The Fences Between Us

by Kirby Larson

  I wonder when he’ll send me a letter.

  I wonder if I’ll be able to survive my brother being in the Navy.

  Monday, November 10, 1941

  It’s not fair! I bought that tube of Tangee lipstick with my own money, and Pop won’t let me wear it. He wants me to be such a Goody Two-shoes. Trixie says I’m a natural beauty but what else would you expect from a best friend? Margie says to quit moping; I should focus on what’s really important in life.

  That’s easy for her to say. She’s got two years of college under her belt and plans to be a pharmacist. Plus a steady boyfriend. I don’t have anything like that. I don’t even know what I want to do when I grow up!

  All I know for sure is that I’m the only girl in seventh grade with naked lips.

  Tuesday, November 11, 1941

  An airmail letter from Hank! He sent it from San Francisco, on his way to Hawaii. He says everything’s going great — he even likes the Navy food. But he does miss our fir trees. What a goof— if I could choose, I’d rather sit under a palm tree than a cedar any day. But it was good to hear from him, even if it made me miss him more.

  The last line of Hank’s letter was in our code. He wrote: “eritw kacb noos.”

  So I did!

  Saturday, November 15, 1941

  Trixie was going to come along to help deliver Thanksgiving baskets, until she found out what time we’d be leaving. “On a Saturday morning?” she said. “You know I need my beauty sleep.” Trixie’s a pal but she says friendship only goes so far! (She was joking.) No sleeping in for me, though. Pop had me up at the crack of dawn to finish filling the baskets.

  Betty Sato and her dad were waiting for us at the church. They helped us load up the Blue Box and rode along as we drove through Japantown to pass the baskets out. I noticed that Pop didn’t say one word about her wearing dungarees even though he didn’t allow me to wear mine.

  I had more fun last year when it was me and Pop and Hank making the deliveries. Hank cracked jokes and set up challenges, like who could carry a basket on their head the farthest.

  Betty isn’t the joking-around type. She’s the kind of kid all of the adults go crazy over. She plays the piano at church, helps in the Sunday school, and even takes notes on Pop’s sermons. Just last night, Pop was reading the church newsletter and said, “I see Betty Sato’s made the eighth-grade Honor Roll again.” I knew he wondered why my name wasn’t ever on that kind of list. I guess I’m not a whiz kid like Margie or Betty.

  It’s hard to talk over the engine noise so mostly Betty and I just smiled at each other once in a while as we rode around, facing each other on those benches in the back of the Blue Box. I don’t know her very well, even though we go to the same church. At school, kids don’t mix much. Sometimes I feel like I live in two different worlds: my Sunday world, full of Japanese names and faces, and the rest of the week.

  The last stop was Grandma Fujiwara’s. We stood around for a long time, shivering, while the grown-ups talked about the war in Europe. “The Nazis are steamrolling over the Russians,” Mr. Sato said. “Did you hear they’ve reached Sevastopol?”

  “Pfft.” Grandma Fujiwara flapped her hand. “More worried about Japan in China. Not good for any of us,” she said.

  Pop glanced over at me, then away, quick. I bet he was thinking about Hank. But that was one worry he could cross off his list. Hank was nowhere near any of the fighting. Besides, the U.S. wasn’t even in the war.

  The grown-ups finished their conversation and we dropped Betty and her dad off at the church.

  We got home in time for me to listen to Hit Parade. I liked most of tonight’s songs but “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” was my favorite.

  Sunday, November 16, 1941

  Rain, rain, go away! Pop says even the ducks need umbrellas on days like today!

  I told Trixie on Friday that I was keeping a diary. She said that was a good idea because when I’m famous, people will want to read it. I told her I didn’t think that was going to happen, but she ignored me and asked me what I named it. I said I hadn’t and she got in a dither.

  “You have to call it something,” she said.

  “How about Dear Diary?” I said back.

  She rolled her eyes and told me I was hopeless. I don’t know what’s wrong with Dear Diary. Maybe it could be DeeDee for short? That sounds keen to me, even sophisticated. DeeDee. I like it.

