Color Of...G

It is the color engraved in your soul, the one that remembers the grass, the trees, that frame a bright, bright sky from the soft ground below. It's the color of clarity, the one that you find in the deepest pits of your heart, covered by anger, hatred, bitterness, and self-righteousness. It's the color of serenity resting on water that reflect the sky. It's never that far gone, even if you're surrounded by greys, whites, and blacks, perpetuated by fashion magazines, music that promote debauchery and degrading women, and action movies with predictable plot and uninteresting movie magic. It is the color that is said that can relax your eyes and prevent them from deteriorating due to staring at a computer or smartphone screen for extended periods of time. It's the color of summertime, where the heat rises and you begin to see puddles of water in the far distance, resting on burning asphalt. Those mirages, however, are not of this color. Those colors of bland and dark. It is the color that represents nature at its best, during birth and maturity. It is the color of the memory of the sweater of the person you love, whom you lost, whom you remember with respect and affection.

Piece of Cake.

Twilight fell upon the cages, and Samuel awoke at the pounding in his head. His neck and back ached from sleeping on a footstool. It was questionably cold for May; the temperature was barely 22 degrees Celsius.

            He drew his blanket closer, but it wasn’t large enough to cover his shoulders and his arms. His fingers felt like popsicles; they stung when he moved them. It was difficult enough to find clothes that fit—a circus-provided blanket was no exception. The faux-wool blanket pricked his neck like a snake with stiff hairs. He wished—fleetingly—that he had at least asked to keep the wool blanket Maria gave him for their wedding present.

            A rough appendage patted his hand, and he turned to smile at his companion. Strawberry smiled back, sleep still clouding lovely brown eyes before she drifted off again, her nose resting on his hand. It was the only warm limb on his body.

            Strawberry was unmanageable as a baby, and that must have been at least eight years ago. Her mother—Waffles—died while giving birth. From what Samuel understood, Waffles was malnourished under the previous caretakers, and they were, undoubtedly, fired. Strawberry survived on the generosity of the other mother elephant, but never seemed to get along with the others. She bore a rough temper and refused to be trained. In the circus, an untrained elephant is just as good as a dead one.

            The day the circus manager, Stan, was about to pass judgment on Strawberry’s future—it was a Tuesday—Samuel had decided to go to the circus to reminisce childhood memories one last time. He had gotten turned around in the crowd after the clowns made their exits after their one shining moment. It was after the daring fire-throwers, agile trapeze artists, enigmatic elephant-riders, and he found himself in the back where the animals were being kept after their spotlight minutes.

            One last time, he told himself, wandering the cages of lions, bears, and one lone penguin amidst a dozen pastel-colored poodles. He could hear horses neighing in the stables further back. He imagined them with their pink feathered headdresses, trotting gaily around the ring. She loved horses, so he continued on, ignoring their rough conversation. She loved the circus too, but they never went together. He figured that this was as good a time as any.

            He remembered the musty, rusty smell of the cages. The whining of the poodles, and the hopelessness of the lions and bears as they dozed off the drugs that sedated them during the show. Just as he turned to leave, a loud trumpeting echoed through the cages and silenced the animals. It settled in his throat and slid down his esophagus, into his stomach that turned into ice, and entangled inside his intestines. As that moment settled and passed, the other animals rose up in frenzy.

            Stomps vibrated through the dirt ground, screams and screeches bounced off the metal bars of the cages creating an overwhelming rattle of a temperamental orchestra.

            Against his better judgment, he headed toward the trumpeting with the other workers and caretakers.

            Out in the open, the blue sky framed a beautiful baby elephant, rearing up on her hind legs, tugging against a chained collar with at least a dozen men on the other end. The men lost their grips, and she was free. There was shouting, roaring, barking, the clicking of a gun ready to fire. Samuel could see the whites of her eyes, and then, see a tear trickle down her rough skin.

            He pushed through the crowd, feeling fire burn at the place in his body where the silence permeated. He compromised the man with the gun, removing the gun to click on the safety. Everyone was a blur. All he could hear was his frenzied heartbeats as he took the loose chain and felt his muscles taut against her strength.

            “Hey baby,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

            She glared at him, indignant and in disbelief. He could imagine her saying, Excuse me?

            She tugged, and he tugged back.

            “Hey,” he said again. “You’re going to be OK. I’m here. I mean, I’m nobody, but I’m here.” He grunted as she pulled harder. The coolness of the chain heated against his skin. “Hey, give a man a break. I know I’m a body builder, but you don’t need to test me on it.”

            He felt crazy, talking to an elephant.

            She stared at him a little while longer, then stopped pulling. She settled on her knees, still eyeing him.

            “There we go. Good girl. What’s your name?” Samuel reached out to touch her trunk, but she pulled away. “All right, I’m moving too quickly. Sorry, kiddo.” He turned to the crowd, individual faces indecipherable. “So who’s in charge here?”

            Stan was a muscular man—but half of Samuel’s size—and as he stepped forward, Strawberry pulled at the chain. She remained at her knees, but she gave a loud trumpet, and the crowd moved as a confused herd of antelope would.

            “Sorry,” Samuel held up his hand to stop Stan. “I don’t think she likes you.”

            “That much is obvious,” Stan’s voice was baritone—rather pleasant to listen to. He ran a hand over his smooth head, squinting his almond-shaped brown eyes. His hands were rough and seemed clumsy, the way they ran unevenly over his head. “Our circus can’t keep an elephant who refuses to be trained.”

            “So you were about to put her down,”

            “Yes,” Stan said. He waved the others back to work. “She discovered our plans though.”

            “Elephants are smart animals,” began Samuel.

            “Oh, I’ve no doubt,” Stan laughed. It was an agreeable laugh. “I’ve worked with animals all my life. I know very well how capable they are. But Strawberry here is causing trouble not only with the trainers and caretakers, but also with the other elephants. No zoo wants her. It was our only option.”

            “Here’s another option. I’ll train her. Give me 30 days.”

            Samuel shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around him. He couldn’t understand why summer was so late this year.

