1001 Cranes (14 page)

“
Kawaisoo
means to feel sorry for someone. Like a homeless lady who smells bad.”

So Grandma thinks Rachel smells bad? I think.

“Mom just feels for people who have no families, I guess. Because family is so important to Mom.”

“But Rachel has a family.”

“Now. But not always. I think she was living with a lot of different foster families.”

Now I start to feel bad. And here I told Rachel to go back to her own family. No wonder Grandma Michi got so mad at me.

Later I watch television alone with Gramps (another cop show, but this time we are eating Cheetos). I mention Aunt Janet’s
kawaisoo
theory.

“Your grandma seems all tough on the outside, but it’s only to protect herself,” Gramps says. His dentures are starting to make a clicking sound, so I know it’s getting close to his bedtime.

“Protect herself from what?”

“From you. Me. Your mother. People who could hurt her.”

“Nobody could hurt Grandma.” Not with her wood-like marionette mouth.

“If you only knew,” Gramps says, closing his eyes.

Gramps goes to bed, and I finally do, too. I check my phone and nobody has called. I don’t even care that Mom and Dad haven’t called, but I wonder about Tony. It’s nothing, I tell myself. It’s nothing. And then I go to sleep.

Runaway
Randori

The next day Grandma Michi and Janet are off to an anniversary party at a retirement home and Gramps is at the flower shop. I’m by myself in the 1001-cranes room, gluing rows of origami birds onto Kawaguchi’s star. I don’t mind being alone, because at least I can bring in Gramps’s old radio and listen to my music.

About noon, somebody rings the doorbell. I at first don’t hear it because of the radio, but the person is insistent. The doorbell is super-loud: Gramps installed a special one that both he and Grandma Michi can hear from every part of the house. My grandmother has given me strict instructions not to open the door to anyone, but I can’t help at least looking through their dusty peephole. It’s Rachel Joseph’s mother, her forehead appearing swollen, like a balloon, through the magnifying glass.

I keep the chain on the door but I do open it a crack.

“Hello, Angela,” she says. “Is Rachel here?”

I shake my head.

“Is your grandmother here?”

“She’s at an anniversary party. I can call her—”

“No, no, I don’t want to bother her.”

I see that Rachel’s mother is pretty agitated. Her forehead is all puckered and marked with worry lines. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who overreacts.

“Wait a minute,” I say to her, and close the door so that I can undo the chain and open the door properly.

“Rachel’s been missing for a couple of hours. It’s been very hard for her lately. Do you know where she could be?”

“She might be at the shop.”

“I already checked. No one was there. Just a sign that someone would be back soon.”

Gramps must have had an emergency to tend to. Whenever he has to temporarily close the shop, he tapes up the same sign:
BE BACK SOON
. I tell him that he can order a plastic sign with a clock with hands that can be adjusted to the exact time he’ll be returning, but he says that would be too much trouble, messing with tiny plastic clock hands. Besides, he says, he doesn’t want to promise that he’ll be returning at a specific time.

“She might be in the shed in the back. I think my grandmother said Rachel likes it there.”

Rachel’s mother looks hopeful.

“You want me to come with you?” I ask.

Before I know it, I’m leaving a message on Aunt Janet’s cell phone (Grandma and Gramps never listen to their messages) and sitting in Rachel’s mother’s Honda Accord.

“I don’t know how much your grandmother has told you about Rachel,” says Rachel’s mother. She’s a good driver who comes to a full stop way before crosswalks and intersections. “We were foster parents at first for several months. We obviously fell in love with Rachel. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

I say nothing. I don’t know if I need to be older to really appreciate Rachel. My friends have cute brothers and sisters (and some bratty ones, as well), but I haven’t fallen in love with any of them.

“The adoption was finalized recently. Your grandmother came to our adoption party.”

Well, that figures.

“And now I think that the shock of it has really hit Rachel. She realizes that she’s no longer legally her biological mother’s child. She’s ours.”

I don’t know why Rachel’s mother is telling me all this. I don’t know if it’s something in my face, or some weird aura I have, but strangers are always revealing their secrets to me. Mrs. O and now Rachel’s mother.

On the other hand, I know of only one person down here who I can tell secrets to: Tony. There’s Gramps, too, but I can’t talk to him about boy stuff. I don’t know what he’d do if he found out about Tony. I choose not to think about that.

Rachel’s mother parks the car in the back lot and we both walk to the shed. It’s made of old wood that was once painted white, only most of the paint has peeled or worn off. It looks like it belongs in a movie about pioneering families moving west, not in the middle of Los Angeles. The combination lock, the round kind that you can find on lockers, is open. I pull the door’s green handle, and sure enough, Rachel is sitting on the ground between some plastic buckets and a shovel.

“Rachel, I was so worried about you.” Rachel’s mother pushes me from behind and kneels down to hug her.

“I was waiting for Auntie Michi.”

“Auntie Michi’s not here, honey. You know you can tell me anything.”

“Auntie Michi understands. She understands me more than anyone else.”

Astronauts and Alstroemeria

Before we climb into the Honda, Gramps shows up in his white van. I guess Aunt Janet was able to contact him, because he knows what’s going on.

“We found her in the shed,” says Rachel’s mother.

Gramps grunts. “You have to be careful,” he says to Rachel. He then notices her tearstained face. “A lot of sharp tools in there,” he says in a softer voice to Rachel’s mother.