  Okay, DeeDee — let me tell you a bit about the person behind the pen (well, sometimes pencil). I’m thirteen, average in looks and intelligence (ask my teachers). I have one sister, one brother, and one parent. That last thing makes me different from most of my friends. My mother died when I was a baby and I honestly don’t remember her. Trixie used to ask me if I didn’t miss her terribly but how can you miss someone you didn’t know? One story about her that I like, though, is that Pop wanted to name me Geraldine, after his favorite aunt, but Margie and Hank wanted to name me Piper. My mother said since she got to pick Hank’s name and Pop got to pick Margie’s, it was their turn to choose a name. She must’ve been quite the sweet-talker because Pop went along.

  There’s not that much more to say about me. I like Sky Bars, big band music, and Bud Greene — who doesn’t even know I’m alive.

  Monday, November 17, 1941

  DeeDee —

  Another letter from Hank. He’s homesick, of all things. I thought it might help if I sent him some photos of home so I dusted off my old Eastman Kodak and got to work. I’d been crazy about photography in fifth grade — even bought the camera with my own money — but sort of lost interest. It was like meeting up with an old friend when I brought the camera out from the back of my closet. Everything seemed to be in working order but there was only one way to find out. It was between rain showers so I ran outside and took a bunch of pictures — the house, the holly tree in the front yard, and the tree house Hank and I built in the back. I got in quite a few shots before the sky opened up again.

  Margie was standing at the stove, stirring the stew. So I got some snaps of her, too. “He might miss being home, but I bet Hank doesn’t miss your cooking,” I told her. She threw a towel at me, but I kept clicking. I can’t figure out why someone who is a whiz at college Chemistry can flop at cooking like she does. I don’t complain — much! — because I don’t want to get stuck with the job.

  The minute I heard Pop pull the Blue Box into the drive, I hurried out to make him pose, too. In his fedora and overcoat, he looked more like Dick Tracy than the minister of the Seattle Japanese Baptist Church. That tickled my funny bone. When I looked through the viewfinder, though, I noticed new circles under Pop’s eyes. He works too hard and worries too much.

  Tuesday, November 18, 1941

  DeeDee —

  Hank sent me a photo of him in his uniform. He signed it “Seaman Davis, USS Arizona, Ford Island Naval Air Station.” I don’t know if it’s regulation, but he wears his cap set back on his head, with a curly wave of hair in front. With that curl and his Pepsodent smile, Trixie and I both think he looks like a movie star!

  He has two new friends from the ship, Del and John. Get this — they’re twins. Hank and the twins call themselves the Three Musketeers. On their last liberty, the Three Musketeers dared each other to go swimming on Waikiki Beach, in full uniform, even shoes. Some little kid handed Del a bucket, which he poured over John’s head. They took a big bow when they got out, like they were the stars of the show. A bunch of people had gathered around and they were all clapping and laughing and asking to have their photos taken with them. Luckily, it was a hot day and everything dried but their socks by the time they got back to the ship.

  Someday, Trixie and I will do something crazy like that. Something worth writing about in this diary!

  Wednesday, November 19, 1941

  DeeDee —

  In homeroom, Myrna Edwards said she had a trade-last for me. The rule about TLs is that I can’t hear the compliment she heard about me until I tell a compliment I’d heard about her.
Which is pretty hard to do with Myrna. I fudged, telling her that Donna Murray had said she had nice eyebrows. Donna Murray says nice things about everybody, except maybe Hitler, so that was a safe white lie. Guess what my TL was!? Myrna heard Bud tell Eddy that I could be Maureen O’Sullivan’s movie double! Trixie says that proves he’s stuck on me. Maybe so. Maybe not.

  More letters from Hank today. We each got one and read them aloud after dinner. Hank wrote Pop about going to church in Honolulu and hearing hymns sung in Hawaiian. Margie’s told about the USO putting on a luau for the sailors. Hank liked the hula dancing, especially this famous dancer named Hilo Hattie. He even tried poi, which he said is pounded, fermented taro root. He said once was enough and I believe him.

