Same Sun Here Read online

  What I did not like about your letter:

  That man who tore up the hundred-dollar bill in front of people and then taped it back together. I can see why you all laughed at that story, but it made me mad! (Mamaw says there are lots of people around here who live in big fancy houses and drive big fancy cars even though they can’t afford them, and that’s why the country’s in a real mess and the taxpayers are having to bail everybody out. She says that’s part of the problem with MTR, because it exists because people are greedy and want something instantly.) I can’t stand people who brag and go on in front of people. What a big phony. And . . .

  I appreciate you telling me everything, but to be honest I have no interest in ever hearing anything else about you shaving your legs or hair of any kind, period. Sorry, but I’m always honest with my friends and, well, that part about you shaving and all that kind of freaked me out.

  OK. Moving on.

  Have you noticed that I really like to make lists? It’s a weird obsession of mine. When I was little I would make lists of all my books and DVDs and video games. I have notebooks full of lists I used to make. I told you, I’m a weirdo.

  I really liked the letter from your grandmother. It made me real sad, though. I thought about if I had to live way across the ocean from Mamaw and how bad I would miss her. I hope that you all get to see each other real soon.

  I also forgot to tell you that there is a big mountaintop removal mine over by Mark’s house, too. I didn’t know it, but today I was trying to talk to him about it again, and trying to describe why it is wrong, and he said they were running that kind of mine on the mountain above his house and that it’s noisy and dusty, but his parents told him that was just where they lived so to get used to it. But he says his mother won’t drink the water out of their pipes now.

  Basketball practice has been wearing me out lately. It’s hard at first, when you’re not used to practicing that long everyday, but I’ll get back in shape soon and it won’t bother me a bit. Coach says that if I keep up the way I’ve been playing in scrimmages, he’s going to start me this year. I’ve never been a starter before, so this is a big deal. I’m still doing my stretching exercises and I’ve grown 1/8 more of an inch. I am now 5 feet and 7 3/4 inches.

  I guess I better go. Mamaw is hollering for me to come watch Obama give his acceptance speech.

  Sincerely,

  River Dean Justice

  P.S. Have you ever heard anything by the White Stripes? Mark made me listen to them the other day on his iPod and I am really liking them now. I usually don’t like hard rock but they are really good. I bet your brother has some of their stuff.

  P.P.S. My favorite band ever is the Beatles, though.

  November 21, 2008

  Dear River,

  When I got back from school today, there were all kinds of things lined up in front of our building — furniture and boxes and lamps and Kiku’s bicycle with a sign stuck to the handlebars: PLEASE TAKE. It’s lucky I came home when I did because a man was just about to wheel the bike away. I told him he couldn’t have it, and I dragged it all the way up five flights of stairs by myself. I had to take my backpack off and rest on the landings. It was really hard but I did it.

  What happened is that the building manager told the super to take everyone’s stuff out of storage in the basement and put it on the sidewalk as if it were trash. He said if any of the renters want to store their things, they will have to pay fifty dollars a month. That is six hundred dollars a year. We cannot afford that. Mrs. Lau says this has never happened before, storage has always been free, this is just another way to scare rent-controlled tenants. Her son’s high chair from when he was a baby was taken off the street before we could get it. It was something her husband made by hand many years ago. Mrs. Lau is very upset and says one day we will all be pushing shopping carts on Canal Street and begging for food.

  When Kiku got home, he hammered some big nails into the wall behind the couch and lifted his bike up there so it would be out of the way. For saving his bike, he made me a peanut-butter sandwich cut into the shape of a heart. It was tasty.

  There is something I have to tell you. I haven’t told you before only because it is not just my secret but my family’s secret and Mrs. Lau and her family’s, too.

  We are living in our apartment illegally. Only Mrs. Lau’s son is allowed to live here, because it is his father’s name on the lease. But Mrs. Lau’s son lives in Brooklyn. And we live here in his apartment. Mrs. Lau doesn’t charge us one penny more than the rent-controlled amount. She does not make any profit. She says it is enough for her to have people next door who will help an old lady when she needs it and walk her dog.

