Red Butterfly Read online

  of neighborhood,

  this tiny corner

  of a huge city.

  Even though

  Mama says

  it’s bigger than

  any city in America,

  I still feel trapped.

  School Time

  At nine a.m.

  Mama says,

  School time!

  loud and cheerful like always,

  pretending this is exciting

  to be reading

  the same books

  and calculating

  the same numbers

  as yesterday.

  (I reached fifth grade

  but there’s no money to buy

  new books.

  Mama uses the old books and

  teaches me from her “fountain of knowledge”

  which means I do work I already finished

  and listen to her stories.)

  Nothing ever changes

  and nothing will ever change

  because even getting the Jane Austen box set

  is impossible.

  Defiance

  I say,

  NO.

  Today I want to ride

  to the water park,

  walk around,

  see the trees,

  fake lakes,

  and statues.

  Mama pauses,

  takes a large breath

  that makes her shoulders shudder.

  Are you growing up on me?

  Is this defiance?

  she asks.

  I don’t know what it is,

  but it feels good

  for once

  to set my hands on my hips,

  tell her how things are going to be.

  Mama’s thin lips

  pull so tight

  against her tic-tac-toe teeth,

  they disappear.

  Let me put on my scarf,

  she says after a pause,

  and I’ll come with you.

  The Water Park

  Blue sky today,

  bursting trees:

  pink,

  white,

  tiny green new leaves.

  We cross stone bridges,

  listen to

  old women

  sing

  in a chorus

  of shrill,

  wiggly

  voices.

  Listen to birds

  in cages

  suspended

  from

  tree branches

  (none

  as beautiful

  as my green Jim,

  but boy,

  can they sing!).

  Watch a bout of

  badminton

  back and forth.

  Shuttlecock

  back and forth.

  Everyone playing

  is old and smiling.

  The last time we were here,

  Mama says,

  was with Daddy

  when you were a little girl.

  You had a tricycle

  and you rode it round and round

  that flower bed.

  She points,

  laughs at the memory.

  Mama takes off her long gloves

  to let the spring sun warm her arms.

  No one here

  will care

  who I am.

  I wonder why

  she thinks

  anyone would care.

  We are an old lady

  and a girl

  not drawing a bit of attention.

  Leaving

  We leave the gate,

  the green-blue of park,

  and step back

  into gray city.

  Mama looks back,

  gaze lingering

  on the lake,

  the drooping willows.

  She says,

  We should do this again.

  Her cheeks are pink,

  even her faded freckles

  stand out

  like stars in a black night

  but backward.

  We should bring Jody here,

  she says.

  Which is not

  what I was thinking

  at all.

  The Arrival

  Late on Tuesday night

  Jody lugs her big suitcases

  (thump) (thump) (thump)

  up the stairs.

  There’s no putting her back

  because she’s here now,

  all of her.

  Jody

  She has short yellow hair

  like a boy,

  a stomach

  spilling over

  the rim of her shorts,

  and blue things

  that crawl up her legs

  like worms

  under pale skin.

  Mama calls them

  varicose veins.

  I have them too,

  she whispers.

  She lifts her skirt,

  shows me her leg skin,

  all the bumpy

  lines going up and down,

  blue and green

  like bruises.

  I whisper,

  I’ve never seen a Chinese person with those.

  Mama says,

  No, I guess not.

  But I think

  at least Mama

  has the intelligence

  to cover them up.

  Gifts

  Jody brings

  tiny bits of chocolate

  that arrive in their own

  labeled bag

  and are the shape of

  fat teardrops.

  Rich, soft

  brown sugar,

  not red,

  not hard

  like we have here.

  Knitting wool

  for Mama.

  People magazine.

  Mama’s favorite

  candy bar

  with peanut butter

  in the middle.

  I get one too.

  After that

  Jody slaps her thighs.

  That’s all she wrote, folks.

  I sit

  cross-legged,

  the chocolate bar

  in my lap,

  and let my hopes

  wilt

  like old flowers.

  I wasn’t expecting

  Jane Austen.

  After all,

  it was impossible.

