Writer: Celina Bao

Editors: Elim Chan and Alloe Mak

She imagined a hundred things she could do when she saw that woman for the first time, but she didn’t imagine that her hair would be gray. Like the tip of grass roots, it would probably feel filthy to pull them out. It would sting her hands. She also didn’t think through the red wine-pouring plan. She had forgotten that life was not a drama and the older generation drank clear luxurious sake, the price of each cup equivalent to that of one Mac lipstick . Besides, it would not have the exciting color of vengeful red. Or maybe she could just whisper a few words of rancor, to leave a bitter smile on that woman’s face and witness her trying to hold together her last bits of decency. But that woman was sitting across the round table, and walking all the way to her just to “say something” seemed un-cinematic and childish. So in the end, the young girl just sat there, quietly swallowing her secrets with every mouthful of rice, like she always did. 

She listened attentively to their conversations. The private room dazzled with crystal ceiling lights and the tabletop glass spun fluorescently. White steam from the dry ice in the sashimi combo rose in the air like paradise. She felt like humming “be our guest,” but she knew it was far from the right occasion. At the same time, she wanted to laugh. These old and red-faced men and women were making predictions of whether Elon Musk would invent SIM cards to stick into a human’s brain, all while she bet half of them struggled to like the post of their children on WeChat. And suddenly someone shouted, “Who knows, maybe the world will accept people dating dolphins one day!” They all laughed, wheezing like dolphins. It hurt her ears a little.

These men and women were so caring for each other in a fake way. It was almost fascinating because she knew that they were actual friends. They walked together in the desert for weeks to raise money for dying children. She guessed that they were good people: intellectual and successful. In fact, she knew that deep down, she liked these blabbering half-drunk people more than a lot of the others in this world. But good people can periodically spit on the pavement, not tip the waiter, pay less taxes, and cheat on their wives, right? Overall, it’s hard to be a privileged adult.

The young girl often side-eyed her father. He looked ugly and greasy in his polo shirt with blots of sweat. Yet she was not ashamed of him, because he was the kind of person who could quote a poem to crack a joke. He was a silent drinker; he looked content and tired. She didn’t know what to feel, so she continued counting how many glances her father shared at her. At her mother. And at that woman. To her surprise, he looked at her the most, usually with a chopstick full of pork dropped into her bowl. She would turn away as soon as their eyes met, but she could feel his stare collapsing every time. His eyelashes faltered like a sad butterfly. Every time the young girl would swallow the pork quickly and sometimes get a scoop of shrimp for her father even when nobody was watching. 

To more of her surprise, her father looked at her mother the second most. Her mother looked good and greasy. Her painted face appeared unnatural under the bright light. The foundation was too pale and the lipstick was too red, unfitting for her mother’s age. Although they were with her father’s friends, her mother seemed more comfortable in the space than he was. She was always laughing loudly at other peoples’ jokes, or standing up to toast someone on the other side. Other times, her mother giggled to women beside her and mumbled about how fresh the bass was or how sweet the soup was. Mindless housewife stuff, the young girl thought. She wondered for what motive her father glanced at her mother. She hoped he was not embarrassed by his wife like the young girl was by her mother. He didn’t have the right to. He vowed at his wedding. 

Her father rarely looked at that woman. For a second, the young girl doubted what she had known all these 3 years. A thrust of exhilaration pumped through her blood as the thought rushed through her mind. Maybe they barely knew each other. She imagined on hills of red sand, barren with no grass afforded privilege to sprout; her father tread in front of the group like the alpha wolf and that woman sauntered at the back. In between them swarmed a distance of oasis. Before today, in her mind, she pictured that woman to have foxy and steamy eyes. She pictured her dressing in an exotic style, one unique to the desert, skin smooth and exposed under the sun like a nymph under distress. Effortless yet intentional beauty. The end of a sacrilegious pilgrimage. The young girl was struck by the morbidity of her mind, but she held near to it like a martyr. 

In reality, the woman looked different. She had a plain complexion, not flattered with heavy makeup. Despite the fact that time had made its mark, she was pretty, like a willow tree in late fall. Among the quietest in the room, she had a gracious yet vivid hue. The young girl now imagined the woman as the caregiver in the wolf pack during her time in the desert with him. She looked like a mother. 

She will never be one, the young girl thought, that is what she gets. That’s how the world works, she whispered to herself. That’s how it has to work. 

She pictured that in the desert, the woman would collect fractures of ancient ceramics and decipher which time period they were from. The wind would chase her footsteps, ten feet away from the others. The young girl was almost sure of this scenery. Then the girl heard the woman reciting a few poetic lines to respond to her father’s joke from the other side of the table. It made her ache because she was starting to understand. She didn’t want to be understanding.

Dinners like this required the young girl’s full attention. She couldn’t be on her phone because she would look like a “screenager” and disgrace her father. It was also because the adults loved to pick a child to answer random questions as a half-time show for their profound conversations. Men and women asked her about academics, relationships, and sports. They even requested that she sing a song. That was when that woman passed by her. She half hugged her from the back. The girl stiffened like a stone as the woman softly uttered,

“You are such a cute girl.”

The woman stood there in silence for a moment, gazing like a sigh into the girl’s eyes. Then, she squeezed the girl’s shoulder and headed to the bathroom. When her hand left the girl’s shoulder, it was slow and gentle—intimate like a feather. 

The girl was left in shock for minutes. That woman had to be drunk, the girl thought. Then she wanted to tear herself apart. She could still feel the genuine warmth of the woman’s fingers linger over her heavy sweatshirt. It was like a spring day; enticing her to leave home to go outside. She wanted to rub it off but she couldn’t persuade herself to raise her hand. Please help me, she cried, without making a sound. Why does the world have to work like this? Why? She was left fettered and exposed once again on the field under the spring sun like three years ago. The grass stung her like tiny needles. But it wasn’t even my fault. It replayed in her mind like a madman’s speech. She could never forget the woman’s eyes. She knew that it would taunt her for the rest of her entire life. She confessed her sins to Virgin Mary. She didn’t believe in Jesus anyways, and so she prayed, Mother, please forgive me.

The voices in her head waned along with her spirit. For the rest of the dinner, she shoved white rice into her mouth. It tasted like sticky nothing. The pork was salty and the shrimps had sand in them. She kept her eyes down at her plate. She didn’t want to think about that woman anymore so she started thinking about Caroline. How she kissed her under the streetlamp light right outside of school at 3AM on April 6th. How the incandescent light outlined the silhouette of Caroline’s waist. Her pale waist felt so soft under her hand. Then, she also remembered how about three weeks later Caroline forced her to the corner of the locker room and murmured with watery red eyes I love you, and she only responded, ok. But she guessed it was ok in the end, because in May Caroline was with someone else. She felt a little empty in her soul but it was ok too because that’s how the world works.

Then she was tired of everything, so she asked, can we go back?

Amidst cloudy noises and laughter, her father tapped on her shoulder and signaled her mother. But, their answer was lost in the white steam that blended into the regal aura of the room. Her father clicked open his phone to check the time. It had a privacy screen protector, but she still saw the wallpaper. 

There laid a girl on soft green grass who didn’t know that its roots would sting her hand. She didn’t even know that it was gray. But she was happy. Happy like an oasis that doesn’t need to ask if they could go back.

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