  My letter was the best. The Three Musketeers went to eat at a drive-in called the Kau Kau Korner. They weren’t in a car, but that didn’t stop them. They acted like they were, “pulling up” right next to one of the speakers where you give your order. The carhop played along, bringing their burgers and malts out and hanging the tray on Hank’s arm just like it was a car door. He said people all around them were honking and hooting. What a screwball!

  I can’t wait to tell Trixie.

  Thursday, November 20, 1941 — Thanksgiving

  DeeDee —

  The dinner table sparkled with Grandma Davis’s good china and wedding silver. I took lots of pictures for Hank. I hope they make him feel like he was right here, with us. I sure wish he really was.

  After dinner, some friends from church came over for pie. Mrs. Harada brought pumpkin because she knows it’s my favorite. The Tokitas brought cherry and old Mrs. Fujiwara brought mincemeat for Pop. Yuck.

  Of course Pop had to say grace over the pie, even though we’d already said grace for dinner. “We have much to be thankful for on this day of Thanksgiving. This delicious food and our dear, good friends. We are especially grateful for Mrs. Fujiwara’s continued health, and the blessing of the Tokitas’ new baby. This world needs to know your peace and we pray for a quick conclusion to the wars in Europe and China.”

  “And keep our boy, Hank, safe,” Mrs. Harada added.

  “Amen,” said Pop. Then we all said amen.

  The grown-ups started talking about the war again. Mr. Harada asked Pop if he’d heard that the Germans had captured Kursk and Yalta. I hurried to our globe to see where those places were. Thankfully, they are halfway around the world from us, in Russia. And from Hank. When I came back in the room, I heard Mr. Harada say, “I hope talks with Japan resume again soon. There’s trouble brewing already against us. Did you hear that someone broke the front window at Yoshida’s Dry Cleaning?” He shook his head. “The businesses in Japantown have bought over $35,000 of Defense Bonds. That should count for something.”

  Everyone got very quiet. There had always been some people who had bad feelings about the Japanese living in Seattle, but mostly everyone went about their own business. Since Japan had gone to war against China, things had gotten even harder. But it had been quieter, more on the sly, than breaking a window. Like those awful cartoons in the paper that make Japanese people look like slanty-eyed bucktoothed morons.

  To change my mood, I took a picture of Mrs. Tokita and baby Kenji. He is so cute with his button eyes and soft black hair. She let me hold him while she whipped the cream for the pumpkin pie. We played peekaboo and his laugh was better than a bubble bath, washing away all that dreary war talk.

  Saturday, November 22, 1941

  DeeDee —

  Hank’s such a card. He sent a list of Navy lingo “so I could impress the boys.” Ha! Great joke. Here’s some of the lingo:

  Admiral’s watch: a good night’s sleep

  Belay: stop it

  Bird boat: aircraft carrier

  Canary: pretty girl

  Fish: torpedo

  Mae West: an inflatable life jacket

  Monkey drill: calisthenics

  Rust bucket: a destroyer, especially an old one,

  or any old boat

  Tin can: a destroyer

  Hank said he was collecting lots of these but some of them he couldn’t share until I was “much older.” At the end of the letter, he wrote: “I can tell from those Halloween pictures that my baby sis is growing up to be a real ‘canary.’”

  Even though it’s not true, it’s a nice thought. But he has to think that. He’s my big brother.

  Monday, November 24, 1941

  DeeDee —

  We finally finished reading Moby-Dick in Language Arts. Why do they make us read such boring books? It’s pure torture. Miss Wyatt announced a new assignment but said we’d be working in pairs. My ears perked up at that!

  Trixie passed me a note: “I’ll ask Eddy if you ask Bud!”

  I wrote back: “I’m too chicken!”

  Right then, Miss Wyatt started asking people who they wanted to partner with. When she called on Bud, he said, “Piper Davis.” I nearly fell off my chair.

  Miss Wyatt stopped with her pencil over her clipboard. “Piper, is that agreeable to you?”

