Same Sun Here (22 page)

19 May 2009

Dear Meena,

I tried cutting Kentucky into different pieces of my morning toast, but I just made a big mess and Mamaw got on to me. I should’ve done it BEFORE I put the blackberry jam all over it. I’m stupid sometimes. Plus, Kentucky is shaped too weird to be cut out easily.

Have I ever told you that you are a real good hand at drawing? Well, you are. You’re, like, the best artist I know. You said in one of your letters that you weren’t good at anything, but you are good at SO MANY things. Especially writing and drawing.

COUNTDOWN: In ONE MONTH I will be in New York City!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I got to thinking (and worrying): your mom doesn’t like for you to be around boys much, so is she going to be cool with you hanging out with me when I’m in New York? I sure hope so. Tell her Mamaw is going to be with us all the time, and she’s welcome to come with us, too. The more the merrier, I always say.

Today we had a little warm spell and it seemed like we could see the little green buds heating up on the tree branches and showing themselves in the bright light that washed itself out over the mountains.

Daddy had come home for a few days, just to visit us and to look for work back here at home, so we decided to all load up and go over to Cumberland Gap, which is a big national park about an hour from here. I have been going there all my life, and it is one of my favorite places in the world.

Have you ever learned about Daniel Boone in your American history class? He was an explorer who opened up the west by building a trail through the Appalachian Mountains called the Wilderness Road (which goes right through my county and is only about a mile from our house). The main gap through the mountains was Cumberland Gap, and since it was lined up with another gap called the Narrows, this became the easiest way for people to go west, and millions of people passed through that gap back in the 1700s and 1800s.

Now the park is mostly just woods that are being protected from ever being cut down or mined or hurt in any way. There is a nice visitor’s center there with a little museum, and all kinds of good creeks and overlooks (from one you can see three states), and a cave that takes two hours to go through, and picnic areas, and an old Civil War fort. But the best thing is all the trails. My favorite place of all is the actual gap that the pioneers passed through. I love that trail because it’s so quiet, and you can’t hear anything but birdcall and the sound of Gap Creek falling out of the mountain. The best thing of all is that Mamaw, Daddy, Mom, and I walked along the trail and let each other be quiet. Usually there are all kinds of tourists there who are making a big racket and not paying the place the proper respect, but today we were the only people there. So we walked along in silence and just looked at the world, which is coming awake with springtime. Sometimes we’d get separated a little bit, and everyone would do their own thing. At one point I was down by the creek skipping rocks, and Mamaw was up on the mountainside looking around on the ground for signs of herbs and plants that might be coming up, and Mom and Daddy were sitting on a little bench holding hands and whispering to each other. I love to see them like that. I sat there and listened to the creek, and then I could hear something else that started out so low I couldn’t really make it out, but then I knew: Mamaw was singing as she walked the mountain. This is what she sang:

I listened to her, and the birds, and the creek, and I looked at the creek, and the trees, and the sky, and I thought this was how the world must have been before people had to worry about bulldozers taking everything away.

I was so caught up in all this that I didn’t even notice that my parents had come down to sit beside the creek with me. There they were, on either side of me. I could tell by the way they acted that they had something important to tell me even before they said anything. So here’s what they said (I’m going to write it out like a play, like you do sometimes):

MOM
: River, we have something important to tell you.

DADDY
: We getting us a new house, buddy.

MOM
: We’ve been saving and saving, ever since your daddy has been working off in Mississippi, and we’ve finally saved up enough to buy us a little place.

I was glad we’d have a house of our own, but I also didn’t want to leave Mamaw’s. I was perfectly happy right there — and told them so.

DADDY
: We need our own place, though, buddy. We’re going to try to buy a place as close to your mamaw as we can.

MOM
: The best part is that your daddy is going to be able to come home, River.

DADDY
: Yep. I have one more week to work down in Biloxi, and then I’m coming back.

MOM
: He got a job in Knoxville, working construction.

DADDY
: And now I can be around all the time, instead of just once every few months. That sound good to you?

I nodded, and I meant it. But then I said how he was still going to have to drive two hours round-trip every day, and Mom said that was better than living all the way in Biloxi and only getting to come home once in a while.

MOM
: And, River, you need to know why I was sick for so long, too. Because it was the fault of the coal company.

I said I knew that, too, but she went on anyway.

MOM:
They broke our whole family up. Your daddy had worked for them all those years, and then they just up and laid him off because the jobs were going to MTR sites instead of underground, like your daddy did. And then we lost our house on account of it. I was so worried over everything that I had those headaches all the time. And then your daddy had to go off, plumb to Mississippi. So I just gave up, and I ought not have. When the rockfall happened . . . when I almost lost you, that woke me up. That made me see that I had to live again. So I did.

The whole time Mom said all this she capped her hand around my neck and ran her thumb back and forth on the skin between my hair and the collar of my shirt. She hadn’t touched me that way in a long time.