            He heard footsteps—familiar footsteps—and gazed up to find Stan with a thermos of hot milk, a mug, and some extra blankets.

            Stan plopped down on the ground next to him.

            “How’s our girl doing?”

            “Still has a fever,” Samuel replied, closing his eyes to feel the heat traveling through his fingers to his hands. His fingers tapped against the ceramic mug. “It’s been a couple of days.”

            “Hank said it’ll blow over soon.”

            Samuel scoffed, “What does he know about Strawberry?”

            “A lot, if you’d give him a chance. You’ve scared away every vet that’s been hired after Joe passed.”

            “They don’t know her like Joe did.”

            “They haven’t been given the chance, you nincompoop. Now stop scaring away my vets or you’re sleeping on the couch until we find a permanent one.”

            Samuel enjoyed the milk. He gazed over at Stan, who was nodding off to sleep.

            Stan’s black hair stood up straight on its own at this length. After a period of time where he preferred the skin-head look, Stan had longer hair that swept over his high forehead—a classic men’s hairstyle from the 50s. Classy, clean cut, and gave a feeling of aristocratic air. He’d always liked that about Stan. Despite their nitty-gritty job of handling circus affairs, Stan always remained of a higher social class. He was tall too, built well with broad shoulders. He was a rebellious, but respectable man. When Samuel shot him a proposition on a whim, Stan reacted immediately.

            “30 days,” Stan had said, sticking out his hand. Samuel couldn’t forget how self-conscious he was of his clammy hands.

            He patted Strawberry on the trunk. The skin was rough, and prickly hairs prevented it from feeling smooth. He had no doubts that it would be.

            Looking back, Stan wondered how he ended up here, in a cold cage, tending to an ill elephant with Stan by his side. He continued to work at the gym—although with shortened hours—and he simply tacked on hours at the circus. This wasn’t a traveling circus, even though it’d be more economical. Stan was adamant about staying at the outskirts of the city. Luckily enough, they were never really short on spectators the past few years; though they had their slow season during the winter and early spring. It was just as well—they took this time to change their acts and make improvements at Stan’s insistence. This year, however, things were more difficult.

            How long has it been since he’s been here? Months? Years? He couldn’t tell anymore.

            Strawberry stirred and poked him in the shoulder.

            “Hey, girl, how are you feeling?”

            She gave a snort and closed her eyes.

            “Not too good?” He scratched her right behind the ears. She smiled.

            “You’ll be as good as ever once you’re better. And we’ll be back on the training regimen.”

            She sniffed and moved her head away.

            “All right, all right. A few days rest. But that’s it, you hear?”

            As she drifted back to sleep, his mind wandered back to Maria.

            She was probably still angry at him. He couldn’t blame her—though her reaction told him a lot about her character, a side he didn’t know before they were married. She loved him, and he loved her, but the love differed. He was her soul mate; she was his best friend. That was enough to break them apart. He wondered then what they’d be like had he never came out to her, but the thought ended there. He couldn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He’ll always love Maria—he just couldn’t give her what she wanted.

            He could hear the other elephants breathing next door, and the lions giving occasional sleep-roars that hit him in the stomach with a punch of nostalgia, because they were dreaming of the safari back in their native lands, despite being born in cages. It was something hidden deep in their souls that knew of a place with endless blazing sun; of tall scratchy grass that hid them as they eyed the fresh, bountiful antelope; and of the pride that accepted them and ran alongside them on the plans that stretched beyond the fiery skyline, that burned the grass and animals with its warm, orange glow.

            Samuel wondered if, perhaps, in a previous life, he was a lion. Sinking into that comforting thought, he fell asleep with one hand in Stan’s and the other on Strawberry’s trunk.

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Samuel roared as he fought against Stan’s hold. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

            “I’m sorry, Samuel.” Hank shook his head as he removed his glasses.

            “She was fine last night! She was getting better! You said this would blow over!”

            “He wasn’t lying, Samuel.”

            “Back off, Stan. If you hadn’t hired this hack, she’d still be here!”

            He stormed out of the office and settled in the tall grasses in the outskirts of the circus, and cried.

            The wind slithered through the grass, making them weep in fear, whispering prayers to the sky. As the tears exhausted themselves, he knocked his forehead against his knees. Without Strawberry, what does the future hold?

            Overhead, the sun was blazing when he decided to head back to the trailer. Quietly, he cleaned out the fridge and freezer. He came upon the frozen piece of wedding cake he and Stan had saved. It was chocolate—his favorite. They had argued about the cake. Stan wanted vanilla cupcakes, but he wanted a traditional chocolate tier cake with strawberry frosting. Stan gave in.

            It wasn’t until after one o’clock did Stan return, breathless, with sweat gleaming at his forehead and trickling down his neck, disappearing into his white T-shirt.

            “Where’ve you been, damn it!” The door shuddered as it shut with a bang. “We’ve all been looking for you! Gave me a goddamn panic. Jesus!”

            “Where is she?”

            “Samuel,”

            “Don’t get all condescending on me.”

            Stan’s face contorted in that way Samuel knew he wanted to make a scathing retort, but he said instead, “She’s sick, Sam, so we asked the zoo to take a look at her. She needs to stay there. They’ll give her the best care.”

            “But that means she’s not coming back here.”

            Stan hesitated, “Well, no.”

            “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

            “You would have refused. I had to think of what was best for her.”

            “So you snuck her away in the middle of the night, and assumed that I didn’t want the best for her.”

            Stan winced, “Yes, I snuck her away, Sam, but it wasn’t under the assumption that you didn’t want what was best.”

            “And you don’t feel guilty.”

            “I do. I do, but you have to realize that—“

            “That what? My partner—my husband—can’t trust me to think of what was good for my baby?”

            “Can you honestly tell me that you would have agreed to this?” Stan’s eyes landed on the thawing cake. “Why did you take that out?”

            “You know what tomorrow is?”

            “Our three year anniversary, but we intended to save it for our fifth.” There was panic. “Look, before you say or do anything, there’s something else I need to tell you.”

