Counting by 7s (25 page)

E
very weekend Pattie
goes to a farmer's market on Golden State Avenue at F Street. She likes to be one of the first ones there.

Today Mai went with her because Pattie's using Dell's car and they can get more things and she'll help carry the stuff.

They are going to pick up two bags of potting soil for me at the nursery on the way back.

The best way to grow sunflowers is in the ground, not in pots or planters. They have enormous taproots that burrow deep.

My plan is to start them off in small containers and then locate a place later for transplanting.

Dell and I go through the big blue recycling Dumpster in the carport and we find twenty-three containers for me to use as planters.

We pick out an assortment of tin cans, a few plastic tubs (that once held sour cream and spreadable cheese), and even a few milk cartons.

I don't think I've seen Dell so happy as when he's rooting around in the Dumpster.

After we have what we need, we go to the laundry room and wash the cans and containers in the deep sink.

Then Dell punches holes in the bottoms with a kitchen knife, which gets ruined because you're not supposed to use it for that.

He doesn't seem to care.

When Pattie gets back with the potting soil, we are going to plant nine different types of sunflowers.

But another thing happens when we are readying our potting containers.

Sadhu Kumar, who rents his extra bedroom to Dell, comes down with three computers. Dell says:

“What are you doing with those?”

Sadhu is getting ready to toss them into the big blue bin.

“They're going into the recycle.”

I size up the machines. They don't appear very old. I ask:

“You can't fix them?”

Sadhu snorts. Like a horse might do.

“They are junk. Not worth the effort.”

I look at the computers. Two are laptops. One is a larger desktop. But the same company makes them all.

Sadhu Kumar is sort of an angry guy. I think he might have had a lot of disappointment in his life. It can turn a person bitter.

I wonder if that's happening to me.

Nothing's worse than a sour kid. You should save that for later. When you are old, and it hurts just to get up from a chair, you have a reason to have a permanently pinched face.

I make a note to myself to be sad, and even mad, but not one hundred percent angry at the world.

There is a difference.

Now I ask Sadhu:

“So I can have the computers?”

Mr. Sour Bitter Man says:

“If you want junk, take junk.”

Dell Duke looks offended. He says:

“One man's garbage is another man's treasure.”

Sadhu only seems more pained at that thought as he walks away.

We are still waiting for the potting soil, so Dell and I carry the three machines up to #28 and right away I start to take them apart.

I think that I might be able to get one working computer from the three.

I see that it could be possible to use the logic board from the first one, and the chipsets and plug-ins from the other two.

I'm not sure it will function properly, but if it does, the computer will be a gift to Dell from me.

He doesn't know that yet.

I'm at the kitchen table separating the peripheral wiring when Dell Duke's cell phone barks.

He's chosen a dog as his ringtone.

It doesn't seem like what a cat person would do.

It bothered me while we were cleaning up this place that I didn't find a single thing to indicate that Cheddar had ever lived here.

This is a man who couldn't be bothered to throw trash away.

I've been waiting for the appropriate time to bring this up. Once he's off the phone I ask:

“Do you miss Cheddar?”

Dell looks confused.

“Say again?”

I repeat:

“Do you miss Cheddar?”

Dell's eyes narrow.

“You mean, because Pattie cooks Vietnamese food?”

I don't respond. He adds:

“What I miss is my meat loaf.”

I'm not going to follow up.

Pattie and Mai return and we're ready to begin.

Pattie says she'd like to help us, but she's testing some kind of new nail polish and it wouldn't be fair to the product to stick her hands in dirt.

I'm surprised when Quang-ha comes downstairs to do the planting.

He picks out a container. (It is cloudy plastic and previously held strawberry-flavored imported Italian gelato.)

I must admit that judging by the shape, this is the most intriguing of our Dumpster planters. It is rectangular, but has soft edges.

Quang-ha is confusing because just when I'm certain he has sawdust for brains, he'll exhibit some real insight. He picked the best-looking container for his seedling.

While he obsessively pulls off the stickers from the sides of the former gelato carton, Mai and Dell and I fill up everything else with the fresh dirt.

When he's finally ready, I hand Quang-ha the cookie pan, which has the moist seeds, and I say:

“Plant three. Equidistant. About an inch down.”

Maybe he doesn't hear me, because he takes a single seed. I say:

“Take three.”

He mutters:

“I only want one.”

I don't want to be bossing anyone around. Especially him. I say:

“It might fail. They are only going to be in these containers for a short time. We are just starting out here.”

He will not be persuaded. I can't read his expression, so maybe he's making fun of me as he says:

“I'm putting all my hopes and dreams into this one seed. That's how I want it.”

Dell is now watching. His mouth opens and I think he's going to say something. But he doesn't. Mai then turns to her brother.

“We're doing this for Willow. Don't be a jerk. She wants us to plant three seeds.”

Quang-ha looks from Mai back to me.

“This one is mine. I'm not doing it for her.”

Dell turns to us.

“You two girls do your own thing.”