  Impossible

  Here,

  Jody says later,

  emerging from

  my room,

  where all her belongings

  are piled on top

  of a sagging

  red

  suitcase.

  I almost forgot.

  Dad sent these for you.

  She hands me a box

  with one end cut out

  so books can slide in and out,

  Jane Austen books,

  like it’s no big deal,

  like I haven’t been dreaming

  about this for months,

  like Mama hadn’t said

  it was impossible,

  a trouble,

  a burden.

  I peek at Mama to see if she’s mad

  at me for asking

  when she said no,

  but she’s smiling

  and her eyes gleam with tears

  when she says,

  Wasn’t that nice of Daddy?

  Jody Time

  In the daylight

  she sleeps in my bed,

  her mouth open,

  snoring.

  At night,

  when she should be asleep,

  she’s wide-awake

  talking

  LOUD-VOICED

  to Mama,

  who nods,

  yawns,

  nods,

  but collects

  each Jody-word

  like it’s a

  fleck of gold.

  Holiday

  Now tha
t Jody’s here

  every day

  is a holiday,

  a drop-everything-and-be-happy

  day,

  a no-schedule day.

  Jody says

  crazy,

  irrational things

  like,

  Let’s take a taxi

  to the American restaurant

  for dinner.

  A taxi!

  To the American restaurant!

  Mama takes special care

  pinning back her hair,

  sprays perfume,

  and drapes her

  favorite scarf,

  covered in pink roses,

  around her neck

  and over her mouth,

  pulls on

  newly washed

  white gloves

  up to her elbows

  and says,

  Let’s go.

  I stare at her.

  Maybe Jody’s presence makes Mama

  forget about skin wrinkles

  and outside air

  and the long flight of stairs.

  Mama catches my eye,

  must spot my confusion, because

  she pulls the rose scarf down

  long enough to flash a smile.

  Just this once,

  she whispers.

  One American Meal

  No one stares here

  because everyone

  expects

  foreigners

  to arrive

  at an American restaurant

  in a taxi,

  to sit at a table

  covered in a red/white cloth,

  to order plates

  and plates

  and plates

  of food.

  Mama,

  away from the outside air,

  in the restaurant cool,

  unwinds her scarf,

  pulls off her gloves,

  and smiles.

  A waitress with many pins

  stuck in her shirt

  serves

  heaps of lettuce

  covered in

  cold sauce,

  meat in

  one big chunk,

  red in the middle,

  onions cut

  into circles,

  fried all around.

  The onions aren’t bad,

  but everything together

  makes my stomach hurt.

  At the end

  Jody says,

  My treat,

  and puts a wad

  of money

  on the tray

  for the waitress.

  I can’t help thinking

  Mama and I

  could survive

  for one whole month

  on the money

  Jody just gave away

  for one

  American

  meal.

  Calling Willard

  Two hours back,

  then switch the

  a.m. to p.m.,

  the p.m. to a.m.

  This is how you calculate

  the difference

  between Chinese time

  and American.

  Jody slaps her palm

  to her forehead.

  She’s trying to figure out

  when to call Willard

  so she won’t wake him up

  at four o’clock in the morning.

  Mama says,

  Don’t complicate it.

  Fourteen hours behind in spring and summer,

  fifteen hours in winter and fall.

  Jody says,

  That’s not complicated, Ma?

  If my phone would work

  I could look it up.

  And you need to buy an

  international phone card,

  Mama says.

  Kara can take you.

  Jody laughs.

  Willard might have to wait to get his phone call

  when I’m back on American soil.

  Escape

  There’s only

  snoring

  or

  LOUD

  talking

  or

  Shush, you’ll wake Jody

  in our apartment now.

  I run my finger over

  the cover of Pride and Prejudice,

  but don’t open it

  yet.

  I’ve been waiting so long

  it feels right to savor.

  I try to draw

  Zhao Bin

  in my notebook—

  capture

  his smile

  with the dimples.

  When Mama

  relaxes

  on the couch,

  her eyelids fluttering,

  I make my escape,

  leaving a note

  on the table.

