Chapter One
Sunshine lived at the end of a cul de sac in one of the nice houses on Vista Del Sol; a four bedroom, two and a half bath, two car garage, brown stucco palace. A crew of Latinx gardeners came once a week to keep the hedges shorn tightly, the grass manicured and hewn to the edge of black granite pathways, and with long reach pruning shears the climbing roses with their spiny green tendrils covered in blood red bulbs were cut to cling tightly to the arched cedar trellis that served as the proscenium to the home. The pool cleaners, dressed in baby blue coveralls with Orange County Pool Maintenance Inc written in white helvetica lettering on the back, arrived bi-weekly to maintain the pH and chlorine levels, remove any debris from the pool, do preventive maintenance on pumps, filter, chlorinators, and clean and disinfect the pool deck area. The pool was rarely used. It had been years since the whole family had been there at the same time. All three of them.Â
Sunshine carried the key to the front door on a silver beaded necklace she had nicked from her mom’s jewelry box. She leaned down, gripped the dangling key, stuck it in the lock and let herself in. She dropped her backpack on the sofa and went directly to the kitchen. She turned on the little television that sat on the counter. A stentorian voice spoke over various images of masked terrorists, atomic bomb explosion and other anxiety inducing images, and then the DOW logo. “This program was made possible by a grant from the Dow Chemical Company.” The voice reiterated. A gray haired talking head came on.Â
“Good evening. I'm Frank Reynolds. The United States moved forward today with plans to support its friends in the Arab world, mainly Egypt and Sudan and to caution its enemy Colonel Quaddafi of Libya…”
As Frank Reynolds continued Sunshine reached into the liquor cabinet and gathered a bottle of gin and one of vermouth and put them on the kitchen counter. From the shelf above the liquor cabinet she pulled down a cocktail shaker and a jigger. She poured the exact amounts she had seen her father use into a jigger and then into the shiny stainless-steel shaker; six parts gin to one part vermouth, and shook it vigorously. She took a chilled martini glass from the refrigerator, put it on the counter, removed the cap from the shaker, and poured it into the glass. Opening a jar of olives from the counter, she plopped one into the glass, took a sip, smiled, and absently watched the news.Â
Walking away as the newscaster began to talk about the civil war in Nicaragua and Reagan's support of the Contra's, Sunshine went through a sliding door, out onto the patio in the backyard and sat down on an aqua blue nylon strung chaise lounge. She sipped her martini and looked out onto the dense verdurous lawn; she thought how in science class they studied photosynthesis, wavelengths, and cellular compounds called organelles and how because chlorophyll, grass absorbs light at two wavelengths, red and blue reflecting green. So the grass appears green but is actually red and blue. And if the grass is kept in darkness, it will turn white and die. She thought that nothing was as it appears, including herself. She put on her Walkman headphones. The song "White Riot" by the Clash played. She sang along. “White riot, I want a riot, white riot, a riot of my own.”
She didn’t really want a riot, and she wasn’t exactly white, Japanese-Jewish, but she was definitely bored with the U.S.A. She looked at the tranquility of her private suburban sanctuary and thought, I don’t hate this. In fact, I love it. And I love a martini every day after school and kind of love that my parents are never home. I also wonder what it would be like if they were. Home. But this way is good too. And then she began to cry. It wasn’t so much succumbing to tears that emanated from her eyes as it was just relinquishing control for a few moments. Losing control while something cleared for her.
