“Has anyone ever sat in that room?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Keith said. “At Christmas and New Year’s.”
Miss Elsie turned on a radio. Music filled the house while she and Mama drank coffee from matching cups and talked in the kitchen.
“Oh, how the Platters can sing,” I heard Miss Elsie say.
“They do sound nice,” Mama said.
“Mama, can we go out back?” Kevin shouted to the kitchen.
“Yes. Just remember to wipe your feet if you have to come back in for any reason.”
There definitely wasn’t room for a garden behind the house. A brightly colored swing set with two swings, a teeter-totter, a slide, and a hanging bar filled the space. Peewee and I loved playing on that swing set. We definitely weren’t ready to go back to our side of the street when Mama stuck her head out to say we needed to head home. When we left, Miss Elsie was cooking pork chops for dinner. My mouth watered.
But their house was not our house.
15 Pork Chops for Dinner
After leaving Miss Elsie’s house, I couldn’t look at ours the same way. The patchy grass and empty flowerbed somehow looked worse than it had earlier that morning.
“Mama, can we have flowers too?” I asked.
“No money for that right now, Regina,” Mama said. “Maybe in the spring.”
On our concrete porch, a chipped metal rocker sat alone. Mama had found it near a trash can and made Daddy bring it home. She wanted to sit outside with her coffee and cigarette in the morning.
The inside of our house didn’t have the beauty of Miss Elsie’s either. The couch Addie had once complained about now had white doilies that Chich had crocheted to hide the frayed armrests. Mama had added unmatched chairs and side tables from the Salvation Army store. Chich had made curtains from a big bolt of muslin fabric that Mama had found on sale in another store. The house looked better than when we moved in, but that wasn't saying much.
That night, fried baloney and potatoes were served at dinner, a staple at mealtime.
“Why don’t we have knickknacks like Miss Elsie’s house?” I asked, pushing my food around. “And how come we don’t ever have pork chops for dinner?”
“Because pork chops cost money, Regina. Be thankful we’re eating this.” Mama pressed her lips together. Chich sipped her coffee.
Daddy changed the subject. “Hey, did I tell you that I got top grades in my class?”
Daddy had started his trade schooling a month before Peewee and I entered Budlong. He took the No. 5 bus from Western Avenue to Westchester, some two towns away. He brought home big red books and tons of papers, and Mama had saved enough money to buy him some special pencils and drafting tools.
“If I keep doing this well, I’ll end up being the top in my class at graduation.”
“Really?” I said.
“That’s good, tɘnɘs-man,” said Chich.
“Does that mean when you graduate, we will be able to buy pork chops for dinner?” Peewee asked, enjoying her potatoes with catsup.
“We can buy a whole pig if we want to,” Daddy said. Peewee and I laughed.
“What would we do with a pig?” Mama murmured. “Where on Earth would we put it?”
“Cate, it’s a joke.”
“Well, I’m not laughing,” she said as she pushed herself away from the table. She stacked the plates in the sink and headed to their bedroom. Daddy followed.
“Mama’s upset,” Peewee said. “Did I say something wrong?”
Chich stroked her cheek.
“No, khwiʔim. Your mama is just tired, that’s all. Why don’t you and your sister go into the living room? Draw some pretty pictures so we can put them up on the wall.”
“I’ll work on a puzzle. Then I can glue the pieces together and hang it up,” Peewee said.
Chich nodded. “Mama would like that.”
Suddenly Chich held her chest. From her apron pocket, she pulled out the small medicine bottle with her heart pills. She placed a tiny white one under her tongue and closed her eyes.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “Want me to get Daddy?”
Chich shook her head and slowly got up to go to our bedroom. She had been taking those pills more often than usual since we moved to Los Angeles.
Peewee worked on her puzzle while I outlined a picture of our old farmhouse in black crayon. Voices seeped out from Mama’s and Daddy’s bedroom — they was muffled, but I could hear “ugly house” and “want to go home.”
Back on the rez, our farmhouse wasn’t glamorous either. But it was comfy. Chich’s colorful quilts draped over the homemade furniture Chup had built. He’d carved eagles and bears into the legs of tables. I loved to watch him work, but I liked sewing with Chich the best.
Our walls there were covered with pictures I made at school and old black and white photos of family. One photograph showed Chup in a Grand Ronde band uniform, holding a big horn with other Indians. A hunting rifle with a detailed carving on the stock had also hung on the wall with honor.
The house had almost always smelled of baking bread, huckleberry or blackberry pies, and stews. The old wood stove churned up enough heat to keep everyone warm. I knew we were poor in Grand Ronde, but I hadn’t felt poor.
I’d felt proud.
But I didn’t feel that way on 58th Place.
16 Halloween Carnival
By October, walking to school was a breeze. Our group stopped at every street corner and waited for the crossing guard’s permission to go across busy Normandie Boulevard. Then we’d head all the way down to Budlong Avenue to arrive at school. We could do it blindfolded.
All everyone talked about at school was Halloween and the upcoming carnival. I couldn’t say I understood all the excitement, because our school back home had never had one. Then again, we didn’t celebrate Halloween. Now the big day had arrived, and I’d soon find out for myself.
“What’s that lady doing?” I asked Keith as we all
