then she spells for me to turn her wheelchair
and when I do Zena looks right into me
and points with her eyes toward a chair for me
I pull the chair up beside her
and I feel so pathetic sitting there
before a paralyzed woman
who can’t move her arms or legs
who can’t speak
and whose daughter
had to be raised by her sister
but I can’t help it
tears come
I wipe them away
try to calm myself
taking three slow breaths
sorry I say to Zena
I act all put together for my parents
but I seem to have no control
over anything anymore
Zena points her eyes at the letter board
but first I stand up for a tissue
then sit down again
and to Zena’s questions
I explain Mom’s treatment
our staying for a year
and that though it’s not
what I’d hoped for
I’ll try to make it work
I run my finger over the letter board
which can still be faster than her computer
Zena spells
t-a-k-e c-o-n-t-r-o-l o-f w-h-a-t u c-a-n
l-i-k-e m-e
I thank her
tell her I’ll try
then pull Mom’s computer
from my bag
I open Mom’s laptop to my slide show
tell Zena I brought something to share
with Samnang’s Cambodian patient
but I can give her a quick viewing
there’s not much time
Dad will be back soon
but her eyes go bright
as I click through
when I have to leave
she spells n-e-x-t t-i-m-e m-o-r-e
and I promise her of course
Leap Sok’s dozing
but he wakes, and while aides
get him dressed in fresh clothes
I step out into the hall
when I go back in I do sompeas
even try chum reap sour
then use simple English and gestures
give him slices of YiaYia’s pumpkin bread
feed him bites I tear off
bring water to his lips
and tell him I brought some pictures
I open Mom’s laptop
set it on the overbed table
and click the right arrow
to view the slide show
I show him
photos of Kamakura
the main shrine
the lotus ponds
the hills
the big Buddha
temple gardens
samurai tombs
the beach
our house
Madoka
my middle school
my little room
that overlooks a neighbor’s loquat tree
and Shoga
curled up on my bed
he says good, good
so nice, yes, nice
but then he says
something
I don’t understand
until he repeats—
tsunami?
photos of the tsunami areas? I ask
and he nods
so I take a deep breath
go to the photo files
and pull up pictures
from the cleanup
but flipping through
seeing those bashed
and shredded neighborhoods
brings back all that pain
and I think
what
am I doing?
I return to my original plan
and play a video Dad took last fall
from the ridge by our house
of the sun going down
behind mountains opposite
and the surfers at the beach
and Mount Fuji’s new snowcap
and the chimes playing
the sunset song
when it’s time to leave
I give Leap Sok
a postcard of the Kamakura Buddha
set it on his dresser
near the Angkor Wat painting
and with my hands
do sompeas
he nods
eyes the Buddha
says thank you
Dad picks me up
and we run errands
for practically the rest
of the day
and finally
on the way back to YiaYia’s house
I say to him I’m going to try
to raise money for Tohoku
I think long term they’ll need help
PTSD and all
definitely he says
and funds for repairs
and programs
and revitalization . . .
so what’s your plan?
I tell him maybe
something with dance
but whatever it is
I’ll give Mom a role
and he likes that
after dinner I scribble some ideas
to share with the school dance club
and some to share with Samnang
then I start hearing a poem
finally I take out my journal
and focus
Kamakura Buddha with Leap Sok
I’m seeing the Buddha I’ve been photographed with
every year since the year after I was born
the Buddha whose bronze knees I’ve sat beneath
the Buddha whose cast insides I’ve touched
the Buddha exposed in 1498 by a tsunami
the Buddha that sits century after century
the very Buddha that I will not be photographed with
on my birthday this coming January
he’s seeing that Buddha
a Buddha he’s never known
seated before hills he’s never seen
blossom or go green
but in his eyes
I see he’s seeing the Buddha
and recognizing the Buddha
he knows
that night I text Samnang—
I need to talk to you about dance
and
know any good Cam poems in English? for Zena?
because I’m thinking that I’d like to read some
and she might, too
and he replies
okay to dance talk
no to poems, but can check
and I text back
I saw Leap Sok today
then my phone rings
you saw him? he says
and I can’t help but laugh
that he so did not think I’d do that
how did you talk?
