Counting by 7s (22 page)

This translates to mean:

What we expect rarely occurs; what we don't expect is what happens.

I reach over and take Pattie's hand. I'm surprised as I do this. I'm too old to be acting this way, but I can't stop myself. I manage to say:

“It's not a scientific way to view event sequence, but given what's gone on in my life, I completely understand.”

It's the most that I've been able to communicate in a long time.

And I'm not sure if I'm just tired, or if something has changed, but as I look at her, with my hand in hers, I smile.

My teeth don't even stick to my lips.

And Pattie doesn't turn away.

Everyone is really hungry, even me, and I never have an appetite anymore.

Pattie tries to reach Dell, but he doesn't answer his cell phone.

So we have dinner without him.

Then what's especially strange is that suddenly it feels as if we all really do live at the Gardens of Glenwood.

We eat our food at the red linoleum-topped table and toss the paper plates (Dell doesn't have real ones) in the trash.

Pattie has Quang-ha immediately take down the garbage to the Dumpster because the kitchen is a trash-free zone now.

We all help clean up and put away the leftovers, and then we make ourselves at home on the newly acquired, used furniture.

I can't believe that she has the energy, but Pattie starts to fold Dell's mountain of clean underwear into tight, compressed squares.

They look like they come out of some kind of vending machine.

That's how precise she is.

Quang-ha is in love with Dell's large TV and he finds a program where Japanese soccer players use their heads to smash clay pots.

We all watch.

It is strangely addicting.

I know that these blows to the skull can cause long-term health issues of a very serious nature.

But right now that seems like the last thing I should be worried about. So I let it go.

For a brief moment, because everything in this room is so different, I forget that I don't have a mother or a father or a place to call home.

I lean back on the sofa.

And I feel a sharp pain in my right hip.

When I put my hand there I realize that I'm sitting on a small, green acorn. I have no idea how it got on the couch.

Apples grow on apple trees. And cherries grow on cherry trees. But we don't say that an acorn grows on an acorn tree.

Things like that are interesting.

At least to some people.

I hold the little nut (which is by definition a fruit) in the palm of my hand. Mai is next to me, and she smiles as she says:

“Maybe that's a lucky acorn.”

I slip it into my pocket, because maybe she's right.

It is a seed, after all, and they are by definition the beginning of something.

I then rest my head on the back of the sofa and even though my eyes are all watery, I can make out the full moon as a fuzzy amber-and-green lollipop on the other side of the skylight.

And that's not a bad thing.

I
t was late
when Dell finally stumbled into his apartment.

He literally didn't recognize the place, and not just because Pattie was asleep on the new Salvation Army couch and Quang-ha was sprawled out on the carpet nearby under a red blanket.

Dell shut the door and moved into the hallway. Willow and Mai could be seen sleeping in the second bedroom in the Semper Fi bunk beds.

He wondered why they hadn't all gone home, and then he remembered they didn't have a car, and right now, neither did he. He'd walked home.

After staring in wonder at all the changes, he finally made it to his room, where his bed was made up with Pattie's sheets and a fluffy comforter.

Dell planted himself, face-first, on top of the mattress.

And that's where he was only five hours later when the sound of the shower in the bathroom woke him up.

It was not a normal noise.

He'd never heard running water in his own apartment.

Dell opened his eyes and realized the sound was from the bathroom. He squinted at the digital eyes of his bedside clock and saw 5:21
A.M
.

Who would get up this early?

It was one of
them
. And he had a good idea which one.

Dell would have given his left foot for another hour of uninterrupted sleep.

He shut his eyes and suddenly saw himself minus everything below the ankle on his weaker side.

That made him wonder if the injury meant he'd collect some kind of disability payment from the school district.

He used his right foot to drive, and most people did, so he guessed the left foot didn't bring in as much cash in a settlement.

Isn't that the way insurance companies worked? Everything had some kind of predetermined price?

Maybe it was better to give up a left arm.

And then there was a knock on the door and the
Dell Duke Internal Idiotic Discussion Forum
was interrupted by the voice of Pattie Nguyen.

“Are you awake?”

He wanted to say that he was
now.
Instead he answered:

“Been up for hours.”

He hoped it sounded deeply sarcastic, but she answered:

“Me too.”

Pattie pushed the door open and entered talking:

“Social Services is coming back next week. Until they find a permanent place for Willow, I think that it would be easier if we just stayed here. I can't keep cleaning up after you.”

Dell was silent. Not because he didn't have an opinion but because he didn't have the energy this early in the morning to scream at the top of his lungs.

Pattie forged on:

“I saw a notice on the board in the laundry room. Unit 22. Just down the hall. Looking for a roommate.”

Dell shut his eyes. This had to be a dream.

Except that in his dreams, usually he was hiding. And often his body had mysteriously been painted bright blue.

Dell opened his eyes. Pattie was already heading to the door.

“I'm going to get the e-mail address. It's not too early for you to send a message saying you are interested. It's temporary. Just until we get this all straightened out.”

Dell had seen Sadhu in the parking garage, but they had never even so much as said hello.

Now at an insane hour of the morning he was sitting across from the man. The crazy Nguyen woman had insisted that he send an e-mail right away and then to his horror his laptop showed an immediate reply.

The guy who was just down the hall wanted him to come over right away and meet.

Shouldn't the man be asleep?

What was wrong with all these people?

