Fade in...and now I'm 15 years young. I have an old scar on my cheek. When I wake up, I am on the roof again, tied to my old pal Mr. Antenna...and I 'm glad. I don't even remember what bad thing I did to Mum this time, at least bad in her beefy eyes. I think I dropped a pot of boiling chicken feet. In any case, she was PO'd, so up to the roof I went. Good! Up there I was at peace. The alone-time was good – better than being anywhere near Mum. I had time to think. Plot. Scheme. I had time to think of my escape. I was at the end of my rope. I was going to run away and never look back. I'd sleep on the beach, find work at temp agencies, save up, and fly to Yuma. Then what? I didn't know. Maybe I'd be a stunt woman. That sounded fun. Maybe just walk into the Stuntmen & Women building and just sign up for a job.
I'd do anything. I just wanted to get away, understand?
My hands ached. They were wet, and I assumed Mum tied the wire so good that my hands were bleeding. My face hurt. I imagined that it was swollen black and blue. My other cheek was blazing with pain. What happened? I couldn't remember. I imagined hornets living in there, giving me Hell, jabbing me with their stingers, laughing as they worked.
It was a cloudy night. It was a quiet night...and that was strange in and of itself. It was never quiet in the projects, as we discussed earlier. My ears picked up nothing but cool wind – a nice whistle. There were no weepings and no beatings, no fists smashing car windows, no nothing. Just whistling. Odd sensations. Something was definitely in the air that night – an unseen threat that even sent the gangsters to their homes. Maybe it was this ESP (this internal warning system) that the psychic folks are always talking about. Even thugs had'em. Or maybe the cops finally had enough and said, “Now be good little boys and girls, you punks. We have no problem shooting you and tossing your corpses into the Halona Blowhole.”
A sound high above me.
Wak-wak. Wak-wak.
I looked around, and each move felt like a knife digging into my face. What was that sound? Maybe it was a bird?
Wak-wak. Wak-wak.
It was getting softer. Whatever it was seemed to have been flying away from me. Little did I know that it was a trick.
There was a sudden WHOOSH and my hair flew back and my eyes squinted. The woman was ON me. I was too confused to scream. I kept making “Ugh-ugh!” sounds. She was pulling on me, trying to get me off the antenna. My hands felt like they were going to be ripped out. I begged for her to stop, yelling, screaming. Bedroom lights all around blinked on. People cursed at me to be quiet. My mum yelled at me from her room to shut up, or else.
The monster got close to my face and sniffed my mouth. The thing was like a cross between a pit bull and an old woman and a horse's ass, covered in mud.
Mum shrieked.
She was on the roof, on the ladder, frozen, screaming over and over again:
“Aswang! Awsang!”
The neighbors yelled back, threatening to call the police. My mum slid down the ladder and was gone....
When I woke up, I was in a room that smelt like run-over cat. As a kid, you see one sometimes on the grass on your way from school. A dead cat with its eyes all bugged out, looking at you with that stupid, wide mouth, like it's saying, “Can you believe it?” But the smell always stays with me. Death always smells the same, be it cat, dog, and I presumed even girl.
I sat up and threw up warmth all over my stomach. It was without thinking – just blaaarrgghhhh. The acid in the back of my throat was no picnic. It was like wasabi that stung my brain. Super vomit.
I was cold and shivering. It was pitch black. For a second I thought I had my eyes closed, and my wrists hurt big time. I stood up and scanned the walls with my hands. I couldn't stop shaking. Maybe I was in shock. My heart exploded in my chest. The wall was made of mud that ran through my fingers. I was determined to get out – confident that I would. Bad things didn't happen to good people. This was a mistake. Someone messed up. Home to my bed; home to my warm bed. I didn't care that bugs fell on my hands and head and crawled down the back of my shirt.
Out. Gotta get out.
I imagined myself running through a nighttime field, running home. Home to Kalihi. Home to stupid Mumma. Yayyyyyy. Whatever. I didn't CARE. Then I thought of going over to my friend's house – to her mum. Sherry. The idea powered me even more. I would run to her. I would run home.
Something was wrong with the “mud” on the walls...and another scent crept up into my nose.
Rusty pennies.