            “What?” Samuel had taken the knife, and it was floating over the cake.

            “I asked the zoo to take in Strawberry. She’s in a bit of a bad way. They said the only way that can happen is if she’s theirs. I agreed, but not without asking them a favor. As you know, the circus has been suffering the past year—I just don’t think it’s economical for us to keep running it.”

            “What?” Samuel stood, knife still in hand. He felt empowered by it. “You’re telling me you’ve decided to close down the circus?”

            Stan seated himself on the chair closest to Samuel’s, “The zoo and us will be partners. We’ll be a resident circus at the zoo. We’re humane trainers; we’ll be financially stable; and we’ll bring in more revenue for the zoo.”

            “Sounds practical.”

            “And you’ll still be Strawberry’s caretaker.”

            Samuel was silent.

            “Your job starts tomorrow. 6 A.M. sharp. Don’t be late. I put in a good word for you.”

            Samuel contemplated his options. Stan eyed the knife still poised over the cake.

            “You need to start trusting me more,” Samuel said. “All of these decisions you hadn’t even discussed with me.”

            “Samuel, I’ll admit that my decision regarding Strawberry I should have discussed with you, but the future of the circus is my decision. It had nothing to do with you.”

            “I’m not saying that I want to influence your decision! I just want you talk to me about these decisions!”

            “I don’t have to!”

            “Why would you think that?”

            “It’s my job. My decision. There’s no need for me to bring it home with me.”

            “So you’re saying you don’t trust me enough to share this with me?”

            “That’s not what I’m saying.”

            “That’s exactly what you’re saying!”

            “Can you blame me?” Stan was angry now. “You always need to have a say in everything, and you get angry if I don’t take your suggestions. If you’re against my decisions, I always end up discarding my decisions so that you don’t get offended, but what about my feelings and decisions? The future of the circus has nothing to do with our marriage. We’ve been struggling long enough; I need to take care of our performers and workers. It is bigger than you and me!”

            Samuel stabbed the piece of cake, leaving the knife to sink into the frosting. They said nothing as the force of gravity gently pushed the knife downwards, cutting the cake in two.

Maria had been understanding, despite her first reaction when she saw him at her doorstep: a slam of the door in his face.. She allowed him to stay on her couch, after a very serious discussion with her husband, Charles. They were sympathetic.

            He was at the zoo at five o’clock every morning. Strawberry was doing well with the other elephants and had recently needed less of his attention. She was getting plenty from children and the other elephants. It left Samuel grappling for some concrete handling of his feelings.

            He didn’t go to the circus shows, nor did he see Stan. Samuel spent his free time at the gym and taking Maria to run errands in her second trimester of pregnancy while Charles was at work. There weren’t talks of the past—only the ones of the future. Maria and Charles’ future with their new baby. Maria had been sensitive enough to avoid the subject for him altogether.

            “I want to go to the circus,” Maria said one day as Charles left the breakfast table to get ready for work.

            “The circus?” Charles inquired through the bedroom door. Samuel expected Charles to be, again, struggling with his tie.

            “Yes. This weekend. The three of us.”

            “There's no need,” Samuel replied quickly as he cleared the table. He began wiping it down. “I've no interest.”

            “Poppycock,” Maria said as she waved away his rejection. “We're like a family now. We may as well do something together.”

            “Yes, but does it have to be the circus?”

            Charles hurried out the door after giving Maria a kiss, and a wave to Samuel.

            “Why not?” Maria asked as they cruised the aisles of the supermarket together. “You and I both love the circus, and Charles, being a city dweller, has never been.”

            “I just don't see the point of my going.”

            Maria said nothing, and Samuel braced himself for an awkward weekend.

At the circus, located at the heart of the zoo, between the African and Arctic regions, Samuel pulled his hat down over his ears. Maria and Charles were ahead of him, hands entwined. Maria was wearing one of her new sundresses, the one that took gazes away from her growing belly to her glowing smile. Samuel was sure that Charles had fallen in love with her all over again with this dress. Samuel smiled to himself. He's still got it.

            As Stan entered the ring, the crowd roared. He'd always loved the attention, and the crowds were always willing to give it to him. Samuel could understand why. Dressed in a sparkling, red ringmaster's coat, Stan was charismatic and exciting. His baritone voice echoed through the tent that both brought the crowds to euphoric joy and the animals to peace. That man was in his element here, and Samuel never felt so far away.

            The show was a half an hour long, and when it was over, Samuel found himself at the back door. He hesitated as he reached for the doorknob before the door flew open.

            “Took you two months to visit?” Stan was breathless, still in his ringmaster's makeup and costume.

            “You didn't call.”

            “Neither did you.”

            “Yes, well.”

            “How's Strawberry?”

            “Good. Moved on.”

            “Have you?”

            Samuel was quiet. From his pocket, he pulled out a melting piece of cake, wrapped in clingwrap. Maria had shoved it into his pocket as she and Charles bolted for the doors with the rest of the crowd when the show ended. He was beginning to see why she was so adamant that he come with them.

            Stan's face broke into a smile and produced his own piece.

            From a distance, Samuel swore that he heard a familiar trumpeting, and he closed his eyes.

那天，那時，那刻的日食

Author's Note: I wrote this story in 2009 for my Chinese class, while I was in China . It was written on a whim, using various vocabulary words learned over the course of two months, and I asked for help several times throughout the writing stage. I am minimalistic in style when I write in Chinese, due to my inability to control my use of the Chinese language, so I thank my tutor and friend, Vane Jin, for helping me with the last bit of description of the eclipse. I also thank my Chinese teacher at the time, Wang Wenlong, for supporting my creative work, rather than hindering it with the traditional essay form.