I explain that
I know how to speak
in simple English
and I showed photos of Japan
and even places in Tohoku
after the tsunami
and he’s all quiet
just listening
that’s amazing
he finally says
but I don’t think it’s really amazing
I ask if he thinks it was a mistake
to show Leap Sok the photos from
tsunami-hit towns, PTSD and all
nah, tsunami trauma is different
from
war trauma
then I say
it looks like we’re not moving back to Japan this year
not till summer
Samnang is quiet for a moment
is your mom sicker?
no, no, just radiation therapy
for seven weeks
then hormone treatment
things that take time
oh, well, good he says
yeah, mostly
I mean, I thought you meant
they found more cancer
or she needed more surgery he says
no I say
nothing like that
well, I’m sorry Samnang says
I mean, that you can’t go back to help and stuff
’cause I know that’s what you want
but in one way it’s great
what way? I say
Zena he says
which, it’s true
is great
but isn’t quite
what I was hoping
he might say
I should have anticipated this one
since it hits post-stress
like clockwork
Sunday
two days after the path report
I’m brushing my hair
when I note a finger of my hand
missing
then from my face in the mirror my left eye
missing
and from the window in my room an entire pane
missing
I haven’t even had breakfast
I have tons of homework
I’ve already had a full night’s sleep
I don’t want to sleep more
but there’s nothing I can do
except go back to bed
I put on my pajamas again
swallow my pills
yank the curtains closed
crawl under the quilt
and cover my face with a T-shirt
for dark
now and then I open my eyes
check the migraine progress—
first the spreading blindness
then a flickering crescent
overlaying the blindness
then I don’t need sight
to note the progress
as I feel numbness
seep into my arm
advance along my jaw
and slip into my throat
YiaYia comes in and starts telling me
that it’s nearly 9:30
she already woke me once
and got me out of bed
but I press my hands
over my eyes
whimper
and she says oh!
tiptoes out
then tiptoes back
with a bottle of water
later Dad comes in
and sits on the edge of my bed
this is his day to leave for New York
but now that it’s time to say good-bye
I can’t make sense of his words
can’t form sentences
language jumbles
I hear
mother
radiation
walk Toby
Yia in the
support
school
you run
love you
and only with effort
can I mutter
two words together
thank you
I feel him kiss my pounding head
tears dribble from my eyes
squeezed shut
against any hint of light
and then in the darkness
behind my closed eyes and amid
the flickering lights and my aphasia
there is playing out in my head . . .
music
and I see with such clarity
hip-hop moves
and the soran bushi dance
and the tanko bushi dance
and flowing circles
of people all ages
dancing
raising money
for Tohoku
it’s early afternoon when I rise
in the foggy afterwards
and slowly pad downstairs
and drink some tea
that YiaYia sets before me
Mom sits down opposite
oh, sweetie she says
I’m so sorry if my situation
is too much for you
I manage a smile, say
it’s okay
even though I feel
like a train wreck
I feel empty of all that energy
I had before the migraine
during the migraine
I chew the chicken salad sandwich YiaYia makes for me
but it tastes like bland mashed baby food
what I’d love is an onigiri with salmon or ume
what I want is a hot bowl of soba noodles
topped with sesame and kizami nori
what I want is a cup of green tea, not Lipton
what I want is to go home
suddenly I’m not so sure I can handle
my big dance-club fund-raising idea
I put my head down on my arms
by my plate
on the kitchen table
but then the doorbell rings
it’s Samnang
and I’m in my pajama sweats
plus a fleece top and slippers
and my hair’s all over the place
and YiaYia walks him right
into the kitchen
hey he says to me
and when YiaYia gestures
he sits down at the table
between me and Mom
and YiaYia pours him
a cup of tea
I want to crawl away
and brush my hair
and clean my teeth
but Samnang doesn’t seem to care
just talks to YiaYia
and my mom
like it’s an everyday occurrence
to drop in
they leave us alone
and I explain about the migraine
and in his eyes
I read concern
Samnang speaks softly
like he knows sound hurts me
says he brought me a book
sets it on the table
the cover has a grim painting
but a subtitle says it’s poetry
of Cambodian refugee experiences
he flips through and says
they’re long
but maybe you can read some of these poems
to Zena
then he has to leave for dance
feel better he says
I go to the porch with him
and wave when he drives off
and I realize in the surprise of his visit
my head full of the murky afterwards
and refugee poetry
I forgot to mention dance
and then it comes back to me
the whole program
that I saw so clearly in my migraine—
hip-hop to kick things off
soran bushi by dance club members
�
�� more hip-hop
another folk dance
then the audience
in expanding rings
of tanko bushi
to finish up
but now in real time
post creative migraine burst
the program seems too short
I shower
and while I’m under the hot water
I think about staying the full year
I can go to Vermont in winter
I can do Model UN in Boston
I can work with Zena for longer
I can create a Dance for Tohoku project
and maybe learn Cambodian dance
and at least be friends with Samnang
and I realize I’m starting to feel positive
and even when I think of Madoka, and her family
the guilt that runs through me is diluted
knowing I’m going to help from here
I do homework for the rest of the day
counting the hours till tomorrow
when I can find Samnang at school
to ask him, what if