An Annual Affair

Once Mei had finally learned enough English to differentiate the right-left right and the right-wrong right and the write-paper write, she finally understood that people meant the right-wrong right and not the right-left right when they chose which side of the bed to wake up on. Her own bed was pressed up against the wall, and the left side—the side that was unbarricaded and unlucky—wasn’t doing her many favors. That night, she convinced her mom to help move her bed to the other side of the room, and Mei woke up the next morning on what should’ve been the right-right side.

She found herself wishing she hadn’t, a few hours later, when the hospital called Mei’s dad to say that her mom’s heart had reached an agreement with her brain and her body that none of them would continue the arduous task of keeping her alive. Her dad arrived at the hospital moments too late for them to see Mei’s working-heart-brain-body mother again. A freak accident, the doctors said, patting Mei on the arm, not looking her in the eye. We’re so sorry for your loss. There was nothing anyone could’ve done. Mei hadn’t been certain of much, then, only that right was now wrong and left was right and she had certainly woken up on the right-wrong side of the bed. She moved her bed back the very next night.

The only person that knew about her bed-moving was her dead mother, since Mei hadn’t told anybody alive about it, not even her dad. It was the beginning of many secrets that only Mei and her dead mom would know. She couldn’t even imagine telling her dad, out loud, what she had done. Mei could deal with her mom glaring down on her from the sky, but not with her dad, who would just glare at her down on Earth.

Mei knew she couldn’t think about her mom for long. If she did, her throat would close up and she’d be able to hear her heartbeat deep in her eardrums and feel it on her fingertips. It had been years since her mom had died and Mei had learned many things, but only recently had Mei finally understood how to be happy and sad and angry the way other people expected.

She fidgeted a bit in the driver’s seat, shifting her weight onto her left asscheek since her tailbone had begun to ache. The air was sticky and smelly with sweat and her dad’s warm mouth-breaths. She glanced to the right to where he sat next to her in the car. He was fast asleep, but he still held the handle on the car ceiling in a white-knuckled grip. He was a slight, thin man with light brown sunspots that peppered his tanned skin and deep frown lines that didn’t disappear, even in sleep. He had a square face and a small flat nose. His hair had begun to grey.

“Ba,” Mei had said when he entered the car. He hadn’t changed since the last time she had seen him, and he hadn’t changed much then, either. She nodded to him but she was watching the woman behind him run up to her family and pick up her son and twirl him around her head. If Mei’s mom were alive, she would run out of the car and wrap her arms around her dad’s weedy body and tell him how relieved and delighted and overjoyed she was to see him. Or maybe not. “It’s good to see you. How was your flight?”

“Safe, good. But tired,” her dad had replied. “I will sleep.” And he had closed his eyes and reached for the car ceiling handle without granting her a fourth sentence.

They were headed up north, up to where Mei’s mom was buried. The drive back and forth was a few hours long, starting from the airport, and they would be back at Mei’s house by sundown. It was the fifteenth anniversary of her mom’s death and visiting her burial site had become a yearly tradition, no more and no less frequent.

Mei used to hope that the drive could be a time for her family to grow closer, like when her friends’ families had bonding days on picnics or at the beach. The few hours they spent together—her, her dad, and her mom’s ashes—would become the only time they were all together, almost like a real family, a real family that ate TV dinners and yelled at each other and had conversations before and after the yelling. But now she was used to only seeing her parents once a year for the annual drive, and there was never any yelling. Now she wished for it to be over quick.

Her dad farted in his sleep. Mei’s arm became freckled with goosebumps, even as the fart melted into the heat of the car. The sunlight boring down on her was surprising, for Seattle. It shifted and unfurled on her dark hair, warming her head, and it spread, leaving her feeling sludgy and drowsy. Coupled with the droning of her dad’s snores, it almost seemed like today could’ve been any other Sunday morning, and she would wake to the sound of her mom humming a tranquil melody, sweeping away the dust beneath Mei’s bed.

They reached a rest stop with a Wendy’s nearby, empty except for them and the employees. Their sneakers stuck to the brown-beige tiled floor, squeaking as they walked. At the counter, Mei’s dad ordered a burger, she ordered a grilled chicken sandwich, and they slid into a booth, holding their food. Mei studied her dad from across the table as he watched the menu above the counter. He seemed mesmerized by the bright fluorescents and the promotional dollar menu. Mei had always hated when people gave her a once-over and declared, in perfect certainty, that they looked alike, but maybe they were right—she shared his deep-set, heavy-lidded eyes, his hollow cheeks, and his wide, round, downturned lips, which were currently pressed together in concentration. She looked nothing like her mother, who had been pale and graceful and had a small, red mouth that was always flashing white.
They stilled for a few moments, each scrutinizing something, trying to understand. Mei broke the stillness by beginning to unwrap her food. The wrapper crinkled and crackled. Her dad turned away from the menu and began to do the same.