那天，那時，那刻的日食

~

我是為了小春決定去看的日食。

“哎呀，建于，你怎么還在想這件事啊？”

我嘆了一口气，沒回答我大哥的話。

五年過得真快。每次我轉個頭，一年又過去了。我有的時候還會夢到我五年前的事。
在夢里我又高興又寂寞，因為在夢中我下意識里知道我只是在做夢。我看見的不是
真的人生。現在我怕我夢見她的次數越來越少了。

安安說這是個很正常的現象，但我心中永遠想著她。 我還要保持有關她的記憶。她
的每一個抱怨，每一個心愿，每一句話都得記住。

“喂，你不先給安安打個電話啊？”

我背著書包离開小春以前的房間。

“哥，我走了。”

“你真是個傻瓜，小建。你的老婆有一天肯定膩煩你這种過度關怀的態度。”

還沒到門口，媽就從床上喊一聲：“小建，你去哪儿啊？”

“不去哪儿。媽，你好好休息。我走了。”

“小建！”

我只有三十一歲，就已經覺得人生沒意思了。

在你批評我之前，我要先讓你了解我們家的情況。

我爸媽老了。他們的三個孩子都已經長大，离開家了。孩子們都离開家以后的第一
年，我爸六十歲，媽五十三歲。爸那年中風，把我媽嚇坏了。第二年媽就催我爸赶
快收養一個小孩，万一我爸死了她還有伴儿。催了一年多，爸就投降了，愿意收養
一個本地小女孩。他們收養小春，我們都反對，覺得媽養了三個儿子已經累夠了。
但媽是一個任性的女人，一邊喂小春一邊說：“你們不想要這個妹妹就別回來看我
們。這樣也好，沒人打扰小孩的成長。”

我慢慢地走到公車站等814路公車。

媽說了那句以后，大哥和二哥半年多沒回家。找的借口都是說工作很忙，家庭瑣事
很多。這六個月是我和小春最親密的時候。我那時只有十六歲，小春五歲。小春小
時候的脾气不大，微笑的樣子可愛极了！

小春從小眼睛就愛往天空看。她給我講的每個故事里一定會有星星，星球，星球上
住著神仙，還有宇宙里的小動物，小人類。我們平常去圖書館看各种各樣的關于宇
宙現象的書。有一天，我在网上看到一則布告說晚上將有流星雨。我們那天晚上就
坐在院子里邊喝菊花茶邊等待。我們等了整個晚上，一個流星都沒看到。小春傷心
了兩個月。

公車到了。我坐在第一個位子上。

我收到安安的短信：[你上車了嗎？]

十年后的小春就變得不一樣了。她以前可愛的微笑，溫柔的個性全部都變了。我記
得小春跟媽吵了一次。我也不記得她們是為什么吵起來的，總之是因為很小的事情。
此后小春一到十八歲就离開了家，想跟她聯絡也聯絡不上。但我最近听說小春還是
很愛星相術。

我回發：[上了。]

一分鍾以后：[你帶照相机了嗎？]

小春開始變化的早期我沒發現小春有什么改變。她只有在家里說話少了一些，跟朋
友出去玩的次數多了一些。小春似乎對家事不感興趣。但這不是很正常嗎？這不是
高中女孩子的習慣嗎？但她怎么會在這几年中改變得怎么快呢？小春离開家以后，
我們才發現她有許多的嗜好，什么惡劣的活動她都躍躍欲試地去做。她夜里不回家
是因為她晚上都會出去賭博，家門口的對聯是小春喝醉時被她撕毀的。

[帶了。]

已經兩年沒跟小春聯絡了。我在网上看到了新聞，說今天有日食。听說了以后，我
老婆就強迫我去看日食。

[你到了以后一定要給我發短信。] 

以前我還會批評她，說她太執著了。果真是我在執著我們以前過的日子。

坐在車上，我頭腦里就不再想小春的事情了。我們已經不是一家人了。想她也沒用。

814路公車開到農村的某個地方我就迷迷糊糊地下了車。站在車站旁邊我看了一下我
的周圍。路的盡頭是一大片延伸到地平線的草地。這片草地的北面和南面都是樹林。
天空有云，把太陽和藍天遮擋了，但我還往前走。

我走到草地中，看著天，漸漸地，遮擋著太陽的云層散開了。我可以看到月亮慢慢
地遮住太陽。當月亮遠行到太陽中間時，太陽就只剩下一圈小小的光暈，天空漸漸黯
淡，直至黑如子夜。晝伏夜出的小虫子就紛紛飛出來。

日食過了以后，我就開始流眼淚。

人生還是有一點意思。

[我看到了。]

When It Was Done [2]

AVERY found that truth existed in lies when he was young, around the age of seven, when he told his mother that his little brother broke her favorite vase; it was hand painted by their great-great grandmother during the times where women were oppressed by wrapping bandages around their feet. Technically, if Jonny hadn’t thrown his favorite race car across the room, he wouldn’t have thrown a temper and chased him around the house, knocking the delicate piece off the piano. And the best part about the entire situation was that his brother was more ashamed than he was, and took the blame.

            Lies are better than truths. He believed that the Chinese notion of yin and yang not only pertained to negative and positive energies, but also with circumstances. Lies can transform into truths, and truths are laced with undertones of lies. The lies are the yin and the truth is the yang. They can’t ever escape one another.

He recalled what he couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand, so he never had an answer when someone asked him about it. If he could, it wasn’t important enough to remember, and so he wouldn’t have an answer for it anyway. And he liked it when people get frustrated when he pretended he doesn’t know what one plus one was. Basics, he knew. Humans, he didn’t.

Take his mother for instance. He didn’t understand why he has to run the dishes under water first before he wiped it down with a sponge. Or why she had to yell at him when she found out that he hadn’t done what she told him to. Actually, he didn’t understand why they don’t just use the dishwasher. And when his school psychiatrists asked him why he doesn’t simply listen and do as his mother told him, he could never answer them.

He understood algebra well enough. And that was why he could never do well on tests. He didn’t deem anything that is easy to understand as something worth remembering. After all, if it was that easy to figure out, what was the point of remembering it? Challenges were fun, exciting; societal expectations boring, uninteresting, and expected.

