I wish we had flown to Vermont
instead of riding
on a bus, train, train, bus
all the way from Berkeley.
Ten hours would have soared, compared to six days.
But two plane tickets—
one for me and one for Mama—
would have cost a lot of money,
and Papa already spent so much
when he flew home at Thanksgiving.
Mama is sewing buttons on my new slacks
and helping me fill out the forms
for my new school in Hillsborough, our new town.
This might be a new year
but seventh grade is halfway done,
and I’ll be the new girl.
I’m stuck at the Ethnicity part.
Check only one, it says.
The choices are:
White
Black
Puerto Rican
Portuguese
Hispanic
Oriental
Other
I am
half Mama,
half Papa,
and all me.
Isn’t that all anyone needs to know?
But the form says All items must be completed,
so I ask, “Other?”
Mama pushes her brows together,
making what Papa calls her Toshiro-Mifune face.
“Check all that apply,” she says.
“But it says just one.”
“Do you listen to your mother or a piece of paper?”
I check off Black,
cross out Oriental,
and write Japanese with a check mark.
“What will we do now, Mimi-chan?” Mama asks,
which means: Will you read
or do algebra, so you’re not behind?
“Take a nap,” I say.
Mama frowns,
but I close my eyes
and pretend we’re flying.
The bus driver is the pilot
and every bump in the road
becomes an air pocket in the sky.