Sister

I couldn't stop thinking about what happened at the antique shop. I mean, maybe it's time for me to grow up. I've spent so much time thinking about my past, England, Mr. and Mrs. James. I want to be lanky and pretty like the women in the secret room. I want to whisper in the ear of a man, and I want him to laugh at my clever jokes. Ms. Abee said I am beautiful. It's a new thought. I'm tired of being nothing. I could be like them. Beautiful.

I can go now. To Ms. Abee's. I can tell her that I'll do it. It's noon. I guess it's a good time.

I dress different today. I slide on a sequined turquoise dress and some pointy, black boots. And a quick hooded jacket to disguise myself from Amber and Marge.

I rush downstairs. "Where are you going, Kaiya?" Amber asks, not even looking up from her self-help therapy book.
"I'll be back," I say in my most careless, confident tone of voice.

I run to the store. Halfway I decide that maybe running is childlike. That I have enough time. At the front, I see the store is closed. Closed now? Well, I guess I don't really know the hours for this kind of place, anyway.

I hear a scream from afar. A crash. Laughter. I see a spark of orange smoke. I approach the noise. A giant group of people surrounds a mound of burning books. "Kaika! Sweet Kaiya! You came! I knew you would!" It's Ms. Abee.

"Yes! I'll do it!" I have to scream...it's so loud all around us.

"Here!" she hands me a dark green bottle, half-full. "Drink! Be merry! Haha!" She dances, stumbling a bit every now and then. I take a small, unsure sip. Sour, sour. "Kandi, come here, meet KIE-YAAH! HEEHEE! Isn't she gorgeous?!"

Kandi is a pretty girl with light green eyes. She looks about 23. She is dressed in a bold yellow tube dress. "Hi!" She yells to me. "I'm Kandi."

"Kaiya," I shake her hand. Then, Kandi and I talk. For a long time. About Ms. Abee, about the antique store, the weather, my place, her place, the town, and tadpoles. We talked so much that we could hardly pay much attention to the beggars and Ms. Abee's girls joining to throw in their finished bottles of whiskey, rum, and vodka, their dancing, their singing.

I want Kandi to be my sister.

The Staring Lady

"Okay, I'm awake!" I growl. I wake up slowly to a bright light blinding my face. I thought the light was Amber or Marge trying to wake me up, but instead, the light is an unexpected stream of sun spilling directly through the blinds onto my cheeks.

I must go outside.

It's Saturday, though, and Marge and Amber won't be leaving for work, and they won't likely let me leave by myself. I'll have to form a plan of escape. I dress quickly, look out the window, and decide an escape from the window would lead to some sort of unfortunate fall.

I go lurk downstairs to scope out the scene. Marge and Amber are outside eating breakfast! I take advantage of this rare opportunity and make my escape.

Today, I know where I'm going. There is a hill about a mile down Katz Avenue. A broken down state park is atop this hill, and in the park, is a tiny little creek full of brown, baby tadpoles. I want to take a few fo--it's that lady. The lady I had seen a few days ago at the carnival. That night, I had just gotten some blue cotton candy, and I turned around to find Marge and Amber. This same lady was staring down at me--just the way she is now from across the street. She must have something to say. She calls me over.

"Little girl! Come over here!"

I approach in my shy manner, half-worried of what might become of this.

"Dahling, step into my office. My name is Aberdeen, but you may call me Ms. Abee," she leans in close, smelling of rotten liquor and perfume. She pets my head. "And what may I call you?"

Mrs. James always told me not to talk to strangers, but for some reason, today, I am making an exception. "Kaiya." I follow her into a dark, ratty antique shop.

"This is my shop," she has her arms outstretched. "My home." She goes behind the counter, pulls out a bottle of liquor and pours some into a dusty glass. "Want some?" I'm not sure whether to say yes or no. I say nothing. She laughs. "Come on," she reaches scarlett red finger nails out to my simple hand. "Follow me," she smiles. Behind the counter, a dimly lit hallway, and then a squeaky, wooden staircase. We enter another world.

A smoky, candlelit room filled with bubbles and lanky women dressed in shortness. And men. Old, nasty, bearded men. The lanky women lounge on old, velvet sofas. Their legs crossed, the bubbles in almost-fancy-enough glasses, held loosely in their gold and silver painted nails. They lean close to the men. Whisper. Laugh in their ears.