And in all cases of parenting, a parent loved their child unconditionally, regardless of the children’s indiscretion, naughtiness, and even their ignorance and wickedness. He couldn’t understand and, on some level, refused to understand, and so he ceased to care.

He spent his middle school days sneaking cigarettes up to the roof to smoke, high school days smoking cigarettes in his uncle’s old Camero. He even had the brilliant idea (if he did say so himself) of shitting on the floor of the teacher’s lounge when they were in some meeting or other. The hour they spent the next day at their ‘emergency’ assembly on the ‘lack of respect on the students’ part’ was worth it. When Rattykins ratted on him, he could only reply, “I don’t know” when they asked him, “Why?”

University days were out of the question. He didn’t know how he got into the local state college, but when he received the acceptance letter, he felt obligated to go as there was the belief that he would turn down the offer. So he accepted, and moved across the state to attend overly expensive courses in which he had no interest.

It wasn’t until his senior year did he meet a girl. A quiet, mousy sort of girl who didn’t give him an ounce of her attention. He found her in his philosophy class, a class about Confencius and Menucius – whoever they are – and what purposes their different philosophies served. All he knew was that she talked too goddamn much, and if she didn’t shut up, he was going to fight her, knowledge for knowledge.

He passed the class with his first A since elementary school.

They met for coffee several times the following semester, and he found his first impression of her inaccurate and too prejudiced.

She was now married to his younger brother, who had more of a direction in his life goals.

The ultimate happiness, and the ultimate goal, of the human race are to produce offspring to carry on the family genes and name. At least, his mother thought so. His mother was traditionally Chinese, where the eldest son was expected to carry the family name into prosperity and fortune, and bring forth little male bundles of joy. Nothing else would suffice for a peaceful slumber and journey into the Land of the Dead. She cried all eight years—high school and most of university—wailing that he disappointed all of their ancestors and crushed their expectations of him; of how he was the least filial of all sons in the universe; and would he please, just please, shape up and honor his family, his roots, by getting a good job, getting married, and producing a male heir?

 This archaic notion of ‘family’ and this pedestal-placing of boys in the family was irking. But he never cared. The logic was there. It didn’t really affect him either way, because he wasn’t ever planning on listening to her. As long as Jonny fulfilled her expectations, his mother wouldn’t really care either way if Avery was married, offering baby boys to her on a silver plate.

His phone rang, incurring death glares from people around him in the theater.

“Yeah?”

“Avery, can you please put that away?” his girlfriend whispered as the actors continued to move around the stage in a ghost-like daze. “You’re bothering everyone.”

“Hang on; let me get out of this place.” Avery stood and made his way out of the theater, bumping knees and receiving loud complaints. When he made his way outside, he leaned against the red-stone building, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. “Hey, Kylee, what’s up?”

“I can’t stand her.”

Avery laughed, “Mom’s crazy. Don’t let her get to you.”

“What is wrong with her? I did everything!”

“You know mom. She’s still got that whole boys over girls thing stuck in her ancient head. You’re in fucking New England—whatever she says shouldn’t bother you. And you haven’t kept in touch for months, so how’s college life?” Avery blew at his hands, rubbing them to keep warm. It was chillier than usual for October. He knew this conversation was going to take some time. He lit a cigarette. “You comin’ home for Christmas?”

“Ave, you know I can’t stand being home.”

“It’s the holiday season, kiddo.” Avery felt his phone buzz and rejected the call. “At least come home to see your dear ol’ bro.”

“Funny.” He could hear chattering in the background. “I love you, Ave, but I don’t love you that much.”

Avery laughed again, “All right, fair enough. How’s college? Are you learning things or have you written papers about what you’ve learned and then forgot it all?”

“I’m not you,” she huffed after a bit of silence. “But I’m learning a lot.”

“Yeah?” Avery stuffed his hands into his pockets. “What are you learning?”

“Just the basics now.”

“What’s your major again?”

“This is why I don’t bother calling you. You never bother to remember anything I say.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Last time, I promise.”

“I’m studying to be a chemist.”

“I won’t forget this time!”

“I hope not. Hey, how’s Jonny?”

“He’s doing good.” Avery began to walk down the lit street, avoiding those in a hurry to get out of the autumn wind. His phone buzzed again with another call. He ignored it and took another breath of his cigarette. He flicked the still-lit butt at the foot of a nearby trashcan. “He and Janine are going on their whatever-number-eth anniversary next week. Apparently, he’s got something big planned for the both of them, which effectively means that I’m stuck watering their plants again.” Kylee was silent for so long that he was afraid the call dropped. With his current carrier, he wouldn’t be surprised. “Kylee? You still there?”

“You know what, Ave, maybe you should just go do something with your life instead of mopping around and complaining about Jonny.”

“Whoa, whoa.” His free hand rose as if to physically stop her from speaking. “Where’d this come from, kiddo?”

“And you know, you could stand up to mom once in a while and tell her to stop meddling in your life.”

“Hey.” Avery’s voice was quiet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Kylee’s voice was shrill. The background noise disappeared for a moment before starting up again. “Nothing’s wrong,” she repeated, calmer this time. “At least our mother cares about you.”

“Is this what this phone call was about? About Mom?”

“It’s always been about Mom.”

“Look, Mom has nothing good to say about anyone anyway; why are you so caught up on this?” Avery ducked into the coffeehouse to his left, shaking the cold out of his jacket. He nodded a greeting to the cute barista with the lip ring as he seated himself on the frumpy armchair.

“I worked hard, Ave. A 4.5 GPA in high school with merits and honors and awards for all of my extracurricular activities; I was valedictorian; I’m at an ivy league school, so then what’s wrong with me? Why won’t she just look my way?”

Avery could hear her sniffle and winced. All of their conversations involving their mother ended up with Kylee in tears. He could hear some murmuring and shuffling in the background, the ding of a bell, and then the sound of traffic.

“Kiddo,” Avery sighed as she remained silent. “You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve got a damn good future ahead of you.”

“Yeah.”