“How are you doing?” she asked, half of her attention on her meal. She wasn’t sure if she should leave half the sandwich inside the wrapper or take all of it out. “How are you liking Texas?”

“It is good,” he said, with an air of conviction. He finished unwrapping his burger and took all of it out of the wrapper. Then he looked up and stared at her for a moment. “Warm.”

“Do you miss Seattle?”

“Miss?” Her dad’s brow furrowed like he didn’t understand the word. “No, no. Don’t miss. So different people. Some nice, some have guns, less nice.”

Mei attempted to suppress her smile. She probably shouldn’t laugh at that. “Are you happy? Healthy?”

“Every day I take two hour walk,” he said assuredly. “No back pain. No knee problem. Smell fresh air.” Her dad exaggerated a deep sniff, but the air of the Wendy’s only made him sneeze. Mei’s smile creeped back.

“Then go home and cook. Vegetable, meat, rice. Full meal.” He took a bit of his burger and nodded in approval. “Good sandwich. And so cheap! Wendy is much better than McDonald. McDonald scare me with red nose person. Wendy only have red hair.”

“You’re scared of McDonald’s? Of Ronald McDonald?”

“Who?” her dad asked, frowning. “No. Most important is health. Perfect health. Eat good food. Then you have perfect health, like me.”

“Dad, you ordered a bacon cheeseburger.”

“Yes. Good sandwich. Too filling. How people live here and not get fat?” He shook his head and took another large bite. “Sleep also important. You die without sleep. I sleep twelve hours. Help me not worry.” He frowned and took another bite.

“Focus on work,” he said, his mouth full of beef. “Happy and healthy is most important. Worry do no good.” Mei’s face must’ve begun to droop because her dad adopted a self-assured expression and pointed to himself. “You know I am right. Always right.”

A laugh cracked open Mei’s mouth. Pieces of chicken and the white bread bun flew out, landing on the table, and the surface became coated in white specks, almost like snow. Her dad laughed too. He always talked and laughed, especially at her, with his mouth full.

Mei swallowed. “Have you made any friends? Are you lonely?”

“Why?” her dad replied, but in Mandarin, so it came out like Weisheme? A tinge of irritation had seeped into his voice.

“What?”

“Why ask?”

“I’m just—”

“No,” he said, not quite snapping but not kindly, either. “Move on.”

“Okay—”

“Move on now. Mei.”

“Move on to Texas,” Mei muttered under her breath. She looked at her dad resentfully, but he had returned to staring at the menu. He almost looked the same as he had a few moments before, except that his mouth and his eyes had a slight downward tilt and the burger in his hands had a few bites missing.

Mei and her dad finished their meal in silence, neither looking into the others’ eyes. She chewed and swallowed and the sandwich seemed to lose some of its flavor, a flavor that had gone when the pieces of it flew and fell onto the table. The pieces remained there until they finished eating and wiped the table down.

After they cleaned up, her dad insisted that he buy Mei a vanilla ice cream cone. Mei knew this was his way of apologizing, perhaps the only way he knew. She loved vanilla ice cream cones. She smiled at him hesitantly when he returned, holding a cone in each hand. Mei took the cone and licked the side. She immediately felt more confident, but she couldn’t tell if it was because of the sugar or the half-apology.

“Thanks,” she said. Her dad nodded. “Were they expensive?”

“Yes.” Her dad nodded again, more fervently. “Very. Used to be $1. Now they raise to $1.50.”

“Wow,” replied Mei. It was silent again. “Wow,” she repeated, trying to extend the monosyllabic word.

“Mei,” her dad began suddenly, abruptly. “You are?”

“I’m what?”

“Happy. Healthy.”

Mei’s head snapped upwards. An instinctual response had risen in her throat, but her lips refused to open and the words filled her mouth, pressing themselves in the crevices of her crooked teeth. Mei wasn’t used to being asked questions about her well-being. Her dad had always assumed how she was feeling based on the amount of vegetables she ate, and his words had never imprinted on Mei the way her mom’s had. The words they exchanged were usually small and desultory.

Her dad had moved to Texas almost a year ago, leaving Mei alone in Seattle, in a townhouse a few streets away from his. When he’d visit on Sunday nights, he’d bring a premade stir-fried dish. At times, these meals would have a third occupant, but they’d never stayed long. Speaking to them would quickly become a labor of love, and Mei didn’t have enough love left for any of them.

“Ba, of course,” Mei said. She hoped she sounded confident. “I’m happy. I’m just happy you’re happy.”

“Ba,” said Mei, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Wake up. We’re here.” They had arrived early in the afternoon, the sun at its peak in a near-cloudless sky. In the distance Mei could see miles and miles of clear blue mountains, carpeted with snow. Nearby was a deep green forest, with trees so tall Mei imagined them poking the sky, which became irritated and ticklish at their touch.

Mei’s dad blinked himself awake. The craters of his frown lines deepened. “Here?” he mumbled.