I had my eyes wide open, as if somehow that would help me see through the dark. I slipped on something like a dumbbell and hit the hardwood floor. A heavy echo followed like thunder. I was still. If someone heard that, I was screwed. Panic set in. I jumped up and ran around, fanning my hands like they were on fire – thinking, thinking. My steps sounded like tiny sonic booms. Be quiet. I had to be still. There had to be a way out.
A way in was a way out.
The gears in my head turned. Was something supposed to happen? I didn't even know what I was waiting for. Then I lost it. A small sense of doubt crept into my mind, that I would die, and I saw an image of me naked with worms in my life-giving bits. And I wept. I begged to God to save me (I mumbled it, so maybe he didn't hear me so good). Why me? I was a little girl. A teenager, yes, but still...why was he doing this to ME? Wasn't I nice enough? Charitable enough? Was this all some sort of sick test? I held my sobs in my throat, wanting to vomit that lump out.
Don't be stupid. Think like an adult – like an adult! What would an adult do? What would Jesus do?
That realization was a zinger through my heart – that I wasn't Jesus. I wasn't worth saving. I was just some girl in a bad spot. A bad girl that thought of ways to kill her mother. BAD LUCK. KARMA. Mum believed in those things, along with evil eyes, black cats, not sleeping after showers, hats causing baldness, pissing under trees, etc., etc., etc.
I turned my sniffling into little growls, trying to “man myself up”, as the alpha males always said, and tiptoed around with my hands out, expecting to touch a ladder, a doorknob, a crawlspace, anything.
This is all because you hate your mum so much. You don't respect her. Don't you know, girl? You broke one of the Ten Commandments! That's bad juju. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sorry. Can't be helped. This is all your fault, and now you are in Hell.
Shut up.
This is Hell!
What?
HELLLLLLLLLLLLLL!
Tinkling sounds filled my ears...something like little bells were all around (and up above) me. A thousand little bells. Flies buzzed across my face. I waved them away.
And then I remembered the smell. You'd think God would spare me a little mercy by forgetting the smell, but nooooo. The aroma of rotting meat hit me a hundred times over. My mind backpedaled; my stomach did cartwheels; my back felt like my front. I thought of Mandy's mum, Sherry, holding me, soothing me, laughing with me, smiling at me, never hurting me. I gripped the sides of my face and shut my eyes and shook my head.
Someone was running. The door opened and hit the wall so hard it sounded like a gunshot. I yelped and spun around. Hands grabbed my waist and hauled me out of the room.
I was dragged up a staircase dripping mud. A hatch opened; my eyes burned from a sudden burst of light. The house flew by in snapshots: Oil painted portraits of people from old days, rattan furniture, flowers in pots with ribbons tied around stems, a couch covered in clear plastic, large statues of animals just standing around, a VHS collection of Bruce Lee and Jean-Claude Van Damme movies, and little Jesus figurines...so many religious figurines. This was a Filipino’s home. It was a small home...very cramped. This wasn't a house; this was a trailer home. I never saw such a thing before: a trailer home in Oahu, let alone a Filipino trailer home. It even had that Filipino smell that old people on the bus reeked of – that jungle-oil that my mum rubbed on me to “cure” my headaches and/or stomachaches. She once dumped that stink on my head to cure me of my thinness (because Mum believed her enemy put a curse on me to get back at
her; splendid).
I was in the dining room, seated in front of a table. Other kids sat too, all younger, all looking at me. No one dared to cry. The woman took her sweat-covered palm off my mouth.
The Filipino Granny put her hands on her hips. Her voice shook with age.
“Now I don't wanna hear any damn crying, right?”
I nodded. She was repulsive. Now I'm no looker myself, but when I tell you she was ugly, I mean she was ug-LEE. Just, Ahhhhhh! Her face drooped – looked like it was melting off her cheeks like cheese on a sandwich. Her hair was long, white as toiler paper, but one side was longer than the other. Cockroaches ran through her hair, hiding behind her ears. I backed away in my seat, my chin digging into my chest. I imagined centipedes in her panties. I'm sorry. It just popped in. Just couldn't help it.
What was she, a hundred?