“What matters most,” Avery gazed up as the coffeehouse door opened, and he saw his girlfriend’s raging expression as she stomped in, “is how you see yourself, and I’m not talking about seeing yourself through Mom’s eyes. Don’t do that. Mom just doesn’t understand how fucking amazing you are; you can’t fault her for that. Just keep living and doing what you’re doing and you’ll just laugh at everything later.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” His girlfriend breathed out fire. He could have sworn she morphed into a dragon just then.

Avery covered the speaker on his phone, “Talking to my sister. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Ave? Everything okay?” Kylee’s voice sounded far away.

“Just hold on a sec.”

“So you’re just going to talk to your sister and leave me hanging in the theater after you’ve distracted people from enjoying the play?”

“If my sister needs to talk, I’m going to talk to her. And that means walking out of a horrifyingly boring, experimental piece with absolutely no story and no dialogue.”

“I wrote that piece!”

Avery could feel anger bubbling in his veins, “And here’s my review of it: horrifyingly boring, experimental piece with absolutely no story and no dialogue.”

The girl let out a frustrated scream, raised a hand to slap him, thought better of it, and then stomped back outside. The cute barista shot him a curious look, and he gave her a shrug.

“What was that?” Kylee’s voice suddenly made him tired.

“Just a bit of lover’s quarrel,” he sighed as he sank further down into the armchair. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Sorry.” Kylee sounded like she did back when she was nine.

“Nah.” He gave a short laugh. “I was just giving her my honest opinion. Though I probably could have said it better.”

“You think I can get through this?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Avery smiled. “I know you can. You’ve always been strong, and the more mature out of us siblings. I can’t see anything but brightness wherever you end up.”

“Yeah.”

“And I know Mom bothers you. Don’t let her. You’ve got a lot on your plate.  And hey,” Avery smiled as the cute barista set down a cup of black coffee in front of him with a wink, “if you’re lucky, I’ll have an apartment for December. You can stay with me.”

“If I’m lucky,” echoed Kylee.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You call me when you need to talk, all right?”

“Yeah.”

“And hey, how’s my sister’s love life, eh? Should I be heading over there and beating some dick senseless?”

Kylee’s laugh was empty, “Nah. Too busy for that.”

“Good.”

A silence followed afterwards. Avery couldn’t quite read it and wished that they were back at home where they would sit out on the porch late at night and look up at the stars. He could go inside and make her a cup of hot white chocolate, grab her favorite stuffed cat, and hold her hand under the blankets until she fell asleep.

“Hey, gē.”

Avery was surprised. Kylee always refrained from using Chinese, even to call him ‘big brother’.

“Yeah?”

“I gotta go.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for listening.”

“Just think about coming home for the holidays, all right?” Kylee was silent. “If I get an apartment, will you at least think about it?”

“All right. Bye.”

“Bye,” but Kylee had already hung up.

Avery spent the next month working extra shifts at the local deli. Marge, his manager and after whom the deli was named, took pity on his request that she began a “Thanksgiving Delivery Service”, which, consequently, placed Avery in a pilgrim costume. He didn’t complain, as the other options were less than ideal (a turkey or a misrepresented Native American).

            He knew the little city like his favorite comic book. Down this road here, turn left there, and find the building with bright red bricks. The large pilgrim buckle at his waist was starting to cut into his skin.

            The only thing he remembered about their father was that he was intent on ‘being a family.’ He never understood what that meant, so he kept trying to find the answer for it. If one was already bound by blood, what is the need for actually “being” a family?

            The only Christmas he remembered clearly was one where he had been scolded by his mother for opening all of the presents under the tree before the 25^th, and he was hiding behind the Christmas tree. He cried and sobbed into the sleeve of his Old Navy sweater so that no one would hear him, until he fell asleep. When he awoke, he was lying in bed, and his father was asleep next to him.

            “Ave.” His father opened an eye and spoke just as Avery was climbing out of bed. He caught Avery around the waist with an arm and brought him back on the bed, “Let’s talk.”

            When Avery started elementary school, he was taught that Christmas was about family coming together. He made Christmas wreaths out of newspaper with the help of Ms. K, and made strings of popcorn, and he was careful making his Popsicle stick art because he wanted to make something nice for his parents. His mother told him that his father would be back with them for Christmas. But he never did.

            “Thanksgiving Delivery from Marge’s Deli!” he sang as the door opened. The singing part was a dumb idea. He was going to give Marge a hard time for suggesting it. “Spread the thanks around!”

            “Hey, thanks, man.” One of the local university students raised a beer at him. “What are you dressed up as? Lincoln? Say, you wanna join the party?”

            “I’m all right, man.” Avery handed the bag over to the brown-haired girl behind him and accepted the money. “Enjoy your day!”

            On his way back to the deli, he stopped by the old apartment complex located just next to one of the three churches on the same street. He lit his fourth cigarette that day. When he was finished, he straightened his pilgrim hat and knocked on Mr. Anderson’s door.

            “Back, eh, Big Chen?” Mr. Anderson was a wizardly old man who wore a midnight blue robe with faded silver stars on them. Had Avery offered him a wizard’s hat, he would have looked exactly like the sorcerer from Disney’s 1940 Fantasia, minus the long beard. Most of the neighborhood children liked Mr. Anderson, except the ones that were sure they were on Santa’s naughty list. It was rumored that Mr. Anderson was the one who monitored them while Santa was on vacation.

            “I’ve got the money for the deposit and next month’s rent,” Avery said as Mr. Anderson stepped back and allowed him to walk in. “Is there anything else you need?”

            “Nah.” Mr. Anderson gave him a wink. “I know that you’re a good kid. How’s your mother?”

            “She’s good.”

            “She know you’re moving out?”

            “It’s just temporary.”

            “Ah,” Mr. Anderson nodded. “Well, you tell Mother Chen that I look forward to her apple pie this holiday season. One of the perks.”

            “I will; thanks.”

            “Just sign this, and you can move in whenever you’re ready.” Mr. Anderson placed the key into his hand. “Be sure to give your mother a fair warning before you do.”

            “Thanks, Mr. Anderson.”

