41
" but Joe and I are in a world of our own. He’s from San Leandro, across the bay. His favorite song is “Harbor Lights” by Frances Langford, and when he sings a few bars under his breath, I think I might die of happiness. The first night, coal dust drifts through the cracks as we rattle through the mountain tunnels, and hardly anyone gets any sleep, but in the morning, during our single stop in Nevada, Joe and I stroll past the armed soldiers like we’re in a park instead of a desert depot. After two days in Joe’s company, "
― Traci Chee , We Are Not Free
44
" OCTOBER I’m so excited for the school year to finally begin that even the unfinished classrooms and dearth of supplies can’t dampen my spirits. My senior year! Even though we’re not in San Francisco anymore, there will still be clubs, sports (I hear Joe Tanaka is a star basketball player, and I can’t wait to cheer him on, although we don’t have a gymnasium yet), and, best of all, dances! There’s already a “Halloween Spook-tacular” planned for this Saturday in Dining Hall 1, provided the administration can engage a band for the evening, and although Joe hasn’t asked me for a dance yet, I’m saving room "
― Traci Chee , We Are Not Free
53
" He’s not alone. There’s a girl in his arms, almost as tall as he is, with golden hair like summer sunshine in the dining-hall shadows. It’s Gail Johnson, and they’re kissing, lips locked, pressed against the wall, like they’re the only two people in the entire universe. No, no, no, this can’t be right. This was my dance. That was my kiss. Tears fill my eyes. A sob catches in my throat. And I flee. I run into the darkness, crying, until one of my heels catches in the slush, and I go tumbling forward onto my hands and knees. Dirty water spatters my arms, my legs, my white flowered dress. The red camellia tumbles from behind my ear, landing petals-down in the mud. "
― Traci Chee , We Are Not Free
54
" Whoa, whoa, Nakano,” someone says, hoisting me up. In an instant, I recognize the “All-American” patch on the sleeve—Frankie. “Are you okay?” Covered in mud, with tears running down my face, I know I’ve never looked worse, but at this moment, I couldn’t care less. I fling myself into Frankie’s arms as he sets me on my feet. “No, I’m not.” He pats my shoulder. “That Tanaka boy break your heart?” With a wail, I bury my face in Frankie’s shoulder. He sighs, and through the haze of my anguish, I feel his arms go around me. “Want me to hit him for you?” he asks. I let out a sound that’s supposed to be a laugh, but it comes out more like a hiccup. “Oh, Frankie.” Leaning back, I smack him lightly in the chest. “That wouldn’t do any good.” He smirks. “But thanks for offering.” As we stand in the ice and mud, the last notes of “Harbor Lights” drift over the empty street. My eyes well up again. “C’mon, Nakano, don’t cry.” Gently, Frankie takes my hand, swaying with me as the next song begins. “What happened?” “He was kissing Gail Johnson.” I hiccup again. “During our song!” “That keto girl?” He has the audacity to laugh—a big, bellowing laugh that would sound harsh if it didn’t have such warmth to it. “Shit, Nakano, you’re twice the girl she is. Dumb boy doesn’t know what he’s missing.” I sniff. In his arms, I feel the chill beginning to ease from my bones. “You really think so? "
― Traci Chee , We Are Not Free
56
" After dinner one night, me and the boys are on the edge of camp, tossing rocks over the barbed wire. There’s plenty to throw. Rocks are maybe the only thing that’s plentiful here besides dust and anger. For maybe the hundredth time, I think about leaping that fence. It’s only about three feet high, and kids like Yum-yum’s brother, Fred, sneak through all the time to catch scorpions in the desert. I could go running out there, out with the wild horses they say roam this part of Utah, free as the goddamn wind. But I’d never abandon Mas and the boys, or my uncle Yas, who took me in when my parents shipped me out to California. The whole camp’s buzzing with the news today. Everyone seventeen and up has gotta do this questionnaire to see who’s loyal and who’s not. If you’re loyal, you can volunteer for Roosevelt’s combat unit. It’s Nisei-only, which is a shit idea, if you ask me. If Uncle Sam sends ’em to the Pacific, the other battalions are gonna mistake them for the enemy. “They won’t get sent to the Pacific,” Mas says, pitching a stone so far into the desert, it disappears from sight. "
― Traci Chee , We Are Not Free
60
" get around here,” Twitchy adds, breaking the tension. “What about you, Frankie?” Shig asks, nudging me. Good ol’ Shig, he’s always the one to notice when someone’s being left out. “You gonna do it?” I try to laugh, but it comes out kind of strangled. “Already tried, remember?” I wanted to enlist right after Pearl Harbor, but they wouldn’t let me. 4-C. Enemy alien. Ineligible to fight for my own damn country. “They wouldn’t take me then, so why should they have me now?” I pick up a rock and hurl it as hard as I can into the darkening sky, hoping it’ll break on impact, hoping it’ll make a crater, hoping for something, but it lands "
― Traci Chee , We Are Not Free
