The Language Inside

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The Language Inside Page 1

by Holly Thompson




  Also by Holly Thompson

  Orchards

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2013 by Holly Thompson

  Front jacket photograph copyright © 2013 by Mark Owen/Trevillion Images

  Back jacket and chapter opener photograph copyright © 2013 by Jules Kitano

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/teens

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Thompson, Holly.

  The language inside / Holly Thompson. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Raised in Japan, American-born tenth-grader Emma is disconcerted by a move to Massachusetts for her mother’s breast cancer treatment, because half of Emma’s heart remains with her friends recovering from the tsunami.

  eBook ISBN 978-0-375-89835-8 — Trade ISBN 978-0-385-73980-1

  Hardcover ISBN 978-0-385-73979-5

  [1. Novels in verse. 2. Moving, Household—Fiction. 3. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 4. Breast cancer—Fiction. 5. Family life—Massachusetts—Fiction. 6. Tsunamis—Fiction. 7. Massachusetts—Fiction. 8. Japan—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.5.T45Lan2013

  [Fic]—dc23

                                                       2012030596

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  For Bob, Dexter and especially Isabel

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 Aura

  Chapter 2 The Afterwards

  Chapter 3 Gone

  Chapter 4 Cleanup

  Chapter 5 The Next Minute

  Chapter 6 Beads

  Chapter 7 Seawall

  Chapter 8 Filling

  Chapter 9 Patients

  Chapter 10 S-e-x-y M-a-n

  Chapter 11 Ghosts

  Chapter 12 Luck

  Chapter 13 Slipping

  Chapter 14 Breasts

  Chapter 15 Pizza

  Chapter 16 Hey

  Chapter 17 Noodles

  Chapter 18 Running

  Chapter 19 L-a-t-e

  Chapter 20 Camfood

  Chapter 21 Sweet and Sour

  Chapter 22 Yet

  Chapter 23 American Treasures

  Chapter 24 Fear and Hope

  Chapter 25 Sci-fi

  Chapter 26 Yes Yes Yes

  Chapter 27 Tubes

  Chapter 28 Costume

  Chapter 29 Mermaid

  Chapter 30 Fishing Dance

  Chapter 31 Americans

  Chapter 32 Maybe Couple

  Chapter 33 Daughters and Sons

  Chapter 34 Loss

  Chapter 35 Path

  Chapter 36 Seeing the Buddha

  Chapter 37 Seven Times Down

  Chapter 38 Tanko Bushi

  Chapter 39 Cranes

  Chapter 40 Ever

  Chapter 41 Workshop

  Chapter 42 Corner

  Chapter 43 Wish

  Chapter 44 Plunging

  Chapter 45 Hanuman

  Chapter 46 Plum Island

  Poetry Mentioned in The Language Inside

  Recommended Resources

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  third time it happens

  I’m crossing the bridge

  over a brown-green race of water

  that slides through town

  on my way to a long-term care center

  to start volunteering

  pausing

  to get my courage up

  peering over a rail

  by a

      Tow Zone

  No Stopping

      on Bridge

  sign

  glimpsing shadows

  below the river’s surface . . .

  but when I look up

  the sign is halved—

  one side blank

  the other saying

                 Zone

                 pping

                 idge

  I glance back at the water

  that my grandma YiaYia says used to

  power this town’s mills

  which are now closed or reborn

  as outlet malls, doctors’ offices

  dance and art studios, clinics

  and care centers like the one

  I’m headed to

  to work with a woman

  who can’t move her legs

  her arms

  her head

  and can’t even talk

  but the water has a spot of darkness

  and my blindness grows

  to a black hole

  and I begin

  to panic

  should I find this guy Sam

  the other volunteer

  from my high school

  who’ll introduce me

  to the recreational therapy director?

  should I return to the bus stop

  and try to get to YiaYia’s house?

  I haven’t lived here long

  I don’t have a cell phone yet

  I don’t know if there’s a bus

  to my grandmother’s neighborhood

  and I have just twenty minutes

  before my speech and thoughts

                                          shatter

  I go for Sam

  I cross the bridge

  turn right then left

  walk up the paved pathway to

  the Newall Center for Long Term Care

  where standing by the entrance

  is a guy whose face looks

                 half there

  who says

  I’m Sam Nang—you Emma?

  I turn my head

  pan his face with the half

  of my vision that remains—

                 Asian, I realize

                 Japanese, I dare hope

                 though I know that’s doubtful

                 here in Massachusetts

  I tell him yeah, but I’m sick

  when he gets that I mean it

  he says the lobby . . .

