Counting by 7s(44)

This is what I used in the past to feed hummingbirds in my garden.

Now I pour the still-warm syrup into a bowl and I go back downstairs. But first I put on my red sun hat.

Outside, I take a seat right next to the flowering bottlebrush tree.

I dip my hands into the sugary mixture and I sit very, very, very still.

It takes a long time, but a ruby-throated hummingbird finally descends and eats from the tip of my unmoving, sweetened index finger.

I’ve heard that there are places that hold statue contests.

But I’m certain that they aren’t anywhere near Bakersfield.



I will see only what I want to see.

It’s possible that’s how people get through crisis.

The world where we live is so much in our head.

If I’m sent by the state of California to foster care in a remote location with no Internet and no books and no vegetables, where I will live with a family who secretly worship Satan and only eat canned meat, then so be it.

Until then, my life is at the Gardens of Glenwood.

And I’m thinking this place needs a real garden.





Chapter 40





It happens, as most things do, in the smallest of ways.

I take a few clippings.

I’m not thinking about what I’ll do with them.

I’m getting out of Dell’s car three days later and the monthly maintenance man has trimmed the lone jade plant by the front entrance of the apartment building.

A few of the cut pieces are still on the ground.

I pick them up.

I take the clippings inside, and place them in a water glass.

The light is good by the front windows. It’s south-facing.



I have my counseling this morning.

I walk from the nail salon to Dell’s office and I realize that I’m looking at the lawns and the trees and the flower-beds as I make my way there.

I haven’t seen them until today.

I know it’s not possible that all of this stuff was planted in the last week.

What have I been looking at for the last six weeks?

I arrive at Dell’s office and we pretend, as always, that nothing has changed and we don’t live in the same apartment complex on the same floor of the same neighborhood of Bakersfield.

He doesn’t drive Pattie and me to the nail salon every morning.

He doesn’t eat dinner with us.

He doesn’t watch hours of inappropriate TV with Quang-ha.

I slide into the chair and he says: “We need to talk about going back to school.”

I say:

“I’m not ready.”

Dell Duke looks at me, and whatever my face is doing seems to be working, because he shrugs and says: “Okay.”

We spend the rest of the session pretty much staring at nothing. And then right when it’s time for me to go, he says: “Tell me one thing that I can do to make your life better.”

I’m surprised when a voice comes out of my body.

“You could get me a packet of sunflower seeds.”

Dell leans forward.

“For eating?”

I answer:

“For planting.”

He nods. But then he repeats:

“For planting?”

I say:

“Yes.”



Pattie and I ride the bus at the end of the day back to the apartment and Dell is waiting for us in the living room.

He’s with Quang-ha and the TV is on.

He gets up and takes us into the kitchen.

He has two dozen packets of sunflower seeds spread out on the counter.

I could grow a field of sunflowers.

He says:

“I never knew that there were so many kinds. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I got them all.”

I look down at the sunflower packets and see Honey Bears and Strawberry Blondes. There are Vanilla Ice and Chianti Hybrids. I see Fantasia and Tangina and Del Sol.

He’s even picked up a packet of pollen-free bloomers.

I stare at the seed envelopes and it’s too much.

My eyelashes collect tears.

For so long I couldn’t cry.

But I guess once you learn, it’s like everything else; it gets easier with practice.

I know that Dell’s not a very competent person.

He’s not even a particularly interesting person, unless he’s judged by his organizational disorders.

But until this moment I hadn’t realized that he’s a really caring person.

I don’t know what to say.

So I scoop up the seed packets and go straight to my room.

I hear Dell ask Pattie:

“Did I do something wrong?”

I don’t hear her answer.



After dinner I go down the hall and tell Dell that I’m going to open a few of the packets.

He comes back to #28 and together with Mai we spread some seeds onto a wet paper towel that I’ve placed on a cookie sheet.

I then explain that for a few days I will keep these seeds moist.

This will ease the process of germination.

Mai and Dell watch. They look pretty interested.

I tell them:

“Sunflowers are indigenous to the Americas. They came from Mexico.”

From the other room a voice says: “My dad came from Mexico.”