“Thank you so much, Angela,” Rachel’s mother says to me, and then turns back to Gramps. “Should I take Angela home?”

“No. In fact, I may need her here.”

Rachel’s mother waves goodbye while Rachel just stares at me from the passenger seat. What did she mean that only Grandma Michi understands her? I saw Rachel’s mother cringe a little when Rachel said that, and I cringed a little inside, as well.

“There was a big mix-up,” Gramps then tells me. “I don’t know what Janet was thinking. She wrote that the Carrillo party was next week, when it’s actually today. I had to call in some favors to get these flowers.” Gramps unloads from the back of the van some carnations, daisies, roses, and other flowers I’ve seen but don’t know the names of. A few bunches are wilted around the edges, and Gramps tells me to peel off those petals.

“You’re going to have to help me make some arrangements.”

I’ve never done that before, I think. But then, there are a lot of things I’d never done before coming to Gardena.

Gramps takes me to the battered sink in the back room. Here he’s stacked green foam bricks.

“This is called an oasis.” Gramps makes me pick one up, and they are as light as Styrofoam. “It’s called an oasis because it holds in water. I’ll cut them; you soak them.” He places a stopper in the sink and turns on the water full blast. He begins chopping each oasis brick in half, and I punch holes in them with a chopstick before dunking each one into the water until the air bubbles stop coming out. We work quickly, like an assembly line. Gramps then stuffs a wet oasis into a plastic-lined container. “I’m going to show you how to make an arrangement. Watch closely, An-jay, because you’ll be on your own for a while.”

“Where will you be?” My voice takes on a high-pitched tone.

“I have to pick up some more flowers from my friend in Montebello. I’ll be back in an hour and a half.”

I’m feeling a little desperate again, but I think,
Gambaru, gambaru.
This is no big deal. I can do it. “Okay, Gramps,” I say.

“Good girl,” he says, smiling. He takes out an old kitchen knife and slices the wet brick in half again. He puts the cubed oasis into a gold plastic bowl, taping it down with floral tape. I don’t see how this thing is going to look nice, but I keep quiet.

There are rows of flowers and greens in front of him on the table, which is covered with newspaper.

“These are alstroemeria.” He points to flowers that kind of remind me of baby tiger faces. The outside petals are orange, but a couple of the yellow inside ones look striped.

“Astro-what?” The name of the flower sounds like “astronaut” or a word for something else that spins in space.

“It’s also called a Peruvian lily.”

They have superlong stems, and Gramps explains that when the flower growers pick them, they pull them out of the ground rather than cut them. The flowers last longer that way.

I like the first, fancy name and ask Gramps to repeat it. Alstroe-meria. Alstroe-meria. I chant it in my head as Gramps clips the greens and sticks them into the oasis. Next come the carnations, the roses, the daisies, and the alstroemeria. After Gramps is done, the arrangement looks beautiful.

“Do you think that you can do this?” he asks.

I nod, not really sure I can. But I am going to try. I promise to keep the doors locked and not to let anyone in.

Gramps picks up his keys from the table and smiles. “An-jay, you’re a good girl,” he says, and leaves.

Doing the arrangements is a lot easier than folding the cranes. The first one doesn’t turn out very well, but if you mess up, you can pull out a few flowers and stick them back into the oasis in a different spot.

I’m on my fifth arrangement when my phone rings.

“What are you doing?” It’s Tony. “Working on your origami?”

“No, I’m helping to make some flower arrangements at my grandparents’ store.”

“Hey, I’m only a couple blocks away. Can I help?”

“I don’t think so. I’m here by myself. My grandpa won’t like it if I let strangers in.”

“I’m not a stranger.” Tony sounds a little hurt.

“You know what I mean. A stranger to him.”

My excuse doesn’t work on Tony, and about ten minutes later, someone is rapping on our front door.

I unlock it. “Listen, you can’t be here. I’ll get in trouble.”

Tony ignores me and walks into the shop. “This place is pretty old. As old as my uncle’s store.”

“Doesn’t need to be all fancy. We sell flowers, live things, not shoes or T-shirts.” I don’t know why I’m being so defensive. I wasn’t that impressed with the store when I first walked in. I go into the back room and he follows me.

“No, no, I’m not saying it’s bad,” says Tony. He comes closer to me. He then pulls up my hands and puts them on his shoulders. “I like it. And I like you.”

He leans in and my heart leaps. His lips touch mine and I feel like I’m falling into a deep hole. The kiss ends before I know it, and I’m looking straight into his face. We’re so close that he looks like he’s become a Cyclops.

I lean back, and he smiles and holds my hand. I’m glad that I brushed my teeth two times this morning. His lips didn’t taste that ashy and I wonder if he’s already started to quit smoking.

I don’t know how long we stand there, holding hands. I’ve left the world of green foam oases and entered a place that’s wilder and more alive. I don’t hear the jangle of the front lock, the bell on the top of the door, the footsteps.

“What is going on here?” a voice snaps, finally bringing me back to Gardena. Grandma Michi, standing next to Gramps at the door.

Tony and I immediately let go of each other’s hands and back away from each other as if a magnetic field has repelled us.

The worst is Gramps’s face. His eyes look empty, and his mouth is slightly open, like his dentures got stuck in an uncomfortable place. I lower my head.

Grandma Michi drops her packages onto the curdled-coffee-colored linoleum. They are obviously heavy, because they make a clunk when they hit the floor. “Thank God your mother is coming down this weekend,” is all she says.