Read 1001 Cranes for Free Online Page B

man in a cape, a multicolored Peter Max cloud, and a bloodred STP oil logo.
    I search the empty drawers of the vanity, trying to find any scraps of paper, any indication of who my mother was at my age. I discover a stack of blue ribbons for excellence in a number of talents—running, even gardening. Underneath the ribbons is something hard. A book—no, a diary. It has a cheap lock, and no key is to be found. I rip the flimsy flap that is supposed to ensure the privacy of the diary’s contents.
    It is one of those daily diaries; 1968 is written on the front page.
    My fingers peel apart the pages. Blank. But then, on July 18, there is this sentence: I went to the store today and saw him.
    Who is ‘him’? I wonder. I leaf through all the other pages. Empty. So I’ve gone to the trouble of destroying Mom’s diary lock for this single line?
    On top of the vanity, stuck in the corners of the mirror, are a couple of faded photos. They’re group shots of some Asian girls. I can spot my mother immediately, even though her hair is down to her butt, and her eyebrows are plucked severely in the form of upside-down Vs. She is laughing—they all are—and I wonder if that was the last time my mother felt carefree.
    I unpack the clothes from my duffel bag and put them into the dresser drawers. It seems strange that my clothes are in the same place hers were when she was my age.
    Half an hour later, I step outside. Janet is on the porch, three kittens of different colors around her feet. “Tofu,” she says, pointing to the white one. “Miso,” the brown. “Nori,” the black.
    “I didn’t know you had cats.” I sit next to Janet and pick up Nori. I like black cats.
    “They’re not mine. They’re stray. Dad is allergic to them. And Mom doesn’t like them.”
    She then kneels down and pulls out an old pie tin from the crawl space underneath the house. There are small bits of cat food smeared in it. “Shhh—it’s our secret,” Aunt Janet says.
    I smile. I’m happy to hold on to a good secret for once.
    “Look, Nori likes you.” Aunt Janet points to the black cat, which has curled up in the crook of my arm.
    “You know,” Aunt Janet says, rubbing Miso’s nose, “I think your dad will call you today.”
     
    I get a phone call at dinner. We are eating spaghetti with ground beef; Gramps has rice with his noodles.
    I race to pick up the receiver. It’s a familiar voice. My mother’s.
    “Hi, how’s everything?” Her nose sounds stuffed up.
    “Okay,” I say. “What’s wrong with your voice?”
    “Allergies. Maybe it was from the smog down there.” Mom tries to laugh, but it sounds fake.
    “Where are you?”
    “Home.”
    I wait to hear some signs that my dad is in the house as well. A television sportscast in the background, maybe the clanging of plates and pans in the kitchen. But nothing.
    “Have you made any friends?” my mother asks.
    “No,” I say, trying to push the skateboarder’s face from my mind. “I’ve barely been here. Anyway, I’m surrounded by old people,” I whisper.
    “Now stop complaining. Have you gotten any customers yet?”
    “No. I’m still trying to learn how to fold these things. Grandma Michi even grades my cranes.”
    That piece of news doesn’t seem to faze my mother. “Well, if all goes well, Mom told me that she’s going to give you half the money for every display you work on. A hundred and fifty dollars each. Some college kids don’t even make that much for a week’s worth of work.”
    My mother is good at distractions, but I’m not going to let her get away with it this time. “I haven’t spoken to Dad yet. He has my cell phone number, doesn’t he?”
    Silence. “Angie.” I can barely hear my mother’s voice. She clears her throat. “Angie,” she says again, more loudly. “Your father has moved out.”
    I feel as though I’m falling backward into a dark hole. The world is spinning. It shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is. My nose starts to run.