Bitter cold fog seeping in during the mornings,people jogging with their running jackets onin Summer, Chinese restaurantsand hardware stores, block afterblock of the same stuccocottage-cheesy houses in timid colors.My mother cried when she first sawour new house on Santiago,a white box with pink-trimmed windowson a flat street, nothing at alllike the Victorian we rented. She told my father she wantedto take my sister backand rent a one-room efficiency,at least Chinatown was warm,and everyone spoke our language.We were one of the first families,sprung from Chinatown—the smelly fishand crabs, the sidewalk snot and urine,the rotting garbage—to move into this desolateneighborhood of fog and stucco. Here, my mother started sewingfor a sweatshopthat delivered piece work, collectedleftover fabric to make our clothes.At Parkside Elementary, 25th and Ulloa,my sister and I wore matching coatsand bellbottom jeans with elastic waistbands.The friendly long-sleeved mothers of Parksideused to point at us, laughingthrough their noses,How adorable. Chinese girls. Twins.In school, their children beat us up,dragged my sister into the bathroomand took her clothes off in a stallto see what a Chinese butt looked like. Looking back,I don’t know why my father moved usto the Sunset in 1973. He must have thoughtwe were very strong people, making our homeout in the fog.
Konch Magazine.
© Priscilla Lee. All rights reserved.