  We were going to move out to Queens and get a legal apartment, but then Mummy and Daddy had to spend all our savings on a plane ticket to bring me to America.

  It is very hard to keep a secret like this. It makes me feel like a liar and a cheat, and we are always sneaking around and always afraid of being caught. Mummy-Daddy, Kiku, and Mrs. Lau say if there were another way, we would do it. They say we are not hurting anyone, and as soon as we can change the situation, we will.

  I was so scared when I saw Kiku’s bike out there today. No one can know that we live here. Once every three months, there is an inspection in our building, and on that day, we take all our photographs down and put up pictures of Mrs. Lau’s son and his family. We roll up the peacock bedspread and lay down a Chinese brocade sheet. We hide our spices and borrow some of Mrs. Lau’s to stack above the stove. We pack up all our clothes and put them in the trunk of Sushil-Uncle’s cab, and when he drives off we go to the White Lotus Chinese restaurant and drink a lot of tea until Mrs. Lau calls Kiku on his cell phone and tells him it is safe to come back. Sometimes I dream at night about people breaking down our door and throwing us out the window into the street. I always wake up before any of us hit the pavement, and I always wake up crying.

  Once, this summer, the building manager saw me sitting on the stoop with Mrs. Lau and he asked who I was. She said I was the little girl who helped her with laundry and groceries. When he asked me where I live, I got nervous and said, “Next door.” Mrs. Lau said I didn’t speak much English and had gotten confused and that I live on Delancey. He asked about her son and she said he was doing business in Hong Kong for two months. Mrs. Lau said she thought he believed her, but I don’t know; he kept staring at me. It will be all my fault if we lose our apartments. I should have been able to lie for my family.

  I hope you still want to be my best friend. I wanted to tell you the truth all along. But I wasn’t sure it was something you wanted to hear. It seems like there are some things you don’t want to hear. For example, I am sorry I freaked you out about shaving my legs. I would think it was very interesting if you told me about shaving your face. Since I don’t shave my face, it would be my chance to find out more about it. Anyway, I won’t tell you about that stuff anymore, since it makes you have the nervous breakdown. But I just have to say that you reacted the way Mummy-Daddy would react. Like, because I’m a girl and you’re a boy, we can’t talk about certain things. Well, I think that’s stupid and babyish. Also, if I’m being my true self with you . . . well . . . I’m a girl, so you may have to hear some girlie things. And I don’t understand why boys are always talking about their gas and their poop and all kinds of gross things. But if a girl says something about her body, a boy gets freaked out. Maybe it’s just certain boys who are that way.

  We both love mountains, so I figure you’ll know what I mean when I say that mountains have different moods. You know? The city feels like it has moods to me, too. Sometimes the whole city feels happy or sad or tired or silly or angry. Lately it feels nervous. Sushil-Uncle says people are not taking cabs these days. Mum says three of the other nannies she sits with at Central Park have gotten fired. And I heard a man on the news say that the only people who do well in hard times are undertakers.

  How is your daddy doing with his job?

  I di
d not get a letter from Dadi last week. Kiku says sometimes mail is slow or gets lost but I feel worried. I am wearing my watch set to India time today. It makes me feel closer to Dadi, and when I need to know what time it is here, I just subtract ten and a half hours. Sometimes I try to send Dadi messages in my mind. I think that’s called telepathy. I don’t know if you believe in stuff like that, but I feel like if I concentrate very hard, Dadi can hear me. Do you think that’s possible?

  What your mamaw said about not busting anyone’s mouth, we call that ahimsa in India. It means nonviolence and it was how Gandhiji got rid of the British. One time I tried ahimsa when Kiku sat on me to make me promise not to tell Mum he had been out with Ana Maria. I didn’t bite him or push him or scream. I stayed still with my eyes closed and said very quietly, “You’re hurting me, please get off.” I didn’t move at all. I let him sit on me and yell. After a few minutes, he stopped shouting. He stood up and said he was sorry and gave me a hug. It was really weird how it worked.