Then we sat there a long while, being quiet and still and feeling the mountains on either side of us. And, Meena, it was the strangest thing, because I thought that not only could I feel the mountains, but I could feel the presence of all those people who had passed through the gap years and years ago, just looking for a better life. I guess they were all immigrants in their own way, just like you and your family. We all are, I reckon.

After a while Mamaw came down from the mountain clutching a little handful of spring beauties. She said, “Look, the first flowers of the year,” and then she tucked them behind my mother’s ear, in her hair, and put her hand on the side of Mom’s face for a second. Then we all four walked out of the gap together and drove home with the windows down, smelling the spring.

June 4, 2009

Dear River,

Time is thick as glue. The past few days have felt like years.

Everything went crazy 72 hours ago. When I came home from school, Mrs. Lau and Cuba and all the birds in their cages were on the street in front of the building. The birds were screaming and Cuba’s tail was drooping and Mrs. Lau said, “Mee-Mee, I’ve lived here for fifty-six years. How can they take my home away?” And that is what has happened. All the rent-controlled people in the building are out. We are homeless.

I sat down on the stoop next to Mrs. Lau and tried not to look at her as she cried. She said everyone had gone to the senior citizen center, but she wanted to wait for us. Her hands were all crippled up and she looked very, very old.

When Kiku came home from school and saw us, his face didn’t budge. It was like he had been expecting this. He ducked under the yellow police tape across the front door and disappeared inside the building. He came back with our suitcase, the pressure cooker, and his bicycle. We each took two birdcages and walked to the senior citizen center. When we got there, Kiku called Mum at work. Then he called Daddy, but the people at the catering hall said Daddy couldn’t come to the phone because he was working an important party. Then Kiku called Ana Maria.

Mrs. Lau’s son came from Brooklyn with a big U-Haul, and they went back to her apartment to get her stuff. She gave me her son’s cell phone number, and when I tried to give her the apartment key from around my neck, she started to cry and said to keep it. Cuba kept licking her hands, and when I bent down to pet him, he put his paws on my shoulders like a hug. When they left the senior citizen center, he looked back and wagged his tail at me. I felt like my heart had fallen out and a big metal pan had been put in its place.

When Mum came she was very calm and quiet. Kiku told her he couldn’t get through to Daddy on the phone and that he was going to get him on his bike. Mum said, “No.” Kiku said, “It’s not far. I’ve done it before.” Mum said, “You’ve done what?” Kiku said, “I’ve biked to Jersey to see Daddy.” Then Mum slapped him across the face. His cheek turned bright pink. She said, “You and your father are keeping secrets?” She was so upset she was shaking. I thought Kiku was going to run away, but he just said, “I’m sorry, Mum,” and then Mum looked at Kiku’s cheek and her lips went all wiggly and she hugged him and said, “Get Daddy.”

And right at that moment, Ana Maria walked in. There was a man with her, her uncle, who shook Kiku’s hand. Kiku cleared his throat and said, “Mum, this is my girlfriend, Ana Maria, and her uncle, Rafael. You and Mee-Mee are going to stay at their apartment tonight, and I’ll get Daddy and meet you there.” He sounded like a man all of a sudden. Mum was completely shocked. She didn’t say anything.

Poor Kiku. All of his secrets are out now.

Kiku got on his bicycle and rode away and Mum and I went to Ana Maria’s apartment. Her family lives on the top floor of a building on Essex Street. It is rent-controlled and has been in their family for forty years. There is a big luxury apartment building under construction across the street. The jackhammers and cranes are really loud, every day, from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.

Ana Maria’s family gave us dinner and made us a soft bed on the floor and told Mum what a good boy Kiku is. They were so nice and Mum was nice, too, but I could tell she was uncomfortable. She tried to do the dishes but Ana Maria’s mum wouldn’t let her. And she tried to give Ana Maria’s daddy some money but he wouldn’t take it. It was like the Ramirezes’ being nice made Mum ashamed. She stayed awake all night and sat out on the fire escape wrapped up in her shawl. I watched her because I couldn’t sleep either.

At 7 in the morning, Kiku and Daddy arrived. They had gotten a ride from a nice cook at the catering hall who has a 1971 El Camino. He put Kiku’s bike in the back of his car and drove them into the city. Mum and I were still awake, waiting for them.

That all happened three days ago and ever since then Kiku has been calling rental places in Chinatown to try to find us a place to live. Everything is so expensive. When school ends in two weeks and Kiku graduates, we will leave Ana Maria’s apartment. We may have to move to New Jersey. I won’t see Ms. Bledsoe and Carlos and Valentina or paint the backdrop for
Oklahoma
next year. I won’t walk Cuba or clean Xie-Xie’s cage and I won’t get to hang out with Mrs. Lau. I won’t go to the Seward Park Library anymore. I wonder if the trees will miss me.

In three hours we will go uptown to the INS offices, where Mummy-Daddy will do the swearing-in ceremony to become American citizens. I have been drawing tiny American flags on my notebook paper and taping them around toothpicks all morning so that Ana Maria can stick the toothpicks through apples and strawberries for the party afterward. It feels strange to think we will soon be citizens but we do not have a place to live.