The Swirling Blue (Chapters 1-5)

PROLOGUE:1

"Please give me a name,” the twelve-year-old wrote on a “sign.” Her ink was soot and ashes, her “paper” a slab of wood. This might work, she thought.2

She had suffered a lot. She was an Amer-Asian living on the streets of Vietnam. Being a homeless orphan was bad. Being Amer-Asian in Korea was worse. But being nameless was worst.3

Her father had taught her English. She remembered him. Laughing blue eyes, an odd spattering of brownish-orange polka dots on his face, and long limbs. She remembered watching the sky swirl by as he whirled her around, then her face was smashed against his no-longer crisp uniform in a hug. Then her feet were on the ground again and she watched his long legs walk away. He left with her that memory, brief knowledge of the English language, and the feeling that life was good and she belonged to a world made for a freckled soldier and herself with a beautiful sky.4

Her mother left no such memories. Just hard, sad, determined eyes. After that, her sky was gray, there was no soldier, and there was no her. She had no name.5

But another American G.I. could change that. He could give her a name. When she grew up she could go to America and meet her father. With no name, she could to nothing.6

"Please give me a name," she wrote on a sign, hoping it looked neat and American. She needed this and no more. With a name, she had a future, as bright and expansive as the sky on the day her father left.7


CHAPTER 1:8

When my mother left it was not an occasion like with my father. She dropped me off on the street. I remember it like a snapshot permanently engrained in my memory. The sky was a dull, almost grainy gray. My life felt the same way. Dirty, ragged children played randomly. Some sat with no hope in their eyes, other just lived not expecting anything more than they had, and others tried to take life as it came. You could tell by the choices they made. Those were few and far between.9

I decided to be one of them.10

My mother did not hug me. That was not our way. She just looked at me steadily and slight emotion flickered across her usually stoic face. “Make a life for yourself,” was the last thing she said to me before she left. I do not remember her walking away. She was just there, she left a morsel of wisdom with me, and seemingly disappeared.11

She did not disappear from my life, but that moment was the last moment where we were allowed to be mother and daughter in this world. I saw her on street corners sometimes. She was different. She was made up and dressed in less than usual. I had seen her like this before. Some nights when she would leave me, thinking I was asleep but not trying to hide her profession if I was awake. When I would see her on a corner with similarly attired women, she would usually not acknowledge me. When she did, it would be another long, unreadable look.12

My mother is my mother so there is an unbreakable tie between us. It was once a thick umbilical cord, now it is as threadbare as my clothes. I have not seen her in a long time and if I did it would not change much. Our relationship is done. She has decided this and nothing will change it.13

I am still trying to make a life for myself. I have set goals; get a name, find my father, make a good life for myself--maybe in America. I do not yet know where the road I am on is leading me.14

I am currently nineteen years. That is what the American G.I.’s told me. I met most of them when I was twelve. They have been stationed here indefinitely to “maintain peace.” I do not know how they know I am nineteen. There are three that I encounter frequently. They have told me to call them Larry, Curly, and Moe. I do not understand this, as Curly is not even curly. They have tried to explain it is from a television show. I have never seen a television show but I know what they are. They are for the rich. Larry, Curly, and Moe are not rich though. I can tell from their eyes. Maybe Americans do not have to be rich to be privileged.15

This thought makes me smile. Maybe one day I will live in America, with my father, and know this privilege firsthand.16


CHAPTER 2:17

It’s been two months. 18

Every night, I sleep on my sign so other kids will not steal it and use it for fun or to take to The Office so they can go to America. One girl, is Amer-Asian too, but she has no proof so she cannot go to America for free. I can go because I know English and have blue eyes and brown, wavy hair. She does not look part-American. Maybe her father had dark hair and dark eyes too. She has tried to steal my sign before. So now I sleep on it.19

In the mornings I usually get up and walk for almost an hour to find Larry, Curly, and Moe. There are always G.I.’s near them. Some of them raise the corner of their lip in an unpleasant greeting and others wave tolerantly. So far they all regard me with amused detachment.20

“I don’t know what to do,” I confide in Moe, while Larry and Curly are at the creek. Moe is most understanding.21

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” he asks, while fiddling with his canteen. He has called me that since he first met me and has seen no reason to stop.22

“Are they going to give me a name?” I tilt my head toward the other Americans and give Moe a long look like my mother would give.23

He looks back. And then down. He keeps playing with his canteen and silverware, polishing them against his uniform.24

“Well?”25

He sighs. “I hate to tell you this, cause it might not be true. Maybe a name will change everything. But if The Office doesn’t have your name on a record, and you don’t know your father’s name, then your own made-up name is not going to change much.” He looks at me worried and expectantly. Sometimes when I talk to them about my life they give me those looks. By now I know they are expecting me to cry. I have heard in American movies, the women cry a lot and the men worry and comfort them.26

When I was younger, crying made me feel worse for a while but when I was done I would feel better and not need to cry for a long time. Crying now would only make me feel worse. I have to numb my sad feelings and use my good feelings or else I will not make it.27

So I do not cry and Moe looks relieved. Larry and Curly are coming back now. Moe squints up at them with the sun in his eyes. “Hey. We were just thinking of a name for her.”28


CHAPTER 3:29

The looks Larry and Curly give him make me understand that they have been talking about me without me. This gives me two feelings. I feel bad that they have been talking without me and feeling bad for me. But I feel good that they care. I knew they liked me maybe a little--they talk to me. But no one has sincerely cared since the day my father left.30

I do not even need to numb my bad feeling now, the good feeling is spreading through me with no room for the bad.31

They are having a conversation without me, communicated with their eyes, but I do not mind. I draw figures in the dirt, looking up at them momentarily, until they are done.32

“Anna!” Curly says and I look up.33

“What?”34

“Your name. Anna.”35

Larry nods. “Yeah. She looks like an Anna.”36

Moe hits him nicely on the arm. “Don‘t be a stooge! She is Anna.”37

Curly is the peacemaker, and Larry is the troublemaker, and Moe is the listener. Curly explains, “She looks American and the name is American. That’s all he meant.”38

Sometimes they have conversations that I have to ignore. I do not understand them and I do not think anyone could unless they were one of them.39

I feel so good. I lay down and close my eyes, full of feeling. I feel happy and cared for and I have a name. I want to dance. This is not a feeling I am familiar with. So I settle for just opening my eyes.40

Finally, I see it. The sun is shining. The sky is blue. 41

So I don’t smother my instinct. I stand up and spin around with my face toward the sun and my arms out. It is not the same as before, but the sky swirls and I feel happy.42


CHAPTER 4:43

There is no need to waste time. Larry, Curly, and Moe are not going anywhere. I will go straight to The Office. Moe offers to come with me, which makes the others join in too. But I refuse. Sometimes I forget that they are here on business and not on vacation. They have jobs and orders to attend to, even though they seem to always make time for me when I arrive. Very rarely have I not been able to see them when I want to.44

But this is my responsibility. I take my sign and set off for The Office. It takes me over an hour to get to the city. Having never been to The Office before, I have to ask a vendor where it is. I find one that looks relatively friendly and inquire about the location of The Office. No one calls it by its real name. We all know what it is. Everyone in the city knows where it is.45

He spits at me. “You are a cursed half-breed, but Korea is your home. You could never leave.” I wipe the lukewarm slime off my cheek and do not answer. I do not need him to like or understand me, I just need directions. I give him one of my mother’s long looks and wait. He curses but tells me where it is.46

I knew he would tell me where I needed to go. He was not a bad man, I could see it in his eyes. He did not slap me or shove me. He helped me and in broad daylight, where potential customers could see. Not many would do that. He was not a bad man, he just had anger deep inside, as many of us do, and the mixed are an easy target to vent on. Nonetheless, I do not trust his directions. But I have to take them, so I continue walking.47

His directions get me there. If I had money I would buy something from him on the way home in thanks. He would not appreciate my business, but he would appreciate the money.48

The Office is not what I expected at all. It is only a long, wide hallway with a single small window on one side. It is lined with inhabited chairs and at the end is a wooden desk with a white man behind it. I expected an American man like my G.I. friends or an Asian man who would at least pretend to be tolerant of mixed. This American man is not tolerant of the mixed or “full bred.” And there are many full bred here. I do not know why. The Office is strictly for half-Americans who go to America for free to live with a family member.49

He looks at me over the top of little, rectangular spectacles self-importantly. “Excellent. Take a seat.” But he does not think it is excellent.50

I am doubting that I will ever get to America now. Doubt is an uncommon feeling for me. I have learned that one is more confident and determined in successful if there is no room for doubt in their mind. But even as I give this man a long look, I am doubting.51


CHAPTER 5:52

When I return to Larry, Curly, and Moe they all look up hopefully. I like that about them. They are always interested in me…and life in general. I am surrounded by people who do not care about life and want a way out of it. Or at least life here.53

Curly speaks up.54

“So? Did you go? What happened?”55

I think for a minute try to put my thoughts in words. Moe and Larry smile at each other in the way that always alerts me I am accidentally giving them one of Mama’s looks. I have not called her Mama in so long it almost startles me to think it. Maybe what just happened has provoked memories and feelings of my childhood in me.56

“I went.”57

Moe sits up straighter. “Are you going?”58

I nod.59

Larry jumps up and whoops and tosses his hat in the air, dancing around foolishly. This is not an unusual occurrence for him. Curly gives me a big bright smile. “Congratulations!”60

Moe watches me thoughtfully and curiously. “When?”61

I hand him my papers. I speak English and can write some but I cannot read.62

“In three weeks,” he says, looking up as he hands me my papers.63

I can tell he understands. I am going to miss them and my life here, as miserable as it can be. I do not remember this feeling. Not when my mother left me. Maybe that was not a big enough change. But now I remember. When I realized my father was not coming back, I felt this way. I quickly coped by determining to find him in America one day. Now that I can, I feel a strong sense of attachment to my life here.64

Nonetheless, three weeks later I am standing on the docks with Larry, Curly and Moe. We hug and they all leave me with a morsel of wisdom, their traveling addresses, and their permanent addresses in America. “My term is up next year,” Moe tells me. “If you ever need a place, feel free.”65

When are goodbyes are through, I push them to the back of my mind. I will never forget them but I cannot focus on them now. I need to be strong because this is it. I look out at the ocean and realize that it too is one, expansive, swirling blue. In it, my future.