Read My Name Is Not Easy for Free Online
Authors: Debby Dahl Edwardson
potatoes,” Donna said quietly.
Chickie put her fork down with a sigh and studied the dry brown meat, slimy vegetables, and wedge of pie. At least the pie looked good. She took a bite of it, just to see, watching the nuns, who still stood by their food in the food line. It was apple pie with real apples and it did taste good.
Apple pie is as American as Wheaties and milk. Th at’s what
Swede said one time. Not that they ever got Wheaties and milk at home. Th
ey’d probably get lots of Wheaties at Sacred
Heart, though, lots of Wheaties with this lumpy powdered milk. Canned milk was better. Why couldn’t they have canned milk? Chickie took another bite of pie and looked at Donna sideways.
“I wonder if that tall nun is the one who does the baking,”
she said. In fact she was pretty sure that the tall one, Sister Mary Kate, was the pie baker, but she fi gured she ought to be polite, her being new and all. Aaka Mae said she had a tendency to be bossy, and she wanted to be sure not to be too bossy with her new roommate, her fi rst friend at Sacred Heart School.
Th
e nuns were starting to put the food away now, and
Donna had turned to watch them. Chickie turned, too. An old priest was standing next to the wall by the door, all draped 33
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M Y N A M E I S N O T E A S Y
in black. He looked like a black cat, that’s what Chickie thought. Like a big black cat waiting to catch something live in his skinny old claws. Donna looked at him, too, but only for a second. Th
en she looked away quick like she already
knew that priest, already knew all about him.
Chickie looked back at the nuns, but she could still feel that priest watching them. It made her skin prickle. She quickly took another bite of pie, studying the way the nuns were putting away the food.
“Th
e tall one is Sister Mary Kate,” Chickie told Donna, helping herself to more pie. “I wonder if she’s going to teach us how to cook. She’s a good cook, don’t you think?”
“Maybe it’s the other one who makes the pies,” Donna said.
Chickie almost laughed out loud. She didn’t want to be rude or anything, but that skinny old nun disappearing into the kitchen with stringy beans looked way too mean to make a pie this sweet.
Chickie looked back at the priest, but he wasn’t looking at her and Donna, she realized suddenly. He was watching the boys. Boys take a lot more watching than girls do. Th at’s what
Chickie fi gured.
“Did your mom teach you how to cook?” Chickie asked Donna.
She tried to say it real easy like a normal kid would say it, a kid with a mom. But Donna gave her a funny look anyhow, like she knew.
“I never learned to cook,” Donna said quietly.
34
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I N D I A N C O U N T R Y / S o n n y a n d C h i c k i e It’s true that a person can tell things about another person without anybody saying it. For instance, you can almost always tell by their hair which girls have mothers and which don’t.
Chickie’s hair was wild as a snowstorm, whereas Donna’s was tame as black syrup. Chickie teased a piece of pie crust back and forth across her plate, suddenly self-conscious.
“I don’t have a mother,” Donna said.
Chickie looked up, surprised. Donna took a bite of her own pie and didn’t say another word.
Two of the Eskimo kids were talking to each other in Eskimo, and Chickie could see right away that the priest did not like this. Not at all.
It’s true that some people get mad when they can’t understand what other people are saying, and Chickie could tell that this priest was one of those kinds of people. She looked back at Donna, but Donna wasn’t looking at the priest and she wasn’t looking at Chickie, either. She was looking straight out the window, her eyes empty, like she’d gone someplace else, someplace where priests couldn’t go.
Chickie looked out the window, too.
Chickie put her fork down with a sigh and studied the dry brown meat, slimy vegetables, and wedge of pie. At least the pie looked good. She took a bite of it, just to see, watching the nuns, who still stood by their food in the food line. It was apple pie with real apples and it did taste good.
Apple pie is as American as Wheaties and milk. Th at’s what
Swede said one time. Not that they ever got Wheaties and milk at home. Th
ey’d probably get lots of Wheaties at Sacred
Heart, though, lots of Wheaties with this lumpy powdered milk. Canned milk was better. Why couldn’t they have canned milk? Chickie took another bite of pie and looked at Donna sideways.
“I wonder if that tall nun is the one who does the baking,”
she said. In fact she was pretty sure that the tall one, Sister Mary Kate, was the pie baker, but she fi gured she ought to be polite, her being new and all. Aaka Mae said she had a tendency to be bossy, and she wanted to be sure not to be too bossy with her new roommate, her fi rst friend at Sacred Heart School.
Th
e nuns were starting to put the food away now, and
Donna had turned to watch them. Chickie turned, too. An old priest was standing next to the wall by the door, all draped 33
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M Y N A M E I S N O T E A S Y
in black. He looked like a black cat, that’s what Chickie thought. Like a big black cat waiting to catch something live in his skinny old claws. Donna looked at him, too, but only for a second. Th
en she looked away quick like she already
knew that priest, already knew all about him.
Chickie looked back at the nuns, but she could still feel that priest watching them. It made her skin prickle. She quickly took another bite of pie, studying the way the nuns were putting away the food.
“Th
e tall one is Sister Mary Kate,” Chickie told Donna, helping herself to more pie. “I wonder if she’s going to teach us how to cook. She’s a good cook, don’t you think?”
“Maybe it’s the other one who makes the pies,” Donna said.
Chickie almost laughed out loud. She didn’t want to be rude or anything, but that skinny old nun disappearing into the kitchen with stringy beans looked way too mean to make a pie this sweet.
Chickie looked back at the priest, but he wasn’t looking at her and Donna, she realized suddenly. He was watching the boys. Boys take a lot more watching than girls do. Th at’s what
Chickie fi gured.
“Did your mom teach you how to cook?” Chickie asked Donna.
She tried to say it real easy like a normal kid would say it, a kid with a mom. But Donna gave her a funny look anyhow, like she knew.
“I never learned to cook,” Donna said quietly.
34
my name is n ot easy final text_.indd Sec1:34
18/07/2011 8:25 PM
I N D I A N C O U N T R Y / S o n n y a n d C h i c k i e It’s true that a person can tell things about another person without anybody saying it. For instance, you can almost always tell by their hair which girls have mothers and which don’t.
Chickie’s hair was wild as a snowstorm, whereas Donna’s was tame as black syrup. Chickie teased a piece of pie crust back and forth across her plate, suddenly self-conscious.
“I don’t have a mother,” Donna said.
Chickie looked up, surprised. Donna took a bite of her own pie and didn’t say another word.
Two of the Eskimo kids were talking to each other in Eskimo, and Chickie could see right away that the priest did not like this. Not at all.
It’s true that some people get mad when they can’t understand what other people are saying, and Chickie could tell that this priest was one of those kinds of people. She looked back at Donna, but Donna wasn’t looking at the priest and she wasn’t looking at Chickie, either. She was looking straight out the window, her eyes empty, like she’d gone someplace else, someplace where priests couldn’t go.
Chickie looked out the window, too.