Counting by 7s(30)

She says she wants to try their French fries.

Mai is thin, but I’m starting to realize that she has a monster appetite, especially for things that she previously has been denied.

I don’t say anything about the long-term health issues associated with potato consumption, which has a link to juvenile weight gain.

I’m done with my job as consumer advocate/health adviser.



Inside Happy Jack’s, I sit, puffy-eyed, next to Mai, who orders me a slice of chocolate peanut butter pie.

We are in a booth with a very high back and I can see right away that Mai likes it here.

She says it’s cozy.

It takes some effort, but I manage to eventually communicate that I’d like hot water with honey and three tablespoons of white vinegar. This is harder than it should be.

Dell orders a cup of coffee.

The school counselor goes back and forth between looking very happy and very anxious.

I ignore the mood swings.

I’m ignoring everything, so it’s not too hard.

After our food has arrived, Dell gets up and goes to the bathroom. But I see him peek over his shoulder before he disappears behind the squeaky men’s room door.

His face says that we’re potential runaways.

He doesn’t need to worry because I know for a fact that Mai’s not leaving this place until she’s finished her French fries.

And I’ve run out of options for fleeing.

But once he’s gone, Mai gets up from the table.

I see her talking to our waitress, who is definitely someone’s great-grandmother. Or at least old enough to be. She is very kind. I wonder how she’d feel about taking care of a twelve-year-old.

I manage to get down a few small bites of the pie.

Chocolate and peanut butter—despite the fact that I do my best to avoid the intake of refined sugar—are a worthy combination.

But right now the food tastes like a wood product.

Mai comes back, and she and I speak in Vietnamese. Or to be accurate, Mai speaks in that language. I only listen.

She is still working on her food when Dell returns and flags down the waitress.

He asks for the check and she says:

“You’re gonna have to wait for the rest of your order, Big Boy. It’s not up yet.”

Dell looks at Mai, who is expressionless.

I fixate on the idea of someone calling Dell Duke “Big Boy.”

It’s a very aggressive thing to do.

Especially if the woman is looking for a good tip.

And then I realize the waitress has him right where she wants him. He looks more anxious now.

But I just stare at my chocolate peanut butter pie with the two missing bites and wonder how it all came to this.



The next step in my journey also turns out to be Mai’s idea.

She finds out that Dell’s apartment has two bedrooms.

She’s talking and I realize that she is giving him an explanation of why her family doesn’t have the right kind of living conditions for me.

Dell has no idea about their garage setup. And she’s not telling him.

But before Dell realizes what’s going on, the teenager is on his cell phone, speaking to her mother in a language that he can’t understand.



Minutes later the senior food server returns, carrying a large white sack filled with take-out containers.

Mai gives the waitress a sweet smile and accepts the greasy bag.

Dell looks down at the bill, which has just been dropped in front of him.

In addition to the food on the table, there is a to-go fried chicken dinner, a fish and chips plate, a fresh fruit plate, and six large pickles.

Dell finishes my pie while the waitress runs his credit card.

And he doesn’t look happy about it.



Foster parents.

That’s what I need.

I have studied astrophysics and even waste management systems in space aircraft, but I have never given any thought to the procedure for custody or guardianship of a minor in the state of California.

Life, I now realize, is just one big trek across a minefield and you never know which step is going to blow you up.



Right now I’m back at Jamison.

They are talking about me in other rooms.

And while it is physically impossible for this to happen, I can hear them.

I’ve been left in the nurse’s office.

No one wants me fainting twice.

The attack elephant was still in place in the waiting area out front. I steered clear of that on my own.

I’m now on an examining bench in a dark room. That white crinkly paper underneath my body means that I literally can’t shift a muscle without making the same noise as eating potato chips.

Fortunately, I’m an expert at not moving.



My friends stand outside in the parking lot.

I can see them through the spaces in the window blinds.

From a distance, they look suspicious.

Their bodies are too close and their postures are rigid.

The late-day Bakersfield sun beats down, bouncing off from the cars and the blacktop. Anyone in his or her right mind would have gone inside to the air-conditioned building.

I can see Mai brokering the deal.

She is speaking to her mother. I will find out later that she says: “We’ll put down his address. And then in the future, when they come visit, we can go over and make it look like we live there.”