  Gone for a bike ride

  XOX

  Meeting Zhao Bin

  I wonder if he

  can sense

  I’ve been

  drawing him,

  because there he is

  in the stairwell

  when I’m coming up.

  He stands at his gate

  holding the handle

  like he’s not sure

  whether to come or go.

  I tuck my stubby hand

  in my pocket,

  my heart squeezing

  too tight

  to let my mouth

  smile.

  I say,

  Hello.

  Oops, wrong language.

  Ni hao.

  At the Top of the Stairs

  At first I don’t notice

  Jody’s loud talking

  behind the front door,

  because my heart is still soaring

  from the Zhao Bin encounter.

  It only hits me

  when I touch the gate handle,

  hits me

  like staccato notes in music,

  like machine-gun fire in movies.

  I am still breathing hard

  from pedaling

  and stair-climbing

  and smiling at Zhao Bin,

  but I hear

  Mama shushing Jody:

  No no no no.

  Jody shouts,

  You act like she’s the only one.

  What about Dad

  and my kids?

  You’ve never even met my kids!

  Do you know

  how much

  that hurts,

  Mom?

  Mama, quietly:

  No no no.

  Jody yells,

  So this is it,

  the way it’ll be

  for the next seven years?

  You two

  over here

  just because

  you were

  born

  stubborn?

  Mama, whispering:

  No no.

  Jody screams,

  What if someone

  catches you?

  What then?

  Mama, firmly:

  We’ve been fine

  this long.

  Don’t talk about it.

  Don’t tempt fate.

  Footsteps thump

  across the floor.

  A door slams.

  I

  tiptoe

  back down

  one stair

  at a time,

  sit

  on the bottom

  step

  next to the

  mailboxes

  rocking

  until my heart

  stops crashing,

  rocking

  until I can see straight

  enough

  to stand up.

  Guest

  The restaurant lady,

  with two bags

  of white Styrofoam

  containers,

  passes me on the stairs,

  glancing past me

  with disinterested

  eyes.

  I follow
/>   the hot, sweet smells

  of chicken,

  garlic beef,

  and ginger

  all the way to my door.

  Jody pays

  the restaurant lady

  with cash

  from our food envelope.

  I find Mama hiding in her bedroom,

  watching from the window

  to make sure the delivery girl is gone.

  Jody wanted outside food tonight.

  My heart flexes

  with resentment

  even while my stomach growls.

  I cross my arms,

  take a breath to speak,

  but Mama stops me.

  Don’t say anything, Kara.

  I say it anyway.

  We can’t afford it.

  Mama’s jaw

  tightens.

  Mothers take care of

  their children,

  not the other way around.

  I can pay for

  one nice dinner.

  I whisper,

  After this

  we’ll be lucky

  to afford cabbage!

  Mama is usually

  so soft and gentle,

  but she has

  a stiff pride.

  There’s nothing wrong

  with rice for awhile

  if we can make sure

  our Jody

  has a nice visit.

  Her look tells me

  the conversation

  is over.

  Yes

  In the middle

  of eating expensive food,

  there’s a knock

  at the door

  and I am the one to open it.

  Zhao Bin is there,

  standing

  in the lighted

  stairwell.

  His mother grips both his shoulders,

  speaks very slowly

  in Chinese,

  very slowly

  because maybe she thinks

  I won’t understand.

  Zhao Bin

  must practice his English.

  We hear

  you are American.

  Will you help him?

  It is only me

  facing them.

  Mama hurried

  to the back room

  the moment

  the knock sounded.

  Jody chews

  a large chunk of

  pineapple chicken

  and stares.

  It is only me,

  me and whatever I want to say,

  whatever I want to do.

  Yes,

  I say in Chinese.

  Yes,

  I can teach him English.

  It’s the first time

  anyone has asked me for something like this

  and the first time

  there wasn’t a rule to stop me.

  Mama Emerges

  After I close the front door,

  heart still pounding,

  Mama’s bedroom door creaks open.

  Who was it?

  she asks,

  peeking out.

  She must have been listening,

  but after all the years