One! Hundred! Demons!

Barry introduces the first set of demons, head lice and her worst boyfriend. She provides a little background about lice, using the Tagalog word for louse, kuto, to depict the way a baby louse emerges from its egg. Barry recalls her relationship with lice and wonders why her neighborhood in the 1960s never had an outbreak. She ponders whether preservatives, chemicals, and smoke exposure made her and the people around her too toxic. Barry connects lice to the imaginary infection “cooties” that kids use to tease each other and describes how she was accused of having cooties and developed a loner’s interest in bugs.

Over the summer, Barry visits relatives in the Philippines. She makes friends with two kids who are interested in her red hair and who wonder if, as legend says, white people have white lice. Barry discovers that the legend is true; lice have evolved to match the skin color of their hosts. Barry tells her mother what she has learned about lice, including the fact that the Virgin Mary must have had them. In response, her mother slaps her. Barry falls in love with one of the kids she meets, an inquisitive boy nicknamed “The Professor.” The Professor asks Barry to send him a white kuto if she finds one. At the end of the summer, Barry is devastated to leave, but finds her mother has little sympathy for her.

Later in her life, Barry has a boyfriend who reminds her of someone from her past, but she can’t remember who. The boyfriend comes from a wealthy suburb and fetishizes Barry’s lower socioeconomic background. He gives her backhanded compliments, denigrates her art and personality, and makes her constantly feel insecure. While volunteer teaching, Barry catches head lice and worries about telling her boyfriend. As he berates her, Barry remembers the Professor, but realizes that the boyfriend reminds her of her mother. Barry sends a picture of her boyfriend to The Professor, labeling it a white kuto.

Barry recalls playing kickball on the street of her childhood neighborhood.

Though the many kids that play don’t all like each other, the games are the most fun when everyone participates. Sometimes the older kids let the younger kids play, but other times they relegate them to the sidelines, where the young kids watch, throw dirt bombs, and call the older kids names. Sometimes teenagers come, joining in the game and inspiring awe in the younger kids. Other times they kick the ball into the bushes and heartlessly mess with the younger kids. Sometimes a drunk uncle tries to join the game, embarrassing whoever knows him. The nighttime games make Barry feel alive and like she can bounce. She believes that people in airplanes can see the kids down there and must think they look cool.

As an adult, Barry realizes it would have been impossible for anyone to see them from an airplane. Just as the neighborhood vanishes when you reach a certain height, these games that once seemed so important vanish from memory. Barry wonders about the purpose of remembering your childhood, but discovers feelings of amazement and surprise when she does. She reflects that you can’t truly know which moments from your childhood make you who you are. She wishes she could go back and play another game of kickball.

Barry describes her family as people who love to dance, and attributes this primarily to her grandmother, who liked a fun atmosphere in their house.

When Barry is a child, her grandmother keeps a record player in the kitchen and her uncles show off their moves. Barry’s cousins take lessons in Hula dance and practice while listening to Hula records. Barry is transfixed by their dancing and signs up for a beginner’s class taught by a white lady who loves Hawaii.

Barry meets a new girl in the neighborhood who can dance well and whose mother has died. Barry is crazy about her and scared of her. Barry brings her to Hula class and offers to teach her Hula routines in exchange for learning the new girl’s dances. When Barry suggests they enter a dance competition, the new girl says no, pointing out that Barry isn’t a good dancer. This revelation hits Barry hard—she hasn’t been self-conscious before. Suddenly she struggles in class and finds her teacher and family members embarrassing. The only people who still look good dancing are the new girl and Barry’s baby brother, who can dance with abandon. Barry spends the rest of her adolescence wishing she could dance or feel confident enough to stop caring what people thought of her dancing.

Barry reflects on the moment people lose their self-confidence and the world splits into “stupid” and “cool.” She expresses her gratitude toward the babies and grandmas that remind people to dance.