            The one thing that he didn’t understand but cared enough to carry on doing, was being polite to elders. Especially ones who was in charge of Santa’s naughty list. Actually, he respected Mr. Anderson. The old man always took it upon himself to drop by every Sunday after church to sit down with their family. He wasn’t good with names, so he dubbed them Mother Chen, Big Chen, Middle Chen, and Little Chen. As the three siblings grew up, they saw less of him and more of their friends and computer screens, but the man never minded. He was always constant and in those ridiculous robes.

            After Avery’s shift, Marge gave him a pat on the back and gave him a warm, brown bag. “I know these are your favorite. Tell your mom I said hi,” she said.

He walked home, fingering the keys to his new apartment, wondering how he was going to tell his mother about next month.

            “Good, you’re home,” Daisy said from the kitchen. She tossed a pile of mail at him. “There are a few things of yours in there. Put the rest on the mail table. And Jonny and Viki are coming over for dinner. They’re spending Givingthanks at Viki’s parents’ house tomorrow.”

            Avery said, “Thanks. Marge says hi.”

            “Oh, good. You tell her I say the same when you go to work tomorrow.”

            “There’s no work tomorrow, Ma; it’s Thanksgiving.” Avery placed the paper bag on the table. “And these are from Marge too. Turkey subs.”

            “You know I don’t like the smell of turkey.” Diary wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure Jonny will like it.”

            “Right.”

            “Your sister’s not coming home for Givingthanks then?”

            “No.”

            “All right. What are you doing tomorrow?”

            “Does it matter?” Avery felt like a cigarette.

            “I need you to salt the sidewalks and the driveway.”

            “It’s not snowing. And won’t until December.”

            “Just do it.”

             Avery picked out the battered postcard from the pile and tossed the rest onto the mail table by the stairs. It was a generic island photograph with the words “Wish You Were Here!” written in cursive at the top.

            The door opened before he could read it and he stuffed the postcard into his pocket.

            “Hey, gē!” Jonny came through the door, cheeks tinged with pink. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

            “You’re a day early.”

            “Well, we’re spending the actual with Viki. They celebrate it the traditional way. Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, the works.”

            “You don’t even like cranberries.”

            “Ah, my little son!” Daisy came out of the kitchen with a warm smile. “And my only daughter-in-law!”

            “Hello Ma.” Viki’s blue eyes sparkled underneath her knit hat with a yellow yarn-puff-atrocity on the top of it. “Hey Ave.”

            Avery gave a careless wave as he left them in the hallway with their greetings. Jonny followed.

            “How’ve you been?”

            “Great.”

            “C’mon, talk to me.”

            “About what?”

            “Life.”

            “Life is life. It goes on.”

            “You aren’t still upset that I ended up with Viki, are you?”

            “Are you testing me?”

            “Just trying to get something out of you.”

            “What exactly are you looking for?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Then there’s nothing to talk about.”

            “Come on.”

            Avery’s eyes caught Jonny’s tapping right foot.

            “You’re not here just to bear Thanksgiving wishes upon our happy home. Why are you here?”

            “Let’s just eat first, all right?”

            “Dinner’s almost ready.” Daisy poked her head in. “Come to the kitchen.”

            As they sat down to their meal—no prayers were said—and Avery could feel walls caving in. He was looking at them through a small scope and he was being pulled back away from the table. The subs he brought home were on the counter, still in the bag, and the low rumble of thunder threatened the sky. The two pressure points at his temples were throbbing at a low frequency.

            “I’m moving out next week, Ma.”

            “You don’t have to ask my permission,” she laughed. “You should be living on your own at your age.”

            “I’m not asking for permission.” Avery ignored Jonny’s toe at his shin. “I’m telling you I’m moving out.”

            “Are you sure you can handle it? You don’t have very good hands in the kitchen.”

            “Yeah, gē,” Jonny snickered. “Just make sure you don’t set the kitchen on fire.”

            They all laughed and began speculating the troubles he was going to have as a bachelor, and he slipped away. Seating himself on his bed, he gazed around at the bare bedroom; there was just a desk to his right and a closet next to the door. Packing would be simple and quick. He couldn’t imagine what he needed to take with him.

            He pulled out the postcard. It was short.

            Hey A,

                        Tried to call before I left, but you were probs busy. Left the country. No plans. Thanks for helpin me out back then. ‘preciate it.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                S.B.

P.S. Sorry for lame postcard. Couldn’t find any better.

            He remembered Scotty. He was a strange kid; always made people suspicious of him for no real reason. He was just quiet, and he was rumored to have a missing toe. He never saw what the big deal was—so he was unfortunate enough to lose a toe. How does that make him any creepier than he already was?

Some relatives back East had adopted Scotty, but Scotty said that he was sick of their bullshit, so he upped and left. Avery never really had the guts to run away like that. He’d often contemplated it during his teenage years, but always ended up curled up under his mother’s bed. Scotty had always been the brave one. Brave, quiet, and a little on the pale side, but they got along fine. Avery skipped biology and spent time in the empty chemistry lab with him, lighting their smokes on the Bunsen burners. Scotty was younger by a couple of years, and always harbored an indifference towards everything. Avery learned that nothing meant anything to Scotty and they spent their youth smoking in silence, or panting as the adrenaline pumped through their veins, hiding from the authorities.

Avery listened as the fake laughter continued downstairs. He lit up a cigarette and texted Kylee: come home for the holidays. got my own apartment now. And with an afterthought, he typed, please?

Lemniscate.

Two girls, one tall and Strong, the other Struggling to be, walked in. Natural tension sat at their shoulders. They sat down, talking about insignificant things. It was half-hearted, the way mothers and fathers make small talk before springing upon their children about their divorce, about moving countries, about sex.

Stro: Can I ask you something? I want you to be honest with me.

Stru: Sure. [Indifferent, but wanting to be compassionate.]

Stro: Why did you lie to me?

Stru: (inquisitive look) Because it was none of your business.