  I was so rattled I said, “Piper. Yes.” Like I was talking baby talk. Debbie Sue Wilkins snickered behind me and I wanted to smack her, but when I glanced over at Bud he closed one sparkling green eye in a slow wink.

  Pop’s always talking about heaven but today I was there!

  Tuesday, November 25, 1941

  DeeDee —

  I can hardly write, my hand’s so shaky. Bud walked me home after school! Even carried my books. Trixie said that is absolute proof that he’s sweet on me. But, if he is, why did he spend most of the time talking about Hank and the Navy? Sure, I got to use some of that lingo Hank sent me. It didn’t seem all that romantic. Boys are a puzzle.

  I’ll have to ask Trixie about it. She reads all the magazines. All I know is that I’ve had a crush on Bud since fifth grade. Oh, those dreamy green eyes. He’s droolier than Alan Ladd.

  I’m going to write Hank and ask for more Navy stuff!

  Bud and I talked about our assignment, which is to write about how the war in Europe is affecting us here. He’s going to get home-front facts and I’m going to do man-in-the-hall interviews at school, asking kids what they think. Bud and I make a great team.

  While Pop was at his church meeting tonight, I listened to a whole stack of Hank’s Bluebird 78s. My favorite is “The Song Is You” — “I hear music when I look at you.” I wonder if Bud likes it, too. Maybe it could be our song!

  Wednesday, November 26, 1941

  DeeDee —

  Bud walked me home again! And asked if I was going to be at the show on Saturday. It’s an Errol Flynn war movie double feature. I’d rather see a romance, but it doesn’t matter anyway because Pop won’t let me go. He thinks thirteen is too young for dating. He did a whole sermon about it a few months ago. Trixie’s parents let her go to the movies with a boy last year, when she was only twelve. Why, oh, why do I have to be a PK?

  Maybe if I told Margie I’d do her chores for one whole month, she’d talk to Pop for me. He might listen to her.

  Thursday, November 27, 1941

  DeeDee —

  Al James from homeroom was my first man-in-the-hall interview. He said the war in Europe made him realize how different his life was than for someone our age in London or Paris or Berlin. “I mean, we worry about whether or not the lunch ladies will make cinnamon rolls and they worry about finding the nearest bomb shelter.”

  Al’s comment made me think about the newsreel I’d seen a few weeks back. A little kid was sitting on a front porch step, after an air raid. But that was all that was left. The front porch step. His house was a pile of rubble. As the camera panned out you could see a woman — maybe his mom — picking through the rubble. She pulled out a crumpled toy truck with only one wheel and gave it to the little boy as the camera zoomed in on his face. He grabbed the truck and held it to his chest but his face didn’t change. His expression was empty. As empty as the street behind him.

  I’m glad I live h
ere, that’s for sure.

  Friday, November 28, 1941

  DeeDee —

  Margie says we girls in love have to stick together. I said I was hardly in love with Bud, but she laughed and said that’s what she thought about Stan at first, too. Then she said, “Thirteen’s kind of young for true love, but I wonder about twenty….” Her eyes got all misty and I got worried she’d get so wrapped up in daydreaming about Stan that she’d forget about asking Pop for me but she didn’t! She not only talked to him, she got him to say yes! I get to go to the show with Bud! And Trixie and Eddy, too, of course.

  What if Bud tries to hold my hand?!

  I’ve got to stop biting my nails.

  Saturday, November 29, 1941

  DeeDee —

  Trixie looked so smart in her dungarees, with the cuffs rolled up the way the high school girls do. I felt like an old fuddy-duddy.

  “You look really pretty,” said Bud. “I like that outfit a lot.”

  Suddenly, my skirt and blouse felt like they were right out of Vogue. I stood up even taller. Bud is a true-blue friend.

  Trixie and I sat next to each other, with Eddy by her and Bud by me. Eddy got fresh and put his arm around Trixie’s shoulder. Bud was a gentleman through and through. He gave me some of his Jujyfruits but he didn’t try to hold my hand. That was lucky because even though I kept wiping it on my skirt, it was slippery as wet soap.