Question

The house on mango street.

Please help me summarize this

(6) Once when we were living on Loomis, a nun from my school passed by and saw me playing out front. The laundromat downstairs had been boarded up because it had been robbed two days before and the owner had painted on the wood YES WE’RE OPEN so as not to lose business.
(7) Where do you live? she asked.
(8) There, I said pointing up to the third floor. (9)You live there?
(10) There. I had to look to where she pointed—the third floor, the paint peeling, wooden bars Papa had nailed on the windows so we wouldn’t fall out. You live there? The way she said it made me feel like nothing. There. I lived there. I nodded.
(11) I knew then I had to have a house. A real house. One I could point to. But this isn’t it. The house on Mango Street isn’t it. For the time being, Mama says. Temporary, says Papa. But I know how those things go.

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Answer 1

Answer: I was playing out front of the laundromat on Loomis Street when a nun from my school passed by. I wasn't even five years old yet, but I knew enough not to play in front of the laundromat. I had just lost one of my best friends to a robber, and the owner had painted on the wood "YES WE'RE OPEN" so as not to lose business. The nun asked me where I lived.

"There," I said. "Upstairs." She pointed up to the third floor and asked me if that was it. It wasn't what she meant—she meant: is that all there is? But she didn't say that, so I nodded and told her yes.

I knew then that I would have a real house one day, at least one that would be mine alone and not shared with anyone else like Mama and Papa's house on Mango Street was for now. Mama says it's temporary, but Papa says it'll be permanent soon enough once we get settled in our new house. But he also says temporary things always seem permanent in the beginning.

Step-by-step explanation: