Stealing Buddha's Dinner by Bich Minh Nguyen

Author:Bich Minh Nguyen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US

10

Bread and Honey

MY STEPSISTER CRISSY WAS ALWAYS IN CHARGE. WHEN she decided that it would be neat to wear fluorescent pink with royal blue, I wanted to wear that, too. When she sang “Bette Davis Eyes,” I learned the words, too. She determined what songs were cool, what clothes were cool, and whether or not we were cool. Invariably, I was not. She called me “Nerd,” but that didn’t stop me from aspiring to be in her realm. Crissy had always been fresh and pretty, with a fine smattering of freckles across her nose and dark hair that fell in natural waves. Her best friends were Keri and Lisa, girls knowledgeable about boys and nail polish; Lisa even owned a scandalous triangle bikini. Anh and I longed to be a part of their giggles and codes.

Crissy could talk Rosa into letting her stay up late to watch TV. She persuaded Rosa to buy her some Calvin Klein socks so Crissy could snip off the labels and sew them onto her clothes. When school-picture time rolled around she somehow managed to get Rosa to spring for more expensive backgrounds—the woodsy one with a fake piece of timber to cross her arms on, or the laser-light one that had zigzagging neon bars to impart a hint of Miami Vice. Crissy had reign over our bedroom, bathroom, and television. She could change the channel if she felt like it, right in the middle of my and Anh’s beloved Bugs Bunny/Road Runner show. Later, she was the first in the neighborhood to tease her hair into airy claw shapes, highlighting it with peroxide and Sun-In; she rolled up the hems of her pants until they were tight and tapered. She would show up with lacy fingerless gloves, plastic bracelets, and purple shimmery lipstick, and I would wonder how she managed to get such beautiful things.

Those hazy, early eighties summers on Florence Street meld together in patches of shade and the sound of the ice cream man pushing through the neighborhood. It seemed like no parents were ever around. They simply let us kids loose as soon as we woke up and didn’t see us until evening when we swept into the house, dusty and sweaty from a day of games. While Jennifer Vander Wal and I devised elaborate, exclusive clubs, Crissy and her friends rode their ten-speeds and played Capture the Black Flag.

One of Crissy’s favorite things to do was explore the tangle of backyards and fences that made up the center of our neighborhood block of houses. Once, she allowed Anh and me to tag along while she and her friends trampled through people’s gardens. We went right into their toolsheds if the doors were open. One shed, belonging to a neighbor no one knew, was locked and windowless, and Crissy said it might be haunted. Either that or the man kept dead bodies in there. We crept past it and circled the guy’s house, always following Crissy.

At last, when she grew weary

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