  and leads me inside to a waiting area

  where I drop onto a chair

  I feel in my bag

  pull pills from a plastic case

  and swallow two caplets with

  the last swig of water

  from my bottle

  along the edge

  of my blindness

  flickers a crescent

  of tiny triangles—

                 white

                           edged by

&
nbsp;                           cuts of blue

                           black

                 yellow

  my stomach turns

  I close my eyes

  try to slow my breathing

  and feel the thud of Sam

  sitting down beside me

  I squint my eyes open

  shade them with my hand

  against too-bright lights

  and tell him

  my head

  I can’t see

  I need to go home

                 zigzags of light seem to

                 bolt from his jaw

  I tell him YiaYia’s address

  and phone number

  I tell him

  to tell her

  migraine

  he tries calling

  but there’s no answer

  now I’m breathing too fast

  and as the numbness

  starts creeping up my arm

  I can’t help crying

  okay, okay Sam says

  I’ll call Chris

  he’ll drive you home

  I unwrap the scarf from around my neck

  drape it over my head to hide in the dimness

  wishing my grandmother had a cell phone she actually used

  wishing my mother or father could come get me

  wishing we’d never left Japan

  under the scarf I let myself cry

  missing my friends

  from Kamakura

                 Madoka, Kako, Kenji, Shin

  from Yokohama

                 Min, Grace, Yuta, Sophia

  whispering their names

  like a prayer

  to get me out of here

  a prayer to get me back there

  where I know people

  where I know my way around

  where I know what to expect

  where my body didn’t do this

  Sam speaks softly

  into his phone

  stows it

  then goes off

  and has a conversation

  I can’t quite hear

  with a person

  I can’t quite see

  when he comes back he’s silent

  just the lobby noise

  surrounds us

  after a while I feel him rise

  return

  and press a tissue

  into my hand

  I wipe my eyes

  try to keep calm

  try to keep the light out

  just breathing

  through the weave of the scarf

  as we wait

  finally Sam tugs my jacket

  takes my arm

  and leads me outside to a car

  parked near the entrance

  he speaks to the driver

                 pain slams my head

  I can hear words

                 catch words

                  grandmother

                 ride back leap

                  sock close

                  here

  but I can’t connect the words

  to make meaning

  I start to get in the car

  get out

  throw up in some bushes

  wipe my mouth with

  another tissue from Sam

  get in the car

  lie down on the backseat

  my head covered with my scarf

  and a towel the driver hands me

  then I close my eyes

  and let myself be driven off

  to who knows where

  by two guys—

                 one I’ve just met

                 one I don’t know

                 at all

  when the car stops

                 doors open

  close

                 open

  close

  the crescent of triangles

                 pulses

                 pulses

                 pulses

  my arm’s numb

  half my face, too

  my head bowling-ball heavy

  I hear talk

  outside the window

  hear the driver say sleep

  then it’s quiet

  and I do

  when I wake

  it’s dusk

  I lie not moving

  on the car seat

  turn onto my back

  and wait

  sit up

  wait

  testing my head

  my vision

  the car has been pulled

  into YiaYia’s driveway

  her back porch light is on

  when I’m sure the worst

  is really over

  I get out

  walk gingerly to the house

  taking soft

                 unjarring

                           steps

  from the porch I can see

  my grandmother, the man and Sam

  all seated in the living room around

  the coffee table with emptied glasses

  and a plate of rice cracker packets

  that my father brought for Toby and me

  his last visit from New York

  at the kitchen sink

  I rinse my mouth

  wash my face

  with paper towels

  then join them

  easing slowly into

  one of YiaYia’s armchairs

  I’m Emma I say

  resting my head

  solidly on the chairback

  nice to meet you

  and everyone laughs

  the man, Chris

  Sam Nang’s uncle

  stands, says his wife

  gets migraines, too

  you taking anything for them? he asks

  and I tell him the name of the pills

  YiaYia’s doctor gave me for

  whenever the blindness hits

  same as Beth he says

  but I threw them up I say

  that you did he says

  and he and Sam smile

  talk to Beth sometime Chris says

  she’ll tell you ways to avoid attacks—

  sleep patterns, exercise . . .

  it’s good you slept

  that’s best

  soon they’re leaving

  but I can’t rise from where

  I’m curled in the armchair

  my head all aching and fuzzy

  and full of the afterwards

  but now that I’m not half blind

  I can see that Chris’s clothes are

  spattered with paint and stain

  and I can see that Sam is

                 lean

                 muscled

                 and Asian

  but Chris is not

  I’m curious

  but say nothing

  remembering those girls

  in the first meeting for Model UN

  how when I asked

                 anyone here speak Japanese?

  one rolled her eyes and said


                 Asian doesn’t mean Japanese, you know

  and when I tried to say

                 of course not, I know that

                 I’m from Japan, is all . . .

  another girl looked me up and down and said

                 yeah, sure, white girl

  then a guy across the room whispered

                 Japan—I thought she was glowing!

  and everyone laughed

  YiaYia walks Chris and Sam to the door

  thanks them, returns, says

  well, never a dull moment!

  as she lays a fleece blanket over me

  I come home to drop the groceries off

  before going to the Newall Center to pick you up

  and I find those two lounging on the porch steps—

  I thought they’d broken in!

  turns out they’d been sitting there

  over an hour

  they seem nice I say

  yes she says

  definitely your angels for today

  I think I saw the boy

  at the Newall Center once or twice

  when I was there for your Papou

  I ask

  have you heard from Mom and Dad?

  did Mom call?

  YiaYia eyes me

  I try to read her face

  but I don’t know

  this grandmother well

  we usually stay in Vermont

  with Mom’s mother and father

  near our cousins up there

  when we come back summers

  not here with Dad’s mother

  YiaYia sizes up my state

                 curled in the armchair

 

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