The first things out of our uncle's truck were our desks. Lynn and I were going to put our desks in the alcove. Our father and uncle walked into the empty house carrying Lynn's desk.
"Where should we put it?" said our father.
Lynn looked at me. "Which side do you want?"
"You choose first."
We both knew which was the good side: the side facing the big magnolia in the next yard.
'You can choose," said Lynn. "Anytime, girls," said Uncle Katsuhisa. "I'll take that side," I said, pointing to the bad side.
"You're just saying that," said Lynn.
"I don't mind standing here all day, girls," said Uncle. He was pretty tired, since he and my father had just finished loading all the stuff into the truck a few minutes earlier. He and my father set down the desk, and Uncle said we'd flip a coin.
He threw a quarter into the air, somehow caught it behind his back, and slapped it on his forearm. Lynn and I looked at each other.
"Tails," said Lynn.
Uncle glanced at the quarter and quickly put it into his pocket. He said, "Lynn's got tails, and it was heads."
I said, "I'll take the side that faces toward our old apartment. That way, I can see where we used to live."
So Lynnie got first choice even if she didn't want it.
She was radiant as she watched our father and uncle carry boxes into our new house. Actually, I thought of it as Lynnie's house. I held Sammy while she stood in the living room excitedly watching all the commotion. Lynnie loved commotion.
My father and uncle had painted the week before, so as we lay in our bedroom that night we could smell the paint. I took in big breaths so I would never forget how fun it was to live in our own new house and sleep in our own newly painted bedroom with my sister and brother.
I'd heard our mother tell our father that this was just a "beginner house" and that someday we would own a "better" house in a "better" neighborhood, but I could not imagine a better house than this one. We had a grass yard in front and in back, and at night raccoons, possums, and skunks walked through the backyard just as if they lived there.
My sister got better every day, and I heard my mother telling my father that she thought the house itself was making Lynn better. I agreed. It was as if the house were healing Lynn. That made me love the house even more than I would have anyway.
A few days later Lynn, Sammy, and I planned a picnic to celebrate how good she felt. We hadn't gone on a picnic since she'd first made friends with Amber. My parents were a little worried about her going out, but they were also excited that she felt so well. It was as if she'd never been sick.
On the day of the picnic she shook me awake at dawn. "Dad left a whole dollar!" she said. I opened my eyes. Dad had told us he would leave us money to get food for our picnic.
"Shall we buy doughnuts, then?" I said. "Maybe we want doughnuts. Maybe not." "I wish the store had the kind with jelly inside."
"I wish that too!" She was excited. She used to love picnics before Amber came along. "I can't decide. We might want Popsicles."
Pleasure flushed my face. I hadn't thought of Popsicles! It felt nice to think about treats again, after all that time saving for a house.
Sam said, "I've wet the bed." That brought us back down to earth. I had to clean up after Sam while Lynn made us breakfast: what we called brown eggs, made by scrambling eggs with shoyu and sugar. It was my favorite breakfast.
After we ate, we made rice balls to take with us. We talked it over and decided to use part of our money for root beer and the rest for doughnuts.
We rode our bicycles—Sam rode with me on mine. It was a lovely late-summer day. I loved the days at the end of summer. Each day before the regular school year started became more and more precious.
The wind blew hard. Decaying magnolia petals drifted on the streets as we rode. We headed south toward Mr. Lyndon's mansion—white with white pillars. We liked to see his house. My father always said it was his dream house. It was even in a book at the library, about Georgia mansions from the pre-Civil War days. When Lynn and I were rich, we would make Mr. Lyndon an offer he couldn't refuse and buy that house for my father. That would be one of the seven houses we'd get our parents. Over the years we'd gone for a couple of picnics on Mr. Lyndon's sprawling unfenced property. His property was kind of a local tourist attraction—he'd even offered tours at one time.
Lynn called back from her bicycle, "Mr. Lyndon inherited everything he owns!" I knew that, of course, because the grown-ups always mentioned it. I think they wanted to remind themselves that he had never earned his way like they did.
We stopped at the edge of one of his fields and left our bicycles in the grass.
Grass and trees stretched before us. I looked doubtfully at Lynn. Would she get tired? But she was jubilant with energy. It seemed we walked forever, but Lynn's enthusiasm never flagged. Every so often I studied Sam for signs of fatigue. But all I saw was satisfaction. Other times Sam glanced at me, to make sure everything was okay Each time he glanced at me, I smiled furtively at him. It was our secret that I was his special favorite.
A field is a magical place. I could imagine what the past held: cows grazing, a Civil War battle, maybe dinosaurs. The tall grass tended toward blue green and waved in the wind the way I imagined weeds would wave in the sea. I loved that beautiful blue-green color.
After awhile there was nothing behind us and nothing before us except more field and a grove of trees. Lynn stopped.
"Here's the spot," she announced.
We spread out the blanket and lay on our stomachs, with our heads near the edge so we could look into the grass. I said, "We're on a raft in the middle of the sea!" Sam looked a bit apprehensive; Lynn ignored me. She drew an imaginary square as she bit into a rice ball.
"Let's see how much we can see in the square. I'll go first. I see an ant."
"I see grass," I said.
"That's what I was going to say," said Sam. He sighed. I could tell he was getting tired of being the young one and losing every game except when we felt sorry for him and let him win.
"I see that tiny piece of quartz." "Snail poop," I said.
"Liar," she said. "I see a caterpillar! I just noticed!"
And so on, square after square, until Lynn yawned and I knew the game was over. Sam sat a few yards away eating rice and doughnuts. What a beautiful day! What a perfect time for a nap. I lay on my back and closed my eyes. The wind tickled my face. I dreamed I was a mermaid, the fastest mermaid in the ocean. I was at the Mermaid Olympics. Thousands of fish-people watched at the Undersea Olympic Stadium. They were cheering. But in the midst of all the cheering someone was screaming. I had to swim to help. A little boy . . .
Lynn was already plowing toward a grove of trees. Sam shouted over and over, "Waaaaaaaa! Waaaaaaaa!" in a voice that I didn't recognize at first as his. But even before I recognized it, it was pulling me toward it. I wished I didn't run faster than Lynn, so I wouldn't have to arrive first. But since she'd become a teenager, her legs had grown long and gawky. I passed her and ran toward the screaming.
Someone had set a trap in the field, the metal kind that bites an animal until the animal is forced to chew off its own leg. The teeth dug through Sam's skin, making a circle of red on his thin ankle. For some reason his face was red, as if someone were squeezing his neck. He looked at me pleadingly. "Help me," he said. For a second I thought his foot was cut off.
I felt dizzy and started to say, "I don't know what to do." But instead, I knelt down to remove the trap. I couldn't pull the teeth apart. I wished I could just run away and let Lynn take care of it. Then I saw how to open it: by pushing down the tabs on the sides of the trap. I pushed them as hard as I could. "Move your foot; I can't hold it!" I cried out. Sammy pulled his foot out, and I let go of the trap, which snapped shut. My brother stared at his leg and let out a wail.