Read Blackbird Fly Online

Authors: Erin Entrada Kelly

Blackbird Fly

Dedication

To my parents,
Virgilia Sy Entrada and Dennis Ray Kelly

Contents

Dedication

  
1. The Day It Snowed

  
2. Dog-Eater

  
3. None of the Above

  
4. Still Almost Okay

  
5. Hello, Good-bye

  
6. The Dog Log

  
7. Because

  
8. The Price of Twenty Dollars

  
9. Turning American

10. Little White Lies

11. Redemption

12. Cleopatra

13. Dedications

14. Sayings

15. Where Friendless People Go

16. Sorrys

17. Goddess of the Dog Pound

18. Stew

19. The Apple Yengko Fender Starcaster Donation Fund

20. Klepto and Freakboy

21.
Guwapo

22. The Chapel Spring Voice Sensation

23. How to Deliver a Secret Guitar

24. Blackbird Fly

25. Goddess of Guitar

26. Sometimes People Need a Serenade

27. Always Pick George

28. Freedom

29. Ready

30. Apple Yengko's IFs

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Credits

Copyright

About the Publisher

1
The Day It Snowed
2nd-Favorite Song 4 Now: “Sunshine Life for Me”

O
n the day we moved to America, it snowed in Chapel Spring, Louisiana, for the first time in twenty years. My mother said it was a sign that the seasons of our lives were changing. Even though I was only four years old, I can still remember how she hugged me close and said we had something wonderful to look forward to: a life as real Americans.

When you start a new life, you're supposed to
get rid of everything from your old one—according to my mom, at least—so on the day it snowed, my mom had nothing from the Philippines except for her Catholic Bible and a picture of her grandmother. I had an old postcard and a Beatles cassette tape.
Abbey Road
, to be exact. My father had written his name on it in black marker a long, long time ago.
H. Yengko
, it said. Some of the letters had rubbed off, but his name was as clear as ever to me. I grabbed the tape quickly before we left our
barangay
, because it was the only thing that would fit in my pocket.

For a long time I couldn't listen to the tape because I didn't have a tape player, but last year I found one for ten cents at a garage sale and then I heard the tape for the first time. I could tell that my dad listened to it a lot, because the tape was cracked and the names of the songs were faded, but I understood right away why he wore it down. Once you listen to the Beatles, you can't go back. They're the best rock band that's ever lived, in my opinion.
George Harrison is my favorite Beatle. He mostly played lead guitar, but he also sang and wrote songs.

If I could ask my dad any question, I would ask him who his favorite Beatle was. I wish I could ask my mom if she knows, but she doesn't like when I mention my father, and she especially doesn't like when I talk about music. I think my mom is the only person in the world who doesn't have a favorite song. My all-time favorite song is “Blackbird”—by the Beatles, of course—but my second-favorite song for now is “Sunshine Life for Me,” written by George and performed by my third-favorite Beatle, Ringo Starr.

My mom may not have a favorite song, but she has favorite stories. One of them is about the day we arrived in America. The day it snowed. That's the story she told the morning of Alyssa Tate's party, as she stirred a pot of sizzling garlic fried rice and adjusted her apron. It was the white one with
Mabuhay Philippines!
written on it in fat, red letters. I always thought it was funny how she couldn't wait to become American,
but once we lived in America, she surrounded herself with things from back home. We have a Santo Niño in our curio cabinet,
pancit
and chicken adobo in our refrigerator, and that apron. Stupid apron.

She tells the story of how we came here after my father died, but she never says “after your father died.” Instead she says “after everything that happened.”

It hadn't even snowed a full inch when we got to Chapel Spring that day, but the ice crunched under our feet as my mother's best friend, Lita, led us to our yellow two-bedroom house on Oak Park Drive. Since it was cold and there was snow on the ground, I asked if that meant Santa was coming.

“Remember that, Apple? Remember?” My mother smiled into her pot of rice. The smell of garlic filled the whole house.

I moved lettuce around in my bowl but didn't say anything. I looked at the seven baby carrots in my salad. My mother knows I don't eat them anymore, but she keeps feeding them to me anyway.

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