Orchards (3 page)

after that

each weekday morning

I join two other girls

from Kohama

cycling the road

along the still-calm bay

to that finger of land

and pedal

up

up

and up

an impossible hill

till I’m soaked

pushing the bike

wearing a second cousin’s uniform

that Aunt enlarged

sailor top over

navy pleated skirt

when I’m dressed in it

Uncle says

NOW you look

Japanese

S
chool is not my idea of summer

but in this Shizuoka middle school

early July

is still first term

with three weeks left

till summer break

when all my days will be spent

in the family
mikan
groves

now in classes I sweat

          everywhere

                 armpits

                 neck

                 back

                 knees

                 even eyelids

as I try to follow lessons

take notes, mark textbooks—

grateful

for the first time ever

for all those years of Saturdays

my mother made me

attend Japanese weekend school

in New York

watching groups of students

those left out

those harassed

those orbiting in unstable outer circles

I think of you, us

and how we all were

and I just want to know, Ruth—

when you started talking

to Jake Osgood

who Lisa liked

who Lisa hoped to go out with

who Lisa had enlisted all of our help

all winter

to get

when you and Jake

just sat down on the

sidewalk and

leaned back against the school wall

          and laughed

          and shrugged

          and just talked casual

                 like you were best friends—

what did you expect?

if you had told me

what you had told Jake

if Jake had told Lisa

what you’d told him

if you had told Jake

what to tell Lisa

if Lisa had told us

I want to think

the texts and chat

would have ended and we

would have listened

would have understood

even though

not one of us

eighth-grade girls

had ever heard

of your condition

only Jake

with his oldest sister

in

and out

of hospitals

correctly read

your highs

and lows

here as a guest third-year student

at this middle school

I’m an oddity

foreigner

Japanese

but not Japanese

the first half or double

most have ever met

they ask me

do I have dual citizenship?

do I write
kanji
?

were my eyes ever blue?

why’s my hair so dark?

do I eat bread three times a day?

they giggle scraps of conversation in English

explain things loud and slow in Japanese

until I realize I have to stop being shy

babble back

in Japanese slang

set them straight that

bilingual means

bilingual

period

M
iddays at school

after eating the
bento
lunch

that Baachan packs for me—

never-enough-rice with

tiny morsels of lightly seasoned fish

or hardly-any-meat

beside an undressed salad

plus a boiled quail’s egg

and pickled vegetables

and a mini-taste-of-fruit in

a perfect balance of five colors

feast for the eyes but not my stomach—

I cycle back along curves of coast

to Kohama

I sip chilled tea

in the kitchen

change in Yurie’s room

and snack

from a supply

hidden

in an inner zip section

of my suitcase

peanuts with nori-covered rice crackers

“salad”-flavored pretzel sticks

squares of green-tea chocolate

miniature castellas

and tiny individually wrapped

pancakes

filled with

sweet

velvety

azuki

then I lie by the fan

and sneak a listen—

my mother having banned

          music players

          big earrings

          makeup

from my luggage—

she doesn’t know that Emi, faithful sister

shoved in my iPod

last minute

I listen in the afternoons

before
mikan
work

or helping Baachan weed

or Aunt shop

and sometimes at night—

deep middle of night—

when Yurie sleeps heavily and I

lie alive

alone

thinking

of you

thinking that

dipolar I know—

two poles

earth’s north and south

every magnet has two poles

like poles repel

magnetic poles are near

          not at

the geographic poles—

these things I know

but not bipolar

the disorder

that can drive people to do

what you did

after my listen

I ride the truck up with Koichi to

whichever hillside grove they are working

that day

we blast the radio

and if I like the song

or he likes the song

Koichi drives slow

sometimes stalling out

halfway up the hill

if we reach the grove too soon

we wait for the song to end

and change to another song

before turning off the engine

to join Aunt and Uncle

thinning excess fruit

from the trees

Uncle gives me cotton gloves

and shows me how to thin clusters of

cherry-size
mikan

that I pick and let drop

hard and green

they crunch underfoot

I learn to leave

only five of the best

to mature

as Aunt, Uncle, Koichi and I

work a row of trees

sometimes we talk

and Aunt asks about

my classes

in Japan

my classes

in New York

my home in New York

my mother’s business

my sister’s love of running

even my father’s work in

county court

but not about

you

I know they know

about you and I know

they know I was one of those

labeled
at risk

referred for further counseling

and sessions where

time and again

I was asked

how are you feeling?

are you sleeping?

what are you thinking?

there I tried to talk

there counselors listened

but here in Kohama

no one seems to know

how to talk

about you

including me

I start to grow more used

to the work

the endless stretch of time

in the groves

the breezes

the sound of fruit dropping

the scent of citrus rot underfoot

the quiet

interrupted by crows

but not the constant

thoughts

of you

I
n my middle school homeroom

one girl with straight

old-fashioned bangs

and a skirt too long

is an outcast—

I know the posture

hear comments

cruel whispers

girls drop things

touched

by her

say they’re

          polluted

but because of you, Ruth,

I take action

catch up

to walk with her

reaching out

as school counselors would say

letting her know I care

trying a random conversation

all those things

they told us to do

but instead of opening up to me

instead of warming to me

instead of reaching out

in return

she pivots

and walks

away

after that

not everyone is so eager

to get to know

this New Yorker

not everyone so hot

to try their English