"What is this?" I ask Ms. Abee.
"It's my home, Kaiya."
"I should go," I say dizzily.
"Sweetheart, don't be scared."
"Why did you bring me here?"
"I thought maybe you'd like to join us."
"I'm 12."
"Oh, that doesn't matter a bit. See that girl over there?" She pointed to a blonde, tired-looking girl struggling to entertain a 50 year-old man. "She's our youngest, but oh! Doesn't she just bring about business! She's 13."
"I have to go."
"No, please don't, sweet Kaiya. Here, have a sip of mummy's rum." Too late for her. I knock the glass from her hand, it shatters, I run up the wooden stairs, out the deceiving front door, fast. Fast.

As I was leaving, I heard Ms. Abee shouting, "You're beautfiul, little Kaiya. Come back if you change your mind." Ha.

I run to the tadpoles. As I was sayng before...I want to take a few for some company in my room.

Lies

I'm out again. Adventure number 26, I believe. Yes, I am calling my outings adventures now. The last few times, I've discovered a few playgrounds, collected a few bottle caps, and bought a few packets of gum at the gas station. My adventures.

I look out the window to admire this morning's heavy coat of dreary rain. And thunder.

I leave the room quickly and then the building. I hear a woman scream. She runs towards me. "CHICKENS!" She runs past me up the apartment stairs. The crazy people in this town...

Suddenly, a giant flapping crowd of chickens scatter onto the road. They shriek and babble to one another in excitement. Their feathers soak in the giant drops of rain falling from the grey sky. A few of the chickens waddle helplessly towards the bowling alley. Others go in the opposite direction towards the sketchy Royal Motel. I stand in awe at the sight. Dozens of chaotic chickens cover Katz Avenue painting it a whitish gold. The residents of Wilshire Tower all stare, gawking at the sight. The women scream in fright. The children question their mommies in confusion. The old men overlook the sight as if it's some sort of daily occurrence in their lives.

I look around to see where the fluttering mass came from. A giant chicken coop truck is parked in front of the butcher shop. The gate in the back is open.

I go to the open truck to inspect. Inside, I see a little feathered ball still inside. A little chicken is sleeping soundly in one of the cages. He must have missed the cue of escape. I reach into his cubicle and try to pick him up. He wakes up with a jerk and warns me with the span of his soft white wings. I try again, resisting his struggling fight against me. As he flaps around crazily, I place him on the ground.

This little chicken balls up again. "What's the matter, little chicken? Why don't you go?" I ask him.

"HEY YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" A man shouts at me. He must be the chicken truck driver.
"What? Me? Nothing," I say quickly, stupidly.
"Did you open this?!" he shouts.
"No," I say like a baby.
"Mhm. Then why did I see you taking this chicken out of my truck?"
"It wasn't me," I lie.
"I saw you, little girl!" he shouts again.
"I mean, I didn't open it."
He gets really close to my face, so close I can feel his nasty breath stifling the air from reaching my nose. He says, "You know, little girls who lie go to hell."

I stamp on his foot with all my might. He bends over in pain to reach his foot, his face red and explosive. I run back to my apartment so quickly that I hardly remember my feet hitting the ground at all. "Get her!" the man yelled angrily when I stomped on his foot. I still hear him yelling in my head.

High Up

Tonight, Amber and Marge say, "Kaiya, we're taking you to the carnival down the street."

Mrs. and Mr. James used to take me to the carnivals in England. I remember the bumper cars - Mrs. James and I in one car chasing Mr. James in vicious attempt. The giant stuffed bears, gorillas, and ducks Mr. James would win for me hitting glass bottles and shooting water guns. The apple-green cotton candy and delicious roasted turkey legs. And most of all, I remember riding the porcelain-like ponies on the merry-go-round. The dwindling xylophone music ringing from the speakers above. The loud, laughing children surrounding me, but I stayed shy, quiet, encompassing the details around me. Mrs. James waved to me with her bright blonde smile every time I faced her in the cycle. The merry-go-round was my favorite part.

Tonight is different, though. Amber and Marge have put me in a ridiculous rain suit. "Oh, don't fuss, Kaiya," they say as I pull at the ugly piss yellow material. "It's pouring down. Let's not get sick." I don't see them in this kind of monstrosity.

Tonight, we walk to the carnival down the street. I look up at Amber and Marge in disgust because of the immense lack of rain.

We arrive. The carnival is greyer than the sky. There is a tall ferris wheel on my right, probably half the height of our building. The colored bulbs on the wheel have dimmed from use, I suppose. Bumber cars on my left, scratched and beat up. A haunted house - not going in there. No merry-go-round. This carnival seems much smaller than the ones in England.

