Inside Out and Back Again Read online

  I told her about.

  I almost scream

  because the doll

  with long black hair

  is so beautiful.

  But I whisper,

  Thank you.

  My high emotions

  are squished beneath

  the embarrassment

  of not having a gift

  for her.

  December 25

  What If

  Brother Quang asks

  what if

  Father escaped to Cambodia

  and is building an army

  to go back and change history?

  Vu Lee asks

  what if

  Father escaped to France

  but can’t remember his own history,

  so he builds a new family

  and is happy?

  Brother Khôi asks

  what if

  Father escaped to Tibet

  after shaving his head

  and joining a monastery?

  I can’t think of anything

  but can’t let my brothers best me,

  so I blurt out,

  What if

  Father is really gone?

  From the sad look

  on their faces

  I know

  despite their brave guesses

  they have begun to accept

  what I said on a whim.

  December 29

  A Sign

  Mother says nothing

  about Father

  but

  she chants every night,

  long chants

  where her voice

  wavers between

  hope and acceptance.

  She’s waiting

  for a sign.

  I’ll decide

  what she decides.

  December 30

  No More

  First day back

  after Christmas break,

  I know I’m supposed

  to wear everything new.

  I don’t have

  anything new

  except for the coat,

  and a hand-me-down dress

  still wrapped in plastic.

  It’s beige with blue flowers

  made from a fabric fuzzy and thick,

  perfect for this cold day.

  Best of all

  it’s past my knees,

  perfect for a cold bike ride.

  Pem is wearing a new skirt

  falling to her calves, as always.

  SSsì-Ti-Vân’s new white shirt

  looks stiff as a wall.

  As soon as I remove my coat,

  everyone stops talking.

  A girl in red velvet

  comes over to me.

  Don’t ya know flannel

  is for nightgowns and sheets?

  I panic.

  Pem shrugs.

  I can’t wear pants

  or cut my hair

  or wear skirts above my calves;

  what do I care what you wear?

  SSsì-Ti-Vân says,

  It looks like a dress to me.

  The red-velvet girl

  points to the middle

  of my chest.

  See this flower?

  They only put that

  on nightgowns.

  I look down

  at the tiny blue flower

  barely stitched on.

  I rip it off.

  Nightgown no more.

  January 5

  Seeds

  I wear the same dress

  to sleep,

  telling Mother why.

  I pretended not to care,

  then no one cared,

  so I really didn’t care.

  Mother laughs.

  I tell her

  a much worse embarrassment

  is not having

  a gift for Pem.

  Mother nods, thinks,

  goes to her top drawer.

  I was saving this for you

  for Tt,

  but why wait?

  In her palm lies

  the tin of flower seeds

  I had gathered with TiTi.

  Perfect for Pem!

  Mother always

  thinks of everything.

  January 5

  Night

  Gone

  Mother runs in after work,

  hands clenched into white balls,

  words chopped into grunts,

  face of ash.

  We stare at her left hand.

  The amethyst stone is gone!

  Brother Quang drives us back

  to the sewing factory

  in his car made of mismatched parts.

  We search where Mother sat,

  then retrace her steps

  to the cafeteria

  to the bathroom

  to the parking lot.

  We repeat so often we lose count,

  propelled by Mother’s

  wild eyes and

  pressed mouth,

  frightened of what

  her expression would be

  if…

  At dusk,

  the guards shoo us out.

  We’re afraid to look at Mother.

  January 14

  Truly Gone

  When home,

  Mother

  retreats to our room,

  misses dinner,

  remains soundless.

  At bedtime

  we hear

  the gong,

  then chanting.

  The chant is long,

  the voice

  low and sure.

  Finally

  she appears,

  looks at each of us.

  Your father is

  truly gone.

  January 14

  Late

  Eternal Peace

  Mother wears

  her brown áo dài

  brought from home.

  Each of my brothers

  wears a suit,

  too small or too big.

  I wear a pink dress

  of ruffles and lace,

  which I hate,

  but at least

  it’s definitely a dress.

  Each of us faces the altar,

  holding a lit incense stick

  between palms in prayer.

  Father’s portrait

  stares back.

  This is as old

  as we’ll ever know him.

  That thought

  turns my eyes

  red.

  Mother says,

  We’ll chant

  for Father’s safe passage

  toward eternal peace,

  where his parents await him.

  She pauses,

  voice choked.

  Father won’t leave

  if we hold on to him.

  If you feel like crying,

  think

  at least now

  we know.

  At least

  we no longer live

  in waiting.

  January 17

  Start Over

  I’m trying to tell

  MiSSSisss WaSShington

  about our ceremony for Father.

  But it takes time to

  match every noun and verb,

  sort all the tenses,

  remember all the articles,

  set the tone for every s.

  MiSSSisss WaSShington says

  if every learner waits

  to speak perfectly,

  no one would learn

  a new language.

  Being stubborn

  won’t make you fluent.

  Practicing will!

  The more mistakes you make,

  the more you’ll learn not to.

  They laugh.

  Shame on them!

  Challenge them to say

  something in Vietnamese

  and laugh right back.

