far away, you can see. Kiku says that’s called “perspective.”

Kiku said across the river, over the bridge, was New Jersey — a whole other state. He said he’d ridden his bike over it once and then gone twenty miles into New Jersey to meet Daddy at his restaurant. It’s a secret that even Mum doesn’t know. She would be really mad if she knew Kiku had ridden so far on his bike. He said he skipped school one day when he was worried about Mum and went to see Daddy to ask him what to do. Then he told me about the houses in New Jersey, how everyone has a lawn and lots of trees and it’s peaceful.

My parents work so hard. I want to get a good job and get them a house in New Jersey. I said that to Kiku and he said, “We’ll work hard, too, and then we’ll take care of them.” We shook hands on it and I felt very grown-up. I was thirteen years old, sitting under the GW Bridge, in New York City, with my brother, who trusted me with his secrets. Sometimes Kiku can be mean, but mostly he is sweeter than a big bag of gummy bears.

When we started riding home, it was getting dark. I felt bad for Kiku having to take us all the way home, but he said I was light. The city looked twinkly, lit up against the dark. It got cold. My hands felt stiff on Kiku’s back. The warm spring day had disappeared.

By the time we got home it was 9 o’clock and Mum was mad. She pressed her lips together like she does when she is about to say no. She said that Mrs. Lau had come by and told her two more people in the building had been evicted that morning. Mum ran her hands through her short hair. She looked worn-out and bitter. She said, “We should pack a suitcase in case we have to leave here quickly.” Kiku said, “Mum, it’s late and Mee-Mee’s tired.” Mum sighed and put her hands on either side of my face. She stared at me and started to say something but then stopped. I said, “It’s OK. Let’s pack tonight.”

I put a few outfits in the suitcase and my box of Special Things and the three books Mum gave me for my birthday and all of your letters and all of Dadi’s letters and a paperweight from Mrs. Lau and the lucky buckeye. Kiku put in some of his stuff and Mum added hers and Daddy’s and also some food and water in plastic bottles. The bag is still right by the front door, just in case.

I better get off the computer now. There’s a line of people waiting for it.

Meena

27 March 2009

Dear Meena,

Can you believe they put that picture of me holding that jar of dirty water out to the governor on the cover of
Time
magazine???!!!!????

Mom and Mamaw bought about twenty copies and then
Time
sent us a big box full of them, so I am including one here for you. Mamaw says this is the most exposure mountaintop removal has ever gotten and that now that people know about it, they will get mad about it. She says that Americans usually do the right thing if they know about it, that it just takes a long time to get their attention, especially if something bad is happening to poor people.

When we go to town, everybody feels like it’s perfectly fine to pat on me or get real close to my face and talk about being proud of me. But if it helps to save the mountains I don’t care.

The other day we were in Piggly Wiggly and old Mrs. Heap was in there shopping. She wouldn’t even speak, just acted like she didn’t know us when Mamaw and I walked by her, me pushing the buggy. I could tell that she said something, but didn’t know what. I just heard her mumble. But Mamaw has ears and eyes and everything like a hawk, so she heard her as plain as day. Later Mamaw told me Mrs. Heap said, “Tree huggers,” in this real hateful voice, like she was spitting. Mamaw just spun around on her heel and went back over to Mrs. Heap and said, “I’m praying for you, honey. Because you’re a fool.” And it was like she had cussed Mrs. Heap or slapped her face, the way Mrs. Heap acted all shocked and offended.

The opposite of this is that Ms. Stidham told me she was real proud of me, though. She asked me to stay after class one day and I thought I might be in trouble for something, but then she looked at me like I was a grown-up and she said, “River, I want you to know that I’m proud to know you.” I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say a word, although I guess I should’ve said thanks or something. Then she held out a little purple paperback book. “Here,” she said, and shoved it into my hands. “This book is about doing the right thing, too. It’s my favorite.”

I looked down at the cover.
To Kill a Mockingbird
.

“I want you to have it,” she said, and I swear it was like there were little tears in her eyes. But then she straightened herself up and said, “Go on, then,” and turned me by the shoulders and walked me to the door. I finally managed to say thank you.

She just told me to go on, before I was late to my next class, but when I looked back she was standing at the door, watching me walk away.

After the rockfall, you know that our basketball team has had a real hard time getting it all together again because we lost two of our best players. But I think it made us stronger, too, and here is proof.

We played Lexington Middle School the other day and we

                                                                                         BEAT

                                                                                         THEIR

                                                                                         SOCKS

                                                                                         OFF!!!!

We have never beaten them before, ever. I hadn’t played in a game that good in forever and ever, and it reminded me why I love basketball so much. Because it’s like flying when you are going down the court bouncing that ball, zooming in and out of bodies, the sweat running down your forehead and into your eyes, and the crowd chanting from the bleachers, “River! River!” and the cheerleaders shaking their pom-poms and doing the splits, and the announcer’s voice a blur on the loudspeaker, and then I am sailing through the air, taking a big run and jump as I do a bank shot and that
WHOOOSH
as the ball slices through the net. And then I realized that I had put in the winning shot and the whole crowd was on its feet, everyone clapping and people hugging and so happy because we had been the underdogs for so long, always getting beaten by the big city school, and finally we were the little country school and we were the winners. While everybody else was celebrating it seemed like the whole crowd — all the noise and movement and everything — zoomed away and all my attention went to Mark, who was sitting there on the sidelines with his crutches propped up on the seat next to him. He hasn’t gotten his artificial leg yet because they are still making it especially for him. But he didn’t look sad that he wasn’t out there with us. He just looked happy for us. All the other guys were trying to lift me on their shoulders, but instead I said, “No, let’s go to Mark,” and we did. We all went over there and huddled around him and did a big group hug.

