Tuesday after the Science Groove,
Karen and Kim sit at a table in the cafeteria
and hang their pocketbooks on the chairs.
I take my tray over to them, and ask,
“Do you still want to learn Japanese?”
“Yes,” they say, nodding so hard the table teeters.
“Teach us some words.”
“Okay, here’s one—baka.”
“Baka,” they repeat. “What’s that mean?”
“Well, it’s hard to translate . . . but it’s a sign
of respect,” I say,
and hold my hand over my mouth like Mama.
This is fun.
“Like, you say it to teachers?”
“That’s right. And your parents.”
“Is that what your mom says to your dad?”
“All the time,” I say,
and pick up my tray to go.
“Sit with us,” they say,
and smile.
That’s when I stop laughing
and almost tell them the truth.
That’s when I wish I could tell them
how much it hurts and how lonely I feel—
which is why I just taught them a word
my mom would be ashamed to know
that I know.