  I tell her

  Father is at p
eace.

  I tell her

  I’d like to plant

  flowers from

  Vietnam

  in her backyard.

  I tell her

  Tt is coming

  and luck starts over

  every new year.

  January 19

  An Engineer, a Chef, a Vet, and Not a Lawyer

  Brother Quang

  has started night school

  to restudy engineering

  to become what

  he was meant to be.

  Mother smiles.

  Vu Lee

  refuses to apply to a real college,

  instead will go to a cooking school

  in San-fran-cis-co,

  where his idol once walked.

  Mother sighs,

  twists her brows

  to no effect.

  Brother Khôi

  announces he will become a doctor

  of animals.

  Mother starts to say something,

  then nods.

  Mother has always wanted

  an engineer, a real doctor, a poet,

  and a lawyer.

  She turns to me.

  You love to argue, right?

  No I don’t.

  She brightens.

  I vow to become

  much more agreeable.

  January 29

  1976: Year of the Dragon

  This Tt

  there’s no I Ching Teller of Fate,

  so Mother predicts our year.

  Our lives

  will twist and twist,

  intermingling the old and the new

  until it doesn’t matter

  which is which.

  This Tt

  there’s no bánh chng

  in the shape of a square,

  made of pork,

  glutinous rice,

  and mung beans,

  wrapped in banana leaves.

  Mother makes her own

  in the shape of a log,

  made of pork,

  regular rice,

  and black beans,

  wrapped in cloth.

  Not the same,

  but not bad.

  As with every Tt

  we are expected to

  smile until it hurts

  all three first days

  of the year,

  wear all new clothes

  especially underneath,

  not sweep,

  not splash water,

  not talk back,

  not pout.

  Mother thinks of everything.

  She even asked Brother Quang

  to bless the house

  right after midnight,

  so I couldn’t beat him to it

  by touching my big toe

  to the carpet before dawn.

  Mother has set up

  an altar

  on the highest bookshelf.

  The same, forever-young

  portrait of Father.

  I have to look away.

  We each hold an incense stick

  and wait for the gong.

  I pray for

  Father to find warmth in his new home,

  Mother to keep smiling more,

  Brother Quang to enjoy his studies,

  Vu Lee to drive me from and to school,

  Brother Khôi to hatch an American chick.

  I open my eyes.

  The others are still praying.

  What could they be asking for?

  I think and think

  then close my eyes again.

  This year I hope

  I truly learn

  to fly-kick,

  not to kick anyone

  so much as

  to fly.

  January 31

  Tt

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader:

  Much of what happened to Hà, the main character in Inside Out & Back Again, also happened to me.

  At age ten, I, too, witnessed the end of the Vietnam War and fled to Alabama with my family. I, too, had a father who was missing in action. I also had to learn English and even had my arm hair pulled the first day of school. The fourth graders wanted to make sure I was real, not an image they had seen on TV. So many details in this story were inspired by my own memories.

  Aside from remembering facts, I worked hard to capture Hà’s emotional life. What was it like to live where bombs exploded every night yet where sweet snacks popped up at every corner? What was it like to sit on a ship heading toward hope? What was it like to go from knowing you’re smart to feeling dumb all the time?

  The emotional aspect is important because of something I noticed in my nieces and nephews. They may know in general where their parents came from, but they can’t really imagine the noises and smells of Vietnam, the daily challenges of starting over in a strange land. I extend this idea to all: How much do we know about those around us?

  I hope you enjoy reading about Hà as much as I have enjoyed remembering the pivotal year in my life. I also hope after you finish this book that you sit close to someone you love and implore that person to tell and tell and tell their story.

  Thanhha Lai

  Acknowledgments

  Much thanks to Angie Wojak, Joe Hosking, Sarah Sevier, Tara Weikum, Rosemary Stimola, and of course my family (M, Ch Mai, Anh Anh, Anh Tun, Anh Nam, Anh Zng, Anh Tin, Anh Sn, Ch Hng), with whom I shared April 30, 1975, and weeks on a ship, events that decades later led me to Henri and An.

  About the Author

  THANHHA LAI was born in Vietnam and moved to Alabama at the end of the war. She lives in New York City with her family.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Credits

  Jacket art © 2011 by Zdenko Baši and Manuel Šumberac

  Jacket design by Ray Shappell

  Copyright

  INSIDE OUT & BACK AGAIN. Copyright © 2011 by Thanhha Lai. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Lai, Thanhha.

  Inside out and back again / Thanhha Lai.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Through a series of poems, a young girl chronicles the life-changing year of 1975, when she, her mother, and her brothers leave Vietnam and resettle in Alabama.

  ISBN 978-0-06-196278-3

  [1. Novels in verse. 2. Vietnamese Americans—Fiction. 3. Emigration and immigration—Fiction. 4. Immigrants—Fiction. 5. Vietnam—History—1971–1980—Fiction. 6. Alabama—History—1951—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.5.L35In 2011 2010007855

  [Fic]—dc22 CIP

  AC

  FIRST EDITION

  EPub Edition © January 2011 ISBN: 978-0-06-206972-6

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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