I was glad that we didn’t lift him up on our shoulders. It wouldn’t have seemed right, since he lost his leg. Instead, we went down to him, and that felt right. That felt better.

I know that some people think that sports are stupid and get too much attention. They probably do get too much attention. I mean, nobody ever has a pep rally for the people in the academic team or the band, and that’s not right. But sometimes sports are a real good thing, because they can remind you that if you work hard for something you can succeed. And being a basketball player is hard. You have to be a hard worker to be an athlete, and practice every day, and be determined. So it’s like being a musician or writer that way. And I know that winning is not everything. That’s not what I’m saying. Even though it felt real good to not be the losers to Lexington Middle School for once, it felt even better to know that we had played a good, fair game, and we had worked hard to do the best we could.

And guess what — even Sam Brock, that big turd I got into a fight with a few months back, came over and told me I had done a good job. I thought that was pretty big of him.

By the way, I think that Kiku’s present was pretty much the coolest thing I’ve ever heard of. He makes me wish I had a brother.

Your best friend,

River

April 10, 2009

Dear River,

Spring! It’s here! It’s here! Today the mannequin in the boutique window is wearing a sundress and sandals. I stood on my tiptoes on Hester Street and peered into a window box and saw some flowers blooming. I know the yellow ones are daffodils and the purple ones are crocus. Do you have those flowers in Kentucky?

At the library garden, there are lots of white flowers that look like upside-down teacups and a few with pink bushy blossoms. At night, walking past the library garden, you can hear crickets chirping. The air is warm and it seems like there are little bits of electricity in everyone’s eyes.

I feel like I will grow a little bit now that spring has come. Kiku is still growing, which seems unfair because he is already tall — six feet tall! We know he is still growing because the other day he was walking down the hall and he hit his head on the pots hanging from the ceiling! That has never happened before. I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but our kitchen is also our hallway — they are the same place. We only have one closet in the apartment, so we hang all the pots from the ceiling and keep all our plates and glasses on shelves that Daddy nailed into the wall. It is good we are not big people, because if we were, we would have to turn sideways on the way to the bedroom.

Thank you for the copy of
Time
magazine. It’s crazy that you’re on a magazine cover, like a famous person, like a MOVIE STAR!!!!!!!!! What does that feel like?

If you move to Hollywood, I hope Mum will let me come visit you.

It seems as if everyone is really paying attention to the Appalachian Mountains now. I was really happy that your team won the basketball game, too, and that you did the big last basket and that Mark was there to watch the game. I hope he gets his artificial leg soon. Kiku says those are very expensive.

Today my history teacher gave a lesson on serfdom. He started out by saying that luck is as simple as where and when you’re born and who you’re born to. In the old days, if you were born a serf, you stayed a serf. Every single country in the world has had serfs or slaves: England, Egypt, Russia, Iran, Japan, India, Spain, Ghana, China, France. Mr. Orff said it’s because there are some people in the world who want to control other people, who want to be comfortable and rich and protected, and they don’t care who they hurt to get that way. It seems so unfair that some people work hard but don’t have anything to show for it.

Someone asked if America has serfs nowadays, and Mr. Orff said the closest thing is illegal immigrants who have to pay money to the people who smuggle them into the country. Mr. Orff said that a lot of American employers take advantage of illegal immigrants because they will work for less money than citizens. I kept thinking about Mum and Daddy and all the people Daddy works with at the catering hall. I usually talk a lot in history, but when the discussion went to illegal immigrants, my hands sweated and I felt like a knife had come through the air and cut me apart from the rest of the class. But no one but me knew it had happened.

After school I went to the library with Mrs. Lau because Mum and Kiku were both working late. Remember when I told you about Mai, who teaches the citizenship class at the library? She also teaches Mrs. Lau’s free ESL (English as a Second Language) class. She is so nice. Today she gave a writing assignment, and I sat next to Mrs. Lau and helped her with it. Now I will type up the story Mrs. Lau wrote, so you can read it, too:

One day I sat on subway next to a lady wearing pants sewn in my factory. I recognize the pants from the seams. I ask the lady if her pants were comfortable, and she said, “Yes.” I ask the lady where she bought the pants and she said, “At Macy’
s, for thirty-five dollars.” I never knew how much our pants cost. Thirty-four dollars is how much money I made in two days of work. I sat on the subway and thought about all the people I worked with at the factory and all the pants we made and how many people there were in the world wearing them.

Isn’t that a good story? Now whenever I look at someone’s clothes, I wonder who made them. I always like shirts that say MADE IN INDIA on the tag, like the manhole covers in New York. It is amazing to me that those big round pieces of metal on NY streets came all the way from India, just like our family.

I asked Mai if working in a factory was like serfdom, but she said she didn’t know. Then I asked Mai about that line Mummy-Daddy will have to say to become citizens. I have memorized the line because the words are so grand, almost like a prayer:
I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen.
I can say it all in one breath. I did it like that for Mai and she laughed. She said it was not anything to worry about. She said we could still go back to India whenever we wanted. She said there are so many Americans — legal, illegal, citizens, not citizens — who love America and, also, the country they or their ancestors come from. I asked her if she felt that way about China and she said, “That’s what it means to be an American. To be free to love who and what you want, and to keep a lot in your heart at once.”