How long had she been living? WHAT kept her alive? Maybe she just looked old. Maybe she smoked too many cigarettes. I always heard that stuff did horrors to your skin. Looking at her made my eyes want to throw up. And that smell...that jungle-medicine smell collapsed my nose. Yet, I was impressed when she walked away: her posture was excellent. She moved like a classy dame. Her yellow dress – which I assumed was once white – moved with a kind of stiffness that suggested it hadn't been washed in a while. The other kids followed her butt, shooting invisible daggers from their eyes. She spun around and gazed at them right back, tilting her head back and making her eyes wide as can be. The kids straightened their backs and looked forward. I was reminded of the military. These kids were not new. They were dirty. How long had they been here? Their hands were on the table like good little boys and girls. Some kids shook...trying to fight the urge to run off, no doubt. Even thinking of such a thing was risky.
By the looks of it, the oldest kid there was me.
Another detail: I was the only thin one. All the others were...how you say...well-fed. All right, all right, FAT. They were like little beach balls with arms. No offense.
Everyone had these covered silver bowls in front of them that reminded me of UFOs. I had one in front of me, too. Granny said to them all, “Good. I like that you listen. I like that you know just by my stare.” Then to me, “Soon...you, too, will learn.”
I nodded again, a knot in my stomach signaling that it just might be time to use the lady's room.
Not now! Who knows what'll happen? I can't just raise my hand and ask to be excused. Breathe, just breathe.
Granny sat at the end of the table and clapped her hands once. Everyone hopped in their seats and gasped a little. One white boy, maybe around age 10, took a quick look at me, his eyes all glossy.
Help me, those eyes begged. Dear, Jesus...help us all.
Granny said something in mad-Filipino that sounded like gibberish to me, and said, “Now eat!”
The kids lifted the silver covers off their meals – all at the same time – and dug in. I took off the the cover, the heat burning my fingertips, and a cloud of steam swallowed my face. I coughed, waving away the cloud, and I looked at my plate.
Rice. Spam. Broccoli. Chicken. Teriyaki.
It was a bento – a variety meal of Hawaii's most beloved foods. I grew up on all of it, but I wasn't hungry. Not NOW. I looked around. Everyone ate like there was no tomorrow. Some cried as they ate. The old woman didn't eat. She had one elbow on the table, her chin resting in her palm, her other hand on her hip with the elbow out. Thinking. Looking at me. Waiting to see what I would do next.
I couldn't take my eyes off her. What to do? What COULD I do? I had to eat. That was what she wanted. Something in me was saying, Look, she wants you to eat, so eat. She's running the show here.
I forked some rice and brought it to my mouth. It hovered there. Granny raised an eyebrow.
Poison. What if it's...
Does it matter? Just eat before she gets all crazy on you!
I ate the rice, and it was...good.
Granny smiled.
“Great. Just grrreat,” she said. “I spent all day cooking that stuff for you kids. Eat until your plates are cleaned. Lick those plates. If you want more – and I hope you do – please feel free to ask! But seriously, lick those plates. I like to watch.”
One kid did ask, raising her hand and pointing down at her empty plate. This fat Chinese girl was strange. She didn't cry, she gave no evidence of fear. She just ate and ate while Granny's grin grew and grew.
It got to a point where it was so big, the old woman burst out laughing, sounding like a stuck pig, and jumped on the table and crawled toward the girl with such speed. She was like a Ring-tailed Lemur! She took the child by the shoulders and tossed her on the table. The poor child tried to roll away, but it was no good. The old woman grabbed her foot, flung away her shoe, and put her mouth on the kid's foot. It was a horrific sight. The other kids just ate...eyes forward.
Was this normal?
I wanted to run – just up and skedaddle. But where to? Where was the front door? And this so-called old woman was fast. Goddamn speedy. My mind said run, but my body said “stay put, stupid”. The girl reached out for me; I couldn't move. Granny bit her foot off with a sick snap. Blood sprayed across my face. The foot in Granny's mouth...the toes...they wiggled. Granny titled her head back like a bird, eyes rolling back white, and swallowed. I could see the shape of the foot slide down that wrinkled throat. The girl didn't cry. She just looked at me. Shocked. Maybe she was in so much shock she didn't feel the pain?
Instead, she passed out, her head thumping on the table. The forks and spoons jumped and rang. Granny rubbed her belly, going “Mmm-mmm-mmm!” over and over. She went on her back and moved around like a snake. She was really enjoying this. This bitch witch was having an outright ball!
Anger. It was now or never.
I gripped my fork. If I was going to die, I might as well go guns F'ing blazing. I was going to stab her face out. That was the idea, but no – AGAIN, my body didn't move. It refused to do anything other than stay put and watch like a good little victim. It was my mum's genes, I knew it. That scared part of me came from her. I couldn't change it. Impossible. Impossible. I couldn't do it.