Sadhu cleared his throat and said:

“I'm a vegetarian.”

Dell nodded. Sadhu looked suddenly hopeful.

“You are a vegetarian too?”

Dell shook his head. He wasn't going to lie, but he also wasn't going to go into detail about his meat loaf obsession.

Because Dell was so tired, he looked appealingly like someone who had been to mime school.

Or at the very least, believed strongly in the power of nonverbal communication.

His answers were a series of head movements, punctuated by yawning, raised eyebrows, and semi-swallowed hiccups.

And that is why he was approved as a roommate.

Minutes after he took his seat, Pattie Nguyen came down the hall and wrote Sadhu Kumar a check for one month's rent for the second bedroom in unit 22 in the apartment complex where Dell already rented unit 28.

She would cover his expenses living with Sadhu, and Dell would continue to make the payment on his place.

As he shook hands on the deal, Dell found enough of a voice to make a statement. He said:

“Spicy food gives me indigestion.”

Sadhu nodded his head as if he understood, but Dell felt certain the guy was pickling peppers on his stovetop.

I
t's all just
“temporary.”

That's what Pattie says.

I believe this is her favorite word.

What is more temporary than nail polish? No wonder she has such an attachment to the concept.

Pattie explains that until the right place can be found for me, we will all stay at the Gardens in unit 28.

There will be weekly home visitations from Social Services, and the coming and going would be too much.

I don't explain that everything in the world is temporary, because I don't get into those conversations.

I say that I understand.

But I feel bad for Dell Duke.

Not just because Pattie and I saw his underwear mountain (which maybe is why he agreed to move down the hall).

Back home, when I used to sit in my garden, I liked to observe birds, and not just the green-rumped parrots but also the migrating species.

I think now about how small birds often move in large flocks.

From a distance, it can even look like smoke.

It is unclear why they suddenly shift directions.

The birds appear to have lost their individual intention.

They are part of a bigger organization of life.

And they accept that.

Something inside them gives in. Scientists don't know what that is.

Right now I'm in a flock.

And so is Dell Duke.

Whether he likes it or not.

I watch as Dell gathers together some of his clothing, his toothbrush, and a container of what looks like hairspray.

He heads down the hallway to Sadhu Kumar's apartment with a heavy step.

He's not stomping, but it's close.

Who can blame him?

Two hours later, with Mai and Quang-ha awake and helping, Dell's work clothes, as well as his oversized sweatpants, his collection of sandals, and enough underwear to last six months, are all jammed in the Kumar apartment's second bedroom in the tiny closet.

Only a garbage bag of old T-shirts stays behind.

And since Dell's bureau and closet are empty, Pattie borrows his car and brings over more things from the nail salon.

Mai goes with her.

I don't think that I've ever seen my teenage friend so happy.

Dell has a huge TV, but he hasn't programmed it correctly.

I adjust the settings and now everything isn't all stretched and too bright. I also fix it so that the audio is in sync with the picture. It wasn't properly aligned before.

I notice that over 70 channels haven't been activated.

I don't think he read the manual.

Dell comes in and sees the changes and says that people do look better not so orange and wide. He especially is pleased that when they speak, their lips match.

I show him the new channels that I've programmed, and he gets angry because he's been paying for a year for premium services.

He's pretty worked up about it.

I know for certain that we will now have things to talk about in our weekly counseling sessions, because he's asked me to review every appliance in the place.

Tonight the new living arrangements take effect.

Mai and I still sleep in the second bedroom. Pattie is now in Dell's old room. Dell is down the hall at Sadhu Kumar's.

Quang-ha has officially taken over the living room. He has blankets and a pillow on the couch because he sleeps right in front of the big TV.

And I mean right in front.

This could cause eyestrain.

But he looks so thrilled with everything about this new arrangement that I don't bring it up.

I wake up in the Semper Fi bunk bed this morning to the realization that I'm going to need to pull my own weight.

At least as much as a twelve-year-old kid can.

My parents didn't have life insurance, or much in terms of a savings account.

They were responsible and hardworking, but it turns out they didn't excel in the long-term planning department.

I will start by putting Pattie's accounting from Happy Polish on a new computer program.

Everyone has made sacrifices for me.

I feel that it's the least I can do.

Three days have passed.

Maybe it's some kind of joke, but Quang-ha leaves an avocado pit in the window ledge in the kitchen.

Apparently he loves guacamole.

Mai says when Quang-ha was little he put toothpicks in the sides and tried to grow avocado trees. Quang-ha then gets mad and throws the pit in the garbage can.

I have not thought about cultivation since Before.

It's too painful.

But when no one is looking, I rescue the avocado pit from the trash. I almost cry just looking at the thing.

Suddenly, I can't help myself. I start to think about soil composition.

I try to push it out of my mind.

But later, when I glance out the window, my eyes fall on the scrubby trees across the street.

Three different species.

I consider the possibilities of grafting the woody stems from one plant to another.

I'm lying in bed.

Everyone is asleep.

It is late.

Night is always the hardest.

The shadows pull you under.

I hear a dog somewhere outside barking.

I shut my eyes, and instead of darkness, I see rooting hormones.

I have placed what Mai calls “my lucky acorn” on the box next to our bunk beds, which serves as a nightstand.

I open my eyes and stare at it.

The world of plants is a slippery slope.

It's hard to care just a little.