  Maybe your mamaw has to get arrested so Mark can have clean water and Town Mountain can stay a mountain. It sounds scary but maybe something good would come of it. Gandhiji got arrested many times, and he INTENDED to, like your mamaw. If he hadn’t done that, India would not be a free country today.

  If you come to New York City, I will take you to see the statue of Gandhiji in Union Square. Whenever I look at it, I think about how Mum says Gandhiji was a great man with a very lonely wife. She says, “Think of all the people she had to share him with! The whole country, the whole world. There was nothing left for her and the children.” We have to share Daddy with the catering hall. But he is working there for us, so it is different, I think. I don’t know. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe Gandhiji did what he did for his wife and children, too.

  Oh, I forgot to tell you that Valentina got the part of Maggie, and Marvel Jenkins is Diana, with a solo. Every day after school, I have been painting a New York skyline “backdrop” for the “closing number” of A Chorus Line — a song called “One.” I have learned all kinds of new words in theater language, such as “lower the fly” and “in the wings,” and I know where “downstage left” is, because I am always making little x’s with masking tape there so the actors know where to stand. I really like Drama Club. I like the lights and the big red curtain and the way everyone works together. I like how one minute people are laughing and then all of a sudden they are crying, and it isn’t crazy, it is just the way they feel. Most of all, I like the singing and dancing. I think Aamir Khan should do a Bollywood version of A Chorus Line. It would be very good.

  You know how I said Marvel Jenkins is so strong she scares me? I’ve been watching her during rehearsal and I’ve noticed that she always takes her shoes off and that she sits down when she talks to boys. I think she feels bad about being tall the same way I feel bad about being short. I didn’t think there was anything in the world Marvel Jenkins felt bad about. Now that I know there is, I don’t feel scared of her anymore.

  Lucky you with no school on Election Day! I’m glad you stared down that mean man who shouted at your mamaw. A lot of schools in New York stayed open on Election Day, like mine. We even had a test in history. Our teacher told us there are only five states where all schools are closed, and Kentucky is one of them.

  My school, PS 20, was one of the voting stations in our neighborhood, so our gym classes were canceled and the whole gym was taken over by people standing in a loooooong line so they could vote. I peeked in and saw the machines with the big levers and the secret blue curtains. I saw a lady in a waitress uniform standing in front of a cop standing in front of a man in a business suit standing in front of a girl wearing hot-pink Rollerblades (every time the line moved, she rolled forward). Some people were serious and some people seemed giddy. It felt like something special and important was going on.

  That night, Mum and Kiku and I watched the TV at Mrs. Lau’s. We all squeezed on the couch, and Cuba stretched out at our feet. Kiku wore his OBAMA T-shirt and booed every time McCain won a state. He really wishes he were already a citizen and already eighteen, so he could vote.

  I felt so nervous watching all the numbers and commentary and the US map filling in with blues and reds. It was weird to see New York blue and Kentucky red, like you and I should be enemies or something. And then, when it was announced that Obama had won, I could feel it all through the air. It was sizzly, like thunderstorm air. Kiku jumped up and pumped his fists and shouted, “YES!”

  Actually, it seemed like everyone in the city started screaming at once. We could hear people yelling in the building, and out on the street, everyone was honking their horns. The lady who lives below us shouted, “HALLELUJAH!” and started banging pots and pans together, and when I went out on the fire escape, there were lots of people running up and down chanting, “O-BA-MA,” and strangers hugging and slapping five. I wrote Dadi a letter to let her know. She and most everyone in Mussoorie will also be happy. Kiku says there are Republicans in the city, but I didn’t see or hear anybody saying mean things about Obama on our block.

  Mum cried during Obama’s speech. She said he was a decent man and she said it was the first time she had ever heard a United States president mention Hindus. She smacked the couch and said, “It is a good country. It is a good place to be.”

  Kiku stretched his arms above his head and said, “Mee-Mee, this night is something we will always remember.”

