least thirty dollars right here. Bakelite. Bangle. Bracelet. Thereâs probably more,â she said, spilling the contents of the bag onto the hood of the car. âThis is a deco black and yellow, and this one is a paprika-and-cream-corn zigzag. Girls, weâve hit the jackpot. A ring, too,â she said, wiggling her fingers in the moonlight. âI almost donât want to sell it. But of course I have to.â Dolly grabbed a bottle of 409 from the back, along with a Q-tip from the box where we kept our toiletries. Dolly shined a flashlight on her lap while we sat on the curb and my mother tested the jewelry. She sprayed 409 on the inside of each bangle and rubbed it with a Q-tip. âNicotine yellow, girls! Itâs all real Bakelite, which means weâll be dining at Sizzler in Culver City a lot.â
It would go to whiskey and bananas.
I looked up at the moon, pressing my palms together in thanks. I knew the moon was happy with us, providing all this light for us to do our work, to harvest our goods. I thanked it. Abundance was everywhere; at least it would be for the next couple of days. I couldnât imagine anything as good as this lucky night.
The scent of onion and garlic wafted from the open windows of a large house, blowing the palm fronds so as to cast feathery shadows across the street. By the end of the night, after four more streets, I had found two Monopoly games with
all the pieces intact and an old red Oriental rug so full of dust that my mother had to pound it with my sneaker before Dolly and I rolled it up and stuck it in the car. I also found a white satin blouse with covered buttons, a pair of womenâs black riding boots, and an old pair of red-tag Leviâs, two sizes too big, which I knew my mother would say Iâd grow into. Dolly collected T-shirts and two silver crucifixes and then went to sit on the curb to pout. She was tired and knew we would keep little for ourselves.
This was, in some sense, a tease for us all. We would take most of our treasures to the pawnshop and junk collector, Mr. Ott, and make some real money. Just before we left, my mother found a tin box, and inside, a miniature dagger with a bible, old and cracked. She shut the lid, shoved it under one of the car seats, and forgot about it. She also draped a necklace with an amulet of St. Augustine, which she said sheâd just found, around her neck. But she lied. Iâd seen it before.
I looked back at the long line of driveways, holding bags of riches in my hands. My mother said she felt like an outlaw, a queen, like she had been reborn. She had snagged a burgundy Danskin dress and strappy shoes. Indeed, we were moving up in the world now. By the time the moon had faded from the sky, my back ached. When we pulled up to the pawnshop the next morning, my mother sold our things. My sister had passed out in my lap, hand on her forehead, wearing a yellow Bakelite bangle that she had begged my mother to let her keep.
Chapter Five
W E WERE FINISHED with farm work and trash picking, my mother said. The cool dry winds confirmed her feeling about it, making her back seize into what felt like a line of tiny fists. La Niña had followed on the heels of her brother, El Niño, conspiring against the crops. I was thrilled we were moving on. Seasonal work with fruits and vegetables was too strenuous, and trash picking too unpredictable, my mother said, especially while chasing her own moods, which had been erratic since she had started drinking again. We sat at an outdoor café in Malibu, sipping orange juice and watching her circle job postings for a housekeeper. Finally, she smiled. Music to her ears: In-law. Apartment.
She walked over to the phone booth, leaving it open a crack so she could motion to Dolly and me. âHeâs an executive at an oil company in Long Beach!â she whispered, one hand over the receiver. She hung up. âHeâs not married, either. Thatâs why he needs
It would go to whiskey and bananas.
I looked up at the moon, pressing my palms together in thanks. I knew the moon was happy with us, providing all this light for us to do our work, to harvest our goods. I thanked it. Abundance was everywhere; at least it would be for the next couple of days. I couldnât imagine anything as good as this lucky night.
The scent of onion and garlic wafted from the open windows of a large house, blowing the palm fronds so as to cast feathery shadows across the street. By the end of the night, after four more streets, I had found two Monopoly games with
all the pieces intact and an old red Oriental rug so full of dust that my mother had to pound it with my sneaker before Dolly and I rolled it up and stuck it in the car. I also found a white satin blouse with covered buttons, a pair of womenâs black riding boots, and an old pair of red-tag Leviâs, two sizes too big, which I knew my mother would say Iâd grow into. Dolly collected T-shirts and two silver crucifixes and then went to sit on the curb to pout. She was tired and knew we would keep little for ourselves.
This was, in some sense, a tease for us all. We would take most of our treasures to the pawnshop and junk collector, Mr. Ott, and make some real money. Just before we left, my mother found a tin box, and inside, a miniature dagger with a bible, old and cracked. She shut the lid, shoved it under one of the car seats, and forgot about it. She also draped a necklace with an amulet of St. Augustine, which she said sheâd just found, around her neck. But she lied. Iâd seen it before.
I looked back at the long line of driveways, holding bags of riches in my hands. My mother said she felt like an outlaw, a queen, like she had been reborn. She had snagged a burgundy Danskin dress and strappy shoes. Indeed, we were moving up in the world now. By the time the moon had faded from the sky, my back ached. When we pulled up to the pawnshop the next morning, my mother sold our things. My sister had passed out in my lap, hand on her forehead, wearing a yellow Bakelite bangle that she had begged my mother to let her keep.
Chapter Five
W E WERE FINISHED with farm work and trash picking, my mother said. The cool dry winds confirmed her feeling about it, making her back seize into what felt like a line of tiny fists. La Niña had followed on the heels of her brother, El Niño, conspiring against the crops. I was thrilled we were moving on. Seasonal work with fruits and vegetables was too strenuous, and trash picking too unpredictable, my mother said, especially while chasing her own moods, which had been erratic since she had started drinking again. We sat at an outdoor café in Malibu, sipping orange juice and watching her circle job postings for a housekeeper. Finally, she smiled. Music to her ears: In-law. Apartment.
She walked over to the phone booth, leaving it open a crack so she could motion to Dolly and me. âHeâs an executive at an oil company in Long Beach!â she whispered, one hand over the receiver. She hung up. âHeâs not married, either. Thatâs why he needs
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