I get a lump in my throat.

And it's not because Quang-ha won't listen, or because Dell doesn't support my planting methods.

I feel moved because they aren't treating me like I'll break into a million pieces.

Maybe that means I'm on my way back to some kind of new normal.

I
can focus again.

If only slightly.

It doesn't take long for a routine to really fall into place.

We all get in Dell's car every morning.

We drop off Mai and Quang-ha at the high school and then Dell takes Pattie and me to the salon.

Most days Mai walks over after school and then she and I ride the bus to the Gardens of Glenwood.

Pattie stays later, but is home for dinner.

Mai and I get things started for the evening meal. Pattie can't just walk across an alley to cook anymore, and a lot of her dishes take time.

This means that we're in the kitchen in the afternoon, which opens right up onto the living room.

I can't help but observe Quang-ha, and later Dell when he gets home from work and positions himself next to Quang-ha in front of the TV.

The two somehow understand each other.

Maybe because they are both on the outside of something.

I'm invisible to them, unless it comes to Quang-ha's homework.

I helped him with a math problem, which is how it started.

I can do his assignments in a few minutes, but I take a lot more time than I need so that he won't feel bad.

I know that doing his schoolwork is morally wrong, so I try to explain basic concepts before I hand over the material.

I can't say that he is a good listener.

His only serious activity, besides watching anything on the TV, is doodling.

He draws cartoon-like people with large heads.

Quang-ha has a somewhat large head.

I'm not sure if there is a connection.

Every day Dell asks me when I plan to go back to middle school.

I want to say:

“How does
never
sound?”

But I don't.

Instead I usually pretend not to hear or mumble something that has a few indistinct syllables.

Today Dell adds:

“There's a lot you are missing there.”

I can't help myself. I say:

“Name one thing.”

Dell looks confused.

But it's not a trick question. I really want to know.

I can tell that while Quang-ha is changing channels, he's paying attention. He can't stand high school. Finally Dell says:

“You don't go to P.E.”

I just stare at him.

Dell's belly looks like he has a basketball under his shirt. Yes, he's lost some weight in the last month, but he's got a long way to go before he's any kind of athletic specimen.

But it's as if he's some kind of mind reader, because he says:

“I'm going to start running. Tomorrow is my first day.”

Quang-ha shoots him a look of total disbelief, but I'm the one who says:

“Really?”

Dell nods. I say:

“Are you training for something?”

Dell says:

“I'm going to be joining some teams in the spring and I want to be in shape.”

Quang-ha is giggling now. Not laughing. Giggling. It's different. It is suppressed and high-pitched and contains an element of disbelief.

I've never heard Quang-ha giggle.

It must be a very unusual sound, because the next thing I know, Mai is out of the bedroom and standing in the hallway.

“What's going on?”

Quang-ha starts to answer, but he can't. He is a giggling mess.

Somehow, this form of high-pitched laughter is contagious, because Mai is now giggling. She's watching her brother, and whatever he's doing is spreading.

Dell has had enough.

He gets up from the couch and goes into the kitchen.

I follow him.

We stand there. We can still hear the giggling in the other room. I say:

“Are you really planning on running?”

Dell mumbles a form of yes. But then adds:

“But I'm not going to join any kind of team in the spring. I made that part up. I'm just going to run for myself.”

I don't think that's strange because almost everything that I pursue is for my own understanding or amusement.

I believe having an audience naturally corrupts the performance.

I might be self-justifying.

But I say:

“I think that is a great idea.”

Dell says:

“Let's go water the sunflowers.”

The next afternoon, Dell does run.

He makes a big show of it, coming in dressed in what looks like a costume, not an athletic outfit.

Quang-ha starts the giggling thing again.

I manage to say:

“Good luck out there.”

And then Dell's gone.

He comes back in bad shape.

He's soaked in sweat and he's as red as can be.

And he was only gone eleven minutes.

I don't keep track of time anymore and I don't count, but I saw the clock on the stove when he walked out the door.

I just happened to be looking in that direction when he came back.

I say:

“How was it?”

Dell is breathing very, very hard. He holds up a hand. It's the international signal for
stop
.

I give him time to regain a somewhat regular breathing pattern. Finally he says:

“Very tough. I might be a little out of shape.”

From the couch I hear the return of the giggling.

I write a five-page paper on Mark Twain over the weekend for Quang-ha.

He is very resistant to certain aspects of learning.

I believe that he understands a lot of what is being taught, but he has no interest in doing the work that comes with the assignments.

Maybe he's just too tired from his late-night TV viewing.

I don't think Pattie realizes that once she's asleep, he turns the thing back on.

He somehow got himself a headset, so the sound just goes right to that.

I know because I spend a lot of the nighttime awake.

Quang-ha is clever enough to delete the first paragraph of the Mark Twain paper and go through the computer file and misspell a dozen words before he prints it out.

But it wasn't enough because he comes home today in a very bad mood.

He's being moved out of his English class and put into some kind of Honors/AP program.

I will not take the blame for this.