Girl in Translation

But it was after we lined up to be given our gym uniforms (green T-shirts and the wide shorts I had seen earlier) and crowded into the locker room that I knew I was really in trouble.

SEVEN

All of the other girls began stripping down. We’d never had to change for gym at my old school. We’d only had to switch to sneakers if we weren’t wearing them already. I clutched my new clothes as I saw everyone else was wearing store-bought panties. Some even had on cotton bras or sleeveless camisoles. All of their underwear was colorful and expensive.

Some of the girls were completely flat-chested and I envied them. I had begun to develop small breasts that summer and I did everything I could to hide them. It was inevitable that a solution would have to be found for them, and I would have to be the one to find it. Everything under my clothes had been made by Ma and thus was badly sewn: a pair of thick cotton shorts unevenly trimmed in red for good luck, a stained and pilling long-sleeved undershirt. All the girls were checking one another out from under lowered eyelids. Then I spotted the toilet stalls against the wall. I silently thanked the gods and ducked into one to change.

This first gym class was to be our individual evaluation. We were timed in our ru

I was begi

By the end of the day, I’d learned some of the kids’ names: Greg was the mean one, Curt the one with hair like a lion’s, Sheryl was the girl in the leg warmers (I’d heard the term when another girl admired them) and Tammy was the brown-haired girl on my bus.

After gym, school was over for the other kids but I was scheduled to work in the library three days a week and to get special tutoring in English on the fourth-though I had yet to figure out how I was going to fit all of this in with helping Ma at the factory too. The library work was a requirement of the scholarship I’d been given.

I knew that the library I would be working in, the one in Milton Hall, wasn’t the main research library but rather a minor one mainly used for studying. I expected a modern sterile space, similar to the public library in Brooklyn. I opened the door to the library and caught my breath. It was small, intimate and lovely. Long streams of sunlight drifted through the high stained-glass windows. A few students were curled up in large leather armchairs, reading.

A man in a striped maroon silk tunic was watering a gardenia on one of the tables. Aside from the gym teacher, he was the only man I’d seen the whole day who wasn’t wearing a suit and tie. He looked up and saw me, then approached. I saw his tunic had an embroidered stand-up collar and he was wearing white cotton trousers.

His hair would have been as dark as mine, only his was shot through with silver. “Are you the new scholarship student? I’m Mr. Jamali.” He spoke English with a slight lilt.

We shook hands and then I couldn’t help asking, “Where are you from?”

“Pakistan,” he said. He saw me looking at the intricate thread work on his tunic.

“Ah. You noticed. The headmaster has tried to get me in a suit for many years but I have resisted. I am also the theater director and that justifies a bit of flair, don’t you think?”

Mr. Jamali showed me the mechanics of my work, which were very simple. He told me that since this library had a limited selection of books, most students came just to read or study. I understood this meant I would have some free time when working there, maybe even enough to do my own homework. There was even a typewriter in the back office I was allowed to use. I wanted to clap my hands for joy.

“Mr. Jamali, can I change the hours I have? I like to be here more early in the day.”

“Why?”

“Because…” My voice trailed off. “My mother work and I must help her after school.”

“I see.” He looked at me with his intelligent eyes. “Well, in that case, we shall see what we can do.”

At the factory, Matt noticed my new clothes right away. “Well, if it isn’t the landlady’s daughter,” he said.

I must have looked hurt, because he immediately added, “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, you look pretty.”

I knew he was only being kind, and also that I’d never forget it: the time Matt said I was pretty.

But it made me realize that coming to the factory in my school clothes could cause trouble for me with the other factory kids or even with Aunt Paula, who clearly didn’t need to be reminded of my new private school. From now on, I would make sure I changed into my work clothes as soon as I arrived and never mention my new school.

“How did it go today?” Ma asked. Seeing her warm, familiar brown eyes, I relaxed for the first time in hours, and I realized how much stress I’d been under the whole day, how foreign the entire world of Harrison was.

I stood close to Ma and, without answering, leaned my forehead against her shoulder. I wanted so much to be her little girl again. Her shirt was made of polyester and was damp with sweat.

“You crazy girl,” she said affectionately. She ruffled my hair.

I lifted my head. “Ma, I think I need some new underwear.”

“Why? What’s wrong with what you have?”

“We all change together for gym and the other girls will be able to see it. They’re going to laugh at me.”

“No decent girl would look at someone else’s underwear. Did they make fun of you today?” In Ma’s world, underwear was something that was invisible. With money so scarce, she believed it should be spent on things people could see, like my uniform.

“No, but-”

Her tone was indulgent. “Ah-Kim, you should not be so sensitive. I’m sure all of the nice girls are changing where they ca

I stared at Ma’s back, the bony ridges of her spine visible through her thin shirt, and I was suddenly so angry that I wanted to push her into the pile of dresses stacked in front of her on the counter. But then, as I breathed in the factory air, perpetually damp and metallic from the steamers, I felt guilt slice into my anger. Ma hadn’t bought a single thing for herself in the whole time we’d been in America, not even a new coat, which she desperately needed.

As soon as I had a break, I tried to remove the rhinestones from the skirt, but it was impossible. The colored plastic had been glued to the waistband, and taking it off would mean leaving unsightly stains on the cloth. I searched through the cart filled with rejected fabric remnants and found a strip of dark cloth that could double as a sash. It wasn’t exactly elegant but the stones were at least covered. There were also several skirts that hadn’t passed Aunt Paula’s examination and I wished I were big enough to wear adult sizes.

As usual, Ma and I ate the rice she’d brought from home. For Chinese people, rice is the actual food and everything else-meat, vegetables-is just an accessory to it. We had so little money during these days, though, that Ma put hardly any meat in with the rice anymore.

When we got home, at around nine-thirty that evening, I was finally done with my day. It was the first chance I had to think about everything that had happened. I had spent the entire school day as the only Chinese in a crowd of white people. The ginger-haired boy, Greg, both fascinated and frightened me. It wasn’t only that he’d made fun of me. He looked so alien, with his incredible hair, pale green eyes and veins under his skin. And the girls in my class, with their blue eyelids and sunken eyes, their thick upswept lashes. I stared in the paint-flecked bathroom mirror at my face. I didn’t look anything at all like those girls. If they were pretty, then what was I?