  I asked Kiku about the White Stripes, and he played that “Blue Orchid” song for me. It made me jump up and down. Every morning before school, Kiku plays AC/DC while he gets dressed and puts gel in his hair. He headbangs all over the place and makes me and Mum laugh. Sometimes he plays M.I.A. She is my favorite. Have you heard her? I like the Beatles, too. Especially that song with all the violins and lonely people. Which one is your favorite? Kiku told me to tell you that if you like the White Stripes, you should check out the Clash. He says they’re really old school.

  It is sooooo cold here that it hurts to smile. The wind feels like hammers against my teeth. All the leaves on the pagoda trees have turned yellow and dropped to the sidewalk. I am getting excited for Thanksgiving. It is my favorite American holiday because I love cranberry sauce. Daddy has to work that whole weekend so he won’t be coming home and that makes me sad. But Mrs. Lau and Cuba and Xie-Xie will come over and eat with us.

  In class today, Ms. Bledsoe told us to write up a list of ten things we are thankful for. I wrote fourteen and could have kept on going but the bell rang. Here is my list, copied from my notebook:

  I am thankful for my hands and eyes.

  I am thankful for Dadi and the way she loves me.

  I am thankful for mangoes.

  I am thankful I can do a cartwheel.

  I am thankful for my brother and my parents, who always make me laugh.

  I am thankful they have jobs.

  I am thankful Mrs. Lau’s arthritis doesn’t hurt today.

  I am thankful for mountains and trees and rain.

  I am thankful there was no pop quiz in science.

  I am thankful for my best friend, River Dean Justice.

  I am thankful for Mussoorie and New York.

  I am thankful Cuba has silky ears that feel nice to pet.

  I am thankful for the book I am reading, Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry.

  I am thankful for the F train that brings Mum home every night.

  Yesterday I went with Mum and Kiku to the free citizenship class at the library. Mum brushed my hair and braided it and tied a red ribbon around the end. Kiku put on some of the cologne that Ana Maria got him for his birthday (he told Mum his boss had given it to him). Mum put on her favorite salwar kameez. It’s yellow with green flowers stitched all over, and whenever I look at it, I smell spring in Garhwal.

  The citizenship class was very interesting. It was held in the basement of the library where Mrs. Lau goes to learn English. They have a lot of books down there and tons of computers and everyone is nice. The lady teachin
g the class is named Mai. She said that ever since Obama won the election, the citizenship class has been full. Mai is American and Chinese. Her hair is very shiny and her skin looks like milk. Kiku kept saying things to try and make her laugh, but she cared more about teaching than boys. She had everyone in class say their name and where they were from. Myself and Mum and Kiku were the only Indians. Mostly people were Chinese and South American. There was one man from the Ukraine who was wearing a grey suit that didn’t have a single wrinkle in it. The teacher talked about how we shouldn’t get too nervous about the test because that would make it harder to think. She said her parents had been naturalized thirty years ago and that the United States was a great country, one to be proud of.

  I don’t have to take the test because I am under the age of eighteen. So once Mummy-Daddy are citizens, I can be one, too. It’s called “derivative citizenship” (there are a lot of big words that go along with becoming an American). But I am still going to study for the test, because I want to know how to be a good citizen. Mummy-Daddy have to get their fingerprints done in two weeks, which is another part of the process.

  After the class, Mai answered questions. Kiku asked one about how to join the Army so they will pay for your college. I do not want Kiku to be a soldier, but he says it might be the only way to get to MIT.

  There was one thing I learned that I didn’t like. I didn’t know that to be an American citizen you have to “give up prior allegiances to other countries.” Kiku defined that for me — it means that once you’re an American, you can’t be loyal to the country you come from. I don’t know why I can’t be loyal to India and America at the same time. Kiku says it’s more complicated than that, but I don’t know, it seems like that’s what the words are saying. I am also worried that if the government finds out about our apartment, they will not let us be citizens. There is something on the paper Mai gave us about “no perjury,” which Kiku says means lying.