Free All Over Creation by Ruth Ozeki

isn’t he? You don’t have to answer that either.
    Phoenix is doing great. He’s three now, and I’ve got him in preschool, which hopefully will give me a chance to finish my master’s thesis. It’s called “Fading Blossoms, Falling Leaves: Visions of Transience and Instability in the Literature of the Asian-American Diaspora.” Basically, it’s about the way images of nature are used as metaphors for cultural dissolution.
    Are you still doing the garden and selling seeds? My love of plants is purely poetic, and Paul thinks it’s funny the way I kill anything I actually try to grow. His interest is purely scientific, so we balance each other out. He’s doing well, by the way. He got a job offer in the plant-breeding program at the U of Texas, so we may have to move to Dallas. Yuck.
    May 1989
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    Dear Mom,
    Well, it’s final. I got my master’s, and Paul and I are getting a divorce. I guess I should have seen it coming. The good news is that he’s finally getting tenure, so he can pay child support. I’ll need it—the pay scale for the kind of adjunct teaching gigs I can get is for shit. Anyway, I’m sick of Texas, and I’m thinking of moving someplace with a larger Asian presence, so Phoenix doesn’t have to grow up twisted. I think I may have a chance at a teaching fellowship at the University of Hawaii, where I could work on my Ph.D. Wouldn’t that be exotic?
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    August 1992
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    Dear Momoko and Lloyd,
    I’m writing to tell you of the birth of your first granddaughter, Ocean Eugenia, born on June 21—a summer-solstice child. I’m sending you a picture. She has Fuller eyes. I’m living in Honolulu now. Phoenix and I are living with Ocean’s father in a great house on the beach. He runs a surf shop. I’m still working on my degree and teaching, but it’s more laid back here, and maybe I’ve got a better attitude. Paul used to say that adjunct teaching was like any economy of scale, and you just have to treat it like farming potatoes—standardize your product, increase your volume, work the margins, and make sure your courses are cosmetically flawless. Whatever. It’s really so beautiful here, and as long as the kids are happy, it’s okay for now.
    Aloha,
Yumi
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    February 1997
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    Dear Momoko and Lloyd,
    Well, I haven’t heard from you for a really long time, so here’s the news: Whether you like it or not, you have a new grandson. If you want to know his name, you can write and ask me.
    Yumi
    P.S. This is the last one you are going to get.
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    December 3, 1998
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    Dear Cassie,
    Wow. Is this really you? I got your e-mail and then your letter. Thank you for telling me about Lloyd and Momoko. I’ve been wondering what’s been going on with them, and this explains why she stopped writing. I hope they’re still okay?
    Anyway, I went back and forth about your suggestion—I have some pretty complex feelings about my parents, as you can imagine—but I’ve decided I should see them. I can take a month off during winter break, so I’ll be arriving in Pocatello before Christmas. I’ll e-mail you with the date and times. Do you think you could pick me up at the airport?
    It will be interesting to see each other, don’t you think? After all these years?

second

    And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind . . .
    â€”Genesis 1:12

frank

    It was the first of December, and a cold wind blew off Erie. Frank pushed his skateboard into the wind, cursing it dispassionately, almost by rote so that the curses marked the rhythm of his momentum, driving him forward. Fuckin’ wind—, fuckin’ wind—, and on the fuck his foot hit the ground, and on the in ’ it kicked off and came back onto the board, and he was able to glide for the duration of the wind, sometimes drawing the word out longer when