Conversations had in a condescending tone required two types of people: the one who was condescending, who felt morally superior. The other one either couldn't tell that they were looked down on or kept their mouths shut about it because they did something wrong.

Sparkling tension.

Stro: It was my business.

Stru: You just want to make it your business.

Stro: I had a right to know.

Stru: And we told you.

Stro: Eventually.

Stru: Better than never.

Stro: Would've preferred never.

Stru: Had we known that, we wouldn't have told you anything.

Stro: I thought we were friends.

Stru: We were.

Fizzling.

Stro: I've found that straight women are misguided.

Stru: My sexuality has nothing to do with who I am. Neither does my age.

Stro: That's where you're wrong.

Stru: Being jaded, dulling your senses with marijuana, doesn't make you any more mature than I am.

Stro: I often forget how young you are.

Stru: How interesting.

Stro: He was mine.

Stru: I don't believe people should be seen as objects to possess, unless they're in committed relationships, then they have the right to reserve a person for themselves. That's what I've learned from you the past couple of months. Are you going back on what you've been preaching to me?

Stro: You should've known.

Stru: No, I shouldn't have. I wouldn't have. You purposely exude this air of sexual freedom, but you don't actually believe that, do you? And now it's too late.

Stro: Don't think you're innocent in all of this. You're not.

Pause. 

Honesty is a double-edged sword. When you ask for it, and actually receive it, you can't always accept it. Not deep down. Because deep down inside of you, something is hurting, knowing that truth is either an indication of friendship or the end of one. How do you tell one from the other?

StrO: I'm not saying I am. I'm taking responsibility for my actions. Shun me, cut me off, that's fine. I'll live with it.

StrU: You don't know how happy I've been since this happened. I realized just how stifled my life has become. Now I do things outside of my boundaries and yes, I was angry before, but now I'm just so happy.

StrO: So am I.

StrU: You know there's an angry woman in there, inside of you. It's that darkness I told you about before. I noticed it in you. I don't want you to let her become bitter and angry.

StrO: She was doing fine until you came along.

StrU: I don't think it's impossible for us to be friends again.

StrO: Is that so? Because I think it is impossible. Pause. I've no interest in being friends again.

StrU: Let's get this straight. You wronged me, and you're telling me you won't want to be friends again?

StrO: I don't believe I've wronged anybody, but yes. Is there a problem?

Pause.

StrU: No.

StrO: Then we're done here.

It's the end. Tattoo a lemniscate onto your wrist with the word 'Honesty' etched into it with white ink. It's all you can ever live by.

Monster.

Its rationality dissipated
drowning in algae
of murky lime-green
staining crystalline

Bigger
Better
Faster
Smarter
Prettier

Further ahead
Babes to the right
Left behind
Tastes like turpentine

Sandpaper tongue
Throat lined with poisonous
cobra
fangs

Tastes
like
bile

Forget your uniqueness
You feel
broken
unfinished
given up on

Can never
amount to
anything
to
pieces
and
life isn't
wor-
-th
it

Vile wickedness
spreading from the heart
to your fingertips
and it burns every inch of
who you thought you were
and reveals
a snake
hissingspittinginsecure

Why do you think
they shed their skin?

Little monster
grows up so fast
How does one
kill it dead?

Wishhopepray
you were better
you are better
but the big monster
loves you

Suffocate with
Eyes rolled back,
Lungs spitting rage
Algae filling them up

"Fill 'em up!"

You're turning green.
Scales sprouting.
You've never looked
so
ugly.

Let's Obtain Virtuous Ecstasy.

Perfection is overrated. You're beautiful, kind, intelligent. What else have you got? Perfection in an imperfect world sets you low on the bar, and sets you up for pain, misunderstanding, and blind ignorance. Imperfection is underrated.

Let's step back.

You're dishonest. You've become wooden. Self-serving. Your world is better. That's what you've shroud yourself in. You hide in your work, your children, thinking distractions are your only savior. You give everything to your students, and then keep everything else for yourself. There isn't enough for anyone else.

Let's step further back.

You've developed what you believed is you. That infectious laughter, warmth of a working kitchen with platters of cheese and crackers, with sparkling glasses of wine...resting on the polished wooden floors that you cleaned earlier in the day, with matching earth-toned furniture. Think back to those times. Remember her back then?

Take a step forward.

These exotic days of hot, tropical sunshine, opening your heart to those who are worth it, and remember the hearts that reach out to yours, that open your eyes and made you feel like you belong, that people are still worth it. There's no one else in the world who is exactly like you, right now, as you are. You shed tears, brush yourself off, and stand back up with a smile.

Where are you now?

Sink down into deep dark depths of anger, sorrow, helplessness, and more indignant anger. You're hard, inflexible, and jaded. It's high school again, except you're more self-aware, and it fucks everything up because you know all of the blame rests on you. You're responsible for everything, and you fucked things up because you're fucked up, and you don't deserve to live. But you know you can't die because death is a gift, and you deserve to suffer in this horrible, dark, ashy world of hypocrites and assholes and passive-aggressive droids. And you crave the bite of a blade, and you miss seeing blood-stains on your shirts and the pages of your diary, and you deny yourself release. You deny it because you don't deserve it. Your self-hate is almost admirable. You wish you off'ed yourself in high school, you piece of chicken shit, and now look at you. You're better off dead, you fucking hypocritical, passive-aggressive, asshole-droid.

Where are you going?

Rising above fear, unafraid of change, loneliness, and hardship. You were made for this. You were created for this. All of this. The tears, the hate, are propelling you forward because you can't actually die. You're too stubborn. You're too filial. You don't know where you are in this overarching picture of life, but it doesn't matter. You want to do something for someone, but you're aware of your own powerlessness. You will be loving, understanding, giving. You will be taken advantage of. You will be misunderstood. You will be judged and bullied and pressured. You will be strong, unmoving, unrelenting, but flexible. You will be you, but the best of you, and you will never feel the way that you do now. You will accept the darkness in you; accept it, embrace it, and learn to love and nurture it, so that the hurt goes away, and you're left with peace and Buddhism.