Granny was on the table like a cat, back arched, as if trying to impress me somehow; but she wasn't looking at me – thank Goodness. Her stare was fixed on her meal: The kid that was now missing a foot. She picked up her “meal” and threw the girl over her shoulder. She walked to the fireplace. I didn't even know trailer homes had chimneys. Well, that's because they don't. Granny made this one – handcrafted the thing with tinfoil, by the looks of it. Granny stuffed the kids body into an overused pot. She lit a match and a mad fire roared to life. Now the kids all cried and whined. They were mumbling and looking at each other. Granny picked up the pot cover with difficulty, slamming it over the pot, its dull ring flying throughout the home, bouncing off the walls. Granny leaned against the fireplace and said under her breath, “I can't take the crying.”
She turned her attention toward me, smiled like a pervert and flicked her chin up, as if saying How you do'un?
I threw my fork at her and ran off. The kid next to me stuck her leg out, sending me sailing through the air with my arms flapping. I landed with an OOMPH and rolled across that carpet (that smelt like feet) and rammed into a little basket of umbrellas. The whole thing tipped over. One of the umbrellas fell into my hands. I gripped the dragon-with-its-mouth-open handle and jumped up on the ready, holding the umbrella out like a sword.
“Back, lady! Stay away or I'll take your eyes out!”
The old woman looked downright amused. I could read her face: This wee one has moxy, she was thinking. She made her hands into claws and she growled and ran toward me. I jabbed the air and forced the umbrella into her mouth. It opened with a SHWUMP! and I let go. Granny stumbled back and went left then right, trying to take the thing out while making “Oomph-oomph” sounds. She ran into things, knocking over tables of those precious, large eggs old people like so much. I looked around for the front door.
Escape! It was near! Soon I'd be running through that field, my arms wide open, and I'd be laughing like an insane person high on freedom. Here I come, Mum! My NEW mum! I'm coming for you! I'm coming home!
The huge, wooden door had a hundred metal locks, all attached to thick, rusty chains that crisscrossed the door. In front of all those little locks was one HUGE lock that seemed to need a giant key. All the strength went out from my legs and I fell to my knees. I punched that stank carpet, crying out “WHY WHY WHY?!” I noticed a window and thought about getting a good running start and blasting off and jumping into the air, crashing right through it to freedom.
A hot breath on the back of my neck made me turn around. Granny punched me in the stomach, and I went down huffing and puffing.
“Downstairs you go!” she spat, some drops getting in my hair, in my mouth. “You go with the special ones. Stupid American. You think you're better than me?”
It was my first time being slugged in the gut. I felt like puking. My brain jumped all around, and it was true, yes, you really do see stars. I had my hands over my face. I looked up at her from between my fingers, expecting her to kick me in the nose or maybe even yank my scalp off and eat it. Would I be surprised?
She scooped me up by the wrists, which were still thumping with pain from that scare on the roof, and tossed me over her shoulder.
“Stupid American girl, trying to be all tough and shit,” she said with her teeth clenched. Her grip on me tightened with each step down those stairs. The thought of being in that death room again made me puke. The rice I ate came up and flew out of my mouth and ran down her back. She didn't care. “Dessert,” she said.
I went kicking and screaming at first; then I stopped. There was no point. She was elderly, but it would've taken an army of me's to take her down. If only I wasn't so short for my age...so damn thin....
I'd make a deal with the wench. I'd work for her by mowing her lawn. I'd clean her precious, stupid, giant geese/ostrich/dinosaur eggs. I'd shampoo her hair. I'd cook “meats” all day for her. Anything. I'd do anything...even (gasp) rub her feet with exotic oils. Just don't put me back in that room.
Strung out on 100 percent panic, all I managed to say was “Aaarrgh!” and “Brawahah!” and “Ohohohohaghh!” It was emphasized with crying. I sounded like a stepped-on cat. My mind just screamed. Next thing I knew, I was thrown into that same bloody room I woke up in. Under the ground. And the hag really did just throw me in there like trash. I rolled to the center of the room, all covered in bad stuff. My main concern then was if anything nasty went into my mouth. The door closed and all was ebony again. I was beyond crying. Too tired. Too lazy. Too beaten up.
Something sighed at the back of the room.
My body stiffened.
Now what?