Untitled - ScholarWorks Home - California State University, Northridge
Untitled - ScholarWorks Home - California State University, Northridge
Untitled - ScholarWorks Home - California State University, Northridge
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dull blade like all its predecessors. Tonight when she cuts the stringy meat of the<br />
squid, I know the knife will struggle like an old man's dentures trying to tear off<br />
a strip of rubber band. I offered to buy Mom some decent chef's knives - she so<br />
adores cooking. I said, Mom, use them for now, and when Sandy comes home I<br />
could always hold them for you.<br />
She said, No, don't spend your money. I'm so clumsy, what if I cut my fingers<br />
with one of those sharp things?<br />
Mom went on in Korean, I saw this infomercial once that showcased a<br />
chef's knife that can cut through metal pipes. Imagine, she said. Metal pipes. Who<br />
would want a knife like that at home?<br />
My mom has a small flower shop down on Reseda. She could slice<br />
thorns off of a dozen long-stem roses in 45 seconds flat. With a razor so thin that<br />
when you hold it, it becomes an extension of your skin.<br />
On Sundays, Mom and I drive to Long Beach to visit my sister. I'm not<br />
sure exactly whereabouts La Montana is on the map of Long Beach, but it's surely<br />
not by the beach because there's no sea breeze, just a faint smell of toxins from<br />
the factories and warehouses nearby. On Sundays there's only one on-duty front<br />
office staff and it's a different person each time. Some days we're allowed some<br />
privacy out in the nicer gazebo outside the main gate, and some days we're told,<br />
No, Sandy has no level 2 privilege; she can't leave the premise.<br />
She's not going anywhere, I say. I point and say, See, we're going to<br />
that gazebo, right there, on hospital grounds.<br />
The staff shrugs and says, Hospital policy.<br />
I once lost an umbrella on one of these Sunday visits. It was a windy<br />
rainy day and the wind tugged at the umbrella like a suction machine. This<br />
umbrella, before it flew away, bent itself like a bowl, inside out. It landed on the<br />
other side of the gate, many yards out of reach. I couldn't get it because the gate<br />
was locked. The on-duty behind the counter said, I have no coverage. You have to<br />
wait. When I was finally let out, the umbrella was gone. For some reason, being<br />
on this side of the gate would always remind me of that flipped-out umbrella.<br />
I have nothing to do during these two-hour visits, so I usually starve<br />
myself before coming here. But when we're locked inside the gate, eating's not<br />
easy. In the inner courtyard, there are some random park benches and a lone<br />
gazebo. This particular gazebo is filthy with age old crumbs and cigarette butts<br />
smoked to the filters. But it's to this gazebo we would go. Mom tries to make<br />
nice by spreading her plastic table cloth on the filmy table and setting it with her<br />
fancy cookery. I look around, hoping we won't be bothered.<br />
During their smoke break, the patients come out. Some of them moon<br />
walk to our table and stare. One would point and sa� What's that? Kimchee? It's<br />
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