Teddy’s family, the Messinas, and John’s family, the Kawais, had an understanding between them because of what Mr. Messina did for John’s father during the war. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, when anyone Japanese on the West Coast was rounded up and forced into one of those internment camps, Mr. Messina agreed to take care of John’s family’s home and abalone and fishing gear until they could return. Legally, the house wasn’t even John’s father’s; the Californian Alien Land Law prevented Japanese immigrants from becoming citizens. They were unable to own the land or even rent it for longer than three years at a time. John’s father had been “renting” the home they lived in for over twenty years.
John was only eight when they were sent to the tents in Arizona. His mother didn’t fare well there, not being used to the dry heat. She missed the ocean. The landscape was so barren, John felt he could walk forever and no one would find him. Of course, that wasn’t true. He was penned in like the others. Instead of the boundaries of the ocean and the forest, now there were barbed wire and military towers, guns pointed in their direction.
At first John’s family slept in an expansive room, like a town hall or a gym, with many strangers. His father had hung a large red blanket to section off their space and to give them some privacy. Other families did the same. Oftentimes John woke up early, peeked out of the blanket, and thought it looked like a bunch of multicolored flags waving. That was before more permanent structures were built. The ones that told them this was going to be a longer stay than originally promised.
If there was one thing that made his time in the camp easier, though, it was that John learned how to play baseball. The camp had a field and a couple of coaches from various high schools. Most days after the morning school, run by volunteers, John booked it to the field, no matter how hot it was—oftentimes not coming back until after the dinner bells rang. He learned to hold the glove out in front of him when another was at bat, how to stand for a pitch, how to catch. He learned by watching and emulating others.
When the war ended, John’s family returned home, and except for the thick layer of dust that covered the counters, they found their house exactly as they had left it, thanks to the Messinas. Other Japanese weren’t so fortunate. Many lost everything and never came back, or, at best, moved to different parts of the country. For those in communities like John’s, though, folks had signed a petition welcoming the Japanese families home that ran in the local paper.
They had developed a conscience, his father had said, especially the Methodists. Some of the church ladies even brought them groceries for a week when they moved back. It never did get John’s dad to their Christian church, but sometimes John’s mom took him and his brother Gary to the Buddhist temple.
His father legally owned the home now. The law that discriminated against Japanese changed; the McCarran-Walter Act had passed just two months ago, allowing Japanese to become citizens. John was already a citizen, being born here, but now his parents had been naturalized, too.
His father was a model citizen who paid his taxes and worked hard. Who displayed his deed to the house and naturalization papers on the wall of the kitchen, right underneath the photo of his parents from Japan.
What people didn’t know was that John’s father preferred his own kind in most things—religion, family, even business. He would often mutter about the American ways and how they were lacking compared to the Japanese. But he was a walking contradiction. Though proud of his Japanese heritage, he wanted his sons to be as American as possible. He wanted them to succeed. After all, he told them often, the sign of doing his duty as a father was if they were to surpass him. Become more successful. Become a new American. Become a new Japanese.
John wondered if there was room to be both.
* * *
• • •
The feeling of being watched broke him free of his thoughts, and John glanced up at the tower. Caroline had the binoculars pointing down. She waved with one hand, the other still on the binoculars.
He turned away and shook his head, feeling suddenly nauseated. She had that effect on him. He opened the car door with the toe of his boot already pointing in her direction like she was north.
He slammed the door shut and began walking toward the old wooden tower.
John first heard about the Skywatch club through Caroline in homeroom. He showed up at the initial meeting and his spirits sank a little when he saw that Teddy was there, too. Still, he kept his face neutral, pleasant even. Teddy waved him over and John smiled, crossed the room, and sat next to him. Caroline didn’t even notice John. But he hoped that would change once they were in the group together.
So far, he’d been closer to her and had spent more time with her than ever before, and yes, they talked about planes and altitude and the weather, but it hadn’t panned out like he hoped it would.
“You’re late!” Caroline called down to him through the open window.
“Hello to you, too,” he said. Even though the sun was beginning to set, he had to shield his eyes to get a good look at her. Caroline O’Sullivan. She was like a dream.
“What’s the excuse this time?”
“No excuse. Just work.”
“Hmm.” She crinkled her nose. “Well, you’re here now.”
“I’m here now,” he said, as he began climbing up. “What’d you spot?”
“Nothing really,” she said.
“Sounds right.”
A brief smile escaped the corner of her mouth before she went back to watching the sky. He let that smile sit with him for a few seconds. Then he continued up the stairs. When he opened the wooden door to the room at the tower’s top, Teddy greeted him first.
“John!”
“Just you and the girls, I see,” he said.
Teddy stood from his place on the floor where he was sitting next to the new girl, Bunny.
“Frank and Oscar just left.”
“Yeah, I passed them and Eleanor. See anything good?”
“Simple plane,” Teddy said, standing with his hands on his hips. “Nothing super exciting.”
Nothing super exciting ever happens around here, John thought, which was fine by him. He didn’t know what they’d do if there was an actual threat.
John nodded to Bunny on the floor. “Hello, Bunny.”
“Hello, John,” she said. “How were the abalone?”
“Just fine,” he said.
He couldn’t figure out if Bunny was friendly or sarcastic. Either way, she made him a little uncomfortable. Maybe it was the city part of her. She always looked at him like she knew something that he didn’t. It bothered him. But he just smiled. Kept his true feelings close and buried. Anything to avoid the difficult feelings that threatened to sink him.