Inside Out and Back Again (12 page)

whistling.

He eats

two, three, four

pork chops.

I eat

one, two chops.

I have a feeling

having muscles

makes whistling

possible.

September 2
Evening

I sneak into

my brothers’ room.

The full moon shines on

the bulkiest lump.

I shake it awake.

Outside!

Brother V
swats my hand

but follows me.

Moonlight turns us silver.

They pulled my arm hair.

They threw rocks at me.

They promised to stomp on my chest.

Brother V
yawns.

A boy did pull my arm hair!

Brother V
pats my head.

Ignore him.

It’s not like I follow him around.

Why were you whistling?

Someone called me Ching Chong.

Is that good?

Didn’t sound good.

Then he tripped me,

so I flew up and

almost scissor-kicked him

in the face.

You missed?

I wanted him to stop,

not hurt him.

I didn’t even like

seeing him scared.

I would have kicked him.

Teach me to fly-kick, please.

Not with your temper.

I shout, I’m so mad.

I shouldn’t have to run away.

Tears come.

Brother V

has always been afraid

of my tears.

I’ll teach you defense.

How will that help me?

He smiles huge,

so certain of himself.

You’ll see.

September 2
Late

Next morning

halfway down the block,

away from Mother’s eyes,

I hear the
clink clank

of Brother Khôi’s bicycle.

He stops and pats

the upper bar

of the triangle frame.

I sit sidesaddle,

holding on to the handlebar.

The edges of our hands

touch.

As we glide away

I ask,

Every day?

I feel his chin

nod into

the top of my head.

After school too?

Another chin nod.

We glide

and I feel as if

I’m floating.

September 3

MiSSS SScott

points to me,

then to the letters

of the English alphabet.

I say

A B C
and so on.

She tells the class

to clap.

I frown.

MiSSS SScott

points to the numbers

along the wall.

I count up to twenty.

The class claps

on its own.

I’m furious,

unable to explain

I already learned

fractions

and how to purify

river water.

So this is

what dumb

feels like.

I hate, hate, hate it.

September 10

I wish

Brother Khôi wouldn’t

keep inside

how he endures

the hours in school,

that Mother wouldn’t

hide her bleeding fingers,

that Brother Quang wouldn’t

be so angry after work.

I wish

our cowboy could be persuaded

to buy a horse,

that I could be invisible

until I can talk back,

that English could be learned

without so many rules.

I wish

Father would appear

in my class

speaking beautiful English

as he does French and Chinese

and hold out his hand

for mine.

Mostly

I wish

I were

still

smart.

September 11

Brother V

now makes everyone

call him

Vu Lee,

a name I must say

without giggling

to get defense lessons.

I need the lessons.

I’m hiding in class

by staring at my shoes.

I’m hiding during lunch

in the bathroom,

eating hard rolls

saved from dinner.

I’m hiding during outside time

in the same bathroom.

I’m hiding after school

until Brother Khôi

rides up to

our secret corner.

With Vu Lee

I squat in

ng t
n,

weight on legs,

back straight,

arms at my sides,

fingers relaxed,

eyes everywhere at once.

I’m practicing

to be seen.

September 13

Eggs explode

like smears of snot

on our front door.

Just dumb kids,

says our cowboy.

Bathroom paper hangs

like ghosts

from our willow.

More dumb kids,

says our cowboy.

A brick

shatters the front window,

landing on our dinner table

along with a note.

Brother Quang

refuses to translate.

Mother shakes her head

when Vu Lee pops his muscles.

Our cowboy

calls the police,

who tell us

to stay inside.

Hogwash,

our cowboy says,

then spits a brown blob

of tobacco.

I repeat,
Hogwash,

puckering for the ending of

ssssshhhhhh.

Mother decides

we must meet