"Here, Kaiya, some tickets," says Amber. I take them in my hands. They leave me.

"Well, where should we go first, dahling?" I asked myself, just as Mrs. James would have if she were here. She would place our tickets in her breastpocket. She would hold my hand tight so as not to lose me in the crowd. "How about the ferris wheel, Mrs. James?" I pretend that we are together tonight, and that we are at the English carnivals.

Mrs. James and I walk in our patient way over to the colossal structure. Colossal . She taught me that word. Probably most of the English words I know, actually. We meet the friendly ticketman at the ride entrance.

"Two tickets each, ladies," he says. "Have a nice ride."

Mrs. James and I carefully mount the seat before us. I am scared all over again. "Don't be scared, my little Kaiya," she says. "I would never let you fall." I smile and sit beside her. The ticketman starts the ride. Mrs. James and I soar over beautiful, sunny England. "Look, it's our house, Kaiya. Do you see it?"

"Yes," I laugh. I am not scared anymore.

"KAIYA! Wow! You're so high up!"

It's Marge. I look down to see her with her arm around an awkward man. He must be Shayn Todd, Marge's new "flame." She said, "Well, he's just had a bad break up so I decided why not have a night out with him to make him feel better." That's why we're here, of course. Although, I wouldn't say her plan is working. Shayn looks a bit unneasy, but he waves at me. I wave back with my deepest sympathy.

Suddenly, Mrs. James disappears like a ghost.

I hate Marge.

The Third Time

I am sitting on the sofa that is covered in fake Indian cashmere. I peer out the window behind me. Droplets of rain slowly slide down the glass in front of my face. They look like tears. I look at my arm, and the rain reflects onto it. My arm is crying. So are my clothes. My face.

Outside, I see a boy standing behind a lemonade stand. The rain sticks hair to his white forehead and makes his already large suit droop even more over his gawky body. Why sell lemonade in the rain? I want to tell him to come inside.

"Kaiya, would you like some breakfast, dear?"

That is Marge. She is one of the kooks I live with. She is tall and thin with grey, frizzy hair. She clearly doesn't recall seeing me sitting in front of her but 20 minutes ago slurping the milk from my cereal bowl. I don't respond.

"Oh, Amber, she still won't talk to me," I hear her "discreetly" whisper to my second guardian. Amber is plump, but rosy. She has straight, grey hair and really yellow feet. "Do you think she speaks English at all?" asks Marge.

"Yes. The agency wouldn't lie. She's just not comfortable yet. It's only been a week. Give her time," says Amber. I guess you could say she's the smart one. "Alright, Kaiya, we're going to work. We'll be back at seven. Be good, darling, and don't you think of leaving the apartment." She kisses me on the forehead and leaves with Marge.

Finally.

As the coast clears, I put on my rain coat and some of Marge's old galoshes. I carefully plop down the apartment's stairs. This is my third time outside. I've counted.

As I head out towards the grey street, I see the lemonade boy. His bright yellow stand illuminates the corner he stands on. He has a litle umbrella over the little, plastic cups of lemonade. I walk towards his stand.

"How much?" I ask.
"Ten cents," he replies. I don't have any money.
"Okay, I'll be right back," I lie.

I turn around quickly and run back to apartment 208. I enter my new home once again. Scared. Who knew the lemonade boy would be so beautiful?

Introductions

My name is Kaiya Himura. I'm eleven years old. The city where I live doesn't have a name. I might as well not have one either. I am nothing. Just a waisted pile of cells and blood. That's what this place is. No one cares about this town; it's the dirt under the ladies' Sally Hansen nails and the crunchy beetles crawling nightly throughout the high walls of their elegantly angelic ceilings. I am a beetle. I am dirt. I am an orphan.

Currently, I live with two old ladies. They might be sisters- I don't know. They are two psuedo-gypsies playing fake with tarot cards and afternoon bellydancing. They took me in at the age of six. We live in apartment 208.

You may be wondering why my name may sound so -you know- cultural. My father was Japanese and my mother was Costa Rican. They named me after my father's aunt or cousin. When I was born (in the unlucky slums of Japan), my parents did not want me. They put me up for sale- like you would a boat or a pet cat. To my surprise a young Englishwoman Mrs. James and her husband felt pity upon me and "purchased" me. They had been touring Japan for some reason,;they discovered me, and then they took me to their lovely little English house. Mrs. James taught me to speak English immediately. Dont know how she did it.

What happened between then and now is unclear to me...somehow. One way or another, I ended up in this junky city living with some freaks.