Inside Out and Back Again (15 page)

to sink into me.

October 31
Night

I’m quiet

during my lesson

with MiSSSisss WaSShington.

For a long time

I stare at the floral wallpaper

and shelves full of books,

then I notice

a framed photograph

of a boy in uniform.

I had not known of her son Tom

or of his death as a

twenty-year-old soldier

in the very place

where I was born.

I never thought

the name of my country

could sound so sad.

I’m afraid to look

at MiSSSisss WaSShington.

You hate me?

Child, child.

She comes close

and hugs me.

Right then I tell her

about the pancake.

She hugs me tighter,

then pulls out a book.

A book of photographs:

a dragon dance at T
t,

schoolgirls in white
áo dàis,

a temple built on a tree trunk.

Tom had sent home

these photographs

of a hot, green country

that he loved and hated

just the same.

I suck in breath:

a photograph of

a papaya tree

swaying broad,

fanlike leaves

in the full sun,

showing off a bundle

of fat orange piglets.

Excited, I yell,

u
!

I’m stabbing at the image.

Best food.

Papaya?

Your favorite food is papaya?

By the time I teach her

u

and she teaches me

doo-doo

we’re laughing so hard

we’re hungry for pancakes.

She tells me

to take

the book home.

November 3

Before school

our cowboy shows up.

MiSSSisss WaSShington told him

about the pancake.

He whispers to Mother and Brother Quang.

All will escort me to school

with MiSSSisss WaSShington.

I do not feel good.

In the principal’s office

sit Pink Boy and his mother.

It’s very hot in here.

Lots of strained voices

holding in anger.

Finally all eyes

are on Pink Boy,

who wrestles out,
Sorry
.

I feel like throwing up.

Mother rescues him:

We know you’re from a proper family

and did not realize

the damage of your insult.

While Brother Quang translates,

Pink Boy’s eyes let me know

he hates me even more.

November 5

MiSSS SScott

shows photographs

of the S shape

of Vietnam,

of green mountains and long beaches,

of a statue of the Buddha reclining.

She asks me,

Would you like to say anything?

I know Buddha.

I hear laughter

and a murmur building:

Boo-Da, Boo-Da.

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

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 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