She hummed in agreement and unlocked the doors. She exited and planted her feet on the black asphalt of the parking lot. The birds chirped as the wind spun around her, and she took a deep breath, inhaling the breeze. When she breathed out, she watched the small cloud of smoke dissolve in the air, following its flight to the beginning of the trail. “Olympic National Park” said the sign next to the entrance. 922,000 acres of snow-covered mountains, lush rainforests, and the ashes of my dead mom, thought Mei, the voice in her head sounding awfully pompous.

They began their annual uphill trek, through miles and miles of forest. It wasn’t long, but it was strenuous, the path set at a very steep incline. Watch out, her dad would say occasionally. Don’t step on branch. Don’t step in poop.

Her dad used to be able to take this trail at a consistent, brisk pace, and Mei would struggle to keep up, sweating and panting behind him. Now she stayed a few strides behind her dad for a different reason, letting him set the pace. As they continued walking, his pace slowed and slowed, but he never voiced a complaint. A few times Mei would ask Ba, do you need a drink of water. He’d reply No almost instantaneously.

Eventually they took a detour off the main path. They reached a small patch of land in the midst of crowded pine trees, a patch that didn’t quite match its surroundings. The grass was greener, but sparser, and red and yellow flowers formed a vibrant circle around it, softly sunlit, almost glowing with life.

There was nothing else—no name, no dates, no headstone. Her mom had wanted to be cremated and buried on a mountain in China, in Jinshan, but her dad hadn’t had the money when she did. He had worked and worked and worked, but it hadn’t been enough. Her body was cremated and what was left of her was laid to rest in a country it had never belonged. This park was the closest thing they could find to substitute her mother’s wish, but it would never be anything more than that: a poor substitute.

Terrified that her ashes might be stolen, or destroyed, Mei’s dad had insisted that they bury them anonymously and obscurely. It wasn’t like they had many other options—they were searching for a place that was affordable, that had mountains. A one-year pass to Olympic National Park cost $55. It had been worth it when they thought they would come each month, but that hadn’t happened. After Mei and her dad had come to the unspoken agreement that grieving was an annual affair, spending $55 per visit didn’t seem to be worth it anymore. They had changed to single use passes for the last decade, and neither Mei nor her dad had ever felt a strong inkling to go back.

There hadn’t been a funeral. The only people she’d known in America had been her daughter and her husband. Nothing about her death was ceremonial—they had poured her ashes into a Ziploc bag, her dad hid the bag in his backpack, and they drove to the park on a dreary, rainy day to avoid being seen. Mei and her dad dug a makeshift grave with their hands and poured the contents of the bag into the hole, where her ashes gathered and floated in a pool of rainwater. They tried to bury them as deeply as possible, but the basin of water and ashes kept splashing everywhere, all over the dirt they tried to pile inside and over their hands until they were coated in a thin layer of dirt and water and crumbled, dusty pieces of her mom’s body. On their way back home, they had stopped at the same Wendy’s and went inside the bathroom to wash the ashes off their hands. They watched them cluster at the bottom of the sink and fall deep into the drain below, disappearing into the ocean forever. Then they ordered and ate in the car, staining the seats with grease, licking the oil off their fingers when they finished.

The flowers that they had planted then were long gone. Normally they’d replace them yearly, but this time, it seemed as if the old ones were just beginning to bloom. Instead, they used their hands to pull up the weeds from their roots. Mei knew new ones would grow in by next year, maybe even by next month, but the act didn’t feel hopeless. The sun shone on their faces, beaming on the golden, weathered skin of her dad’s face.

They set food on the ground—fruit and bread that Mei had brought with her, along with some chicken nuggets from the Wendy’s. Her mom had loved chicken nuggets, just like Mei. On her mom’s birthday, she would always drag them to the nearest fast food place and order dozens and dozens of chicken nuggets. Her dad would bemoan the leftovers, but Mei and her mom would only laugh. Mei could still feel her arms around her mom’s boy, her head resting on her shoulder as they trembled with mirth.

Then her dad began to speak. “Laopo,” her dad began. “Mei is now twenty-nine. She is skinny. Too skinny. No good boyfriend. But is successful. Has own house. Spend own money.” He swallowed and straightened up. He looked frailer than ever.

“She calls me. Not enough. Only little bit. I move to Texas. Good weather. Warm. Almost like home. Not like Seattle.” Her dad looked away, turning his face away from Mei’s. It was her turn now.

“Hey, Ma.” Mei swallowed. “It’s been a while now. A year. Nothing new really happens. Has happened. I’m doing well. Happy and healthy. Ba, too. Hope you’re okay, wherever you are.”

Then they gathered sticks and struck a match and burned pieces of paper for her mom to use as currency in heaven. They bowed three times each to the pile of soil beneath their feet. They sky rumbled and darkened and the fire began to dim. Her dad brushed the sticks away with his foot, clearing the circle of flowers and soil. It was time to leave but he didn’t seem to know it, for he had planted his feet resolutely, looking down at the flowers and the earth beneath his feet. He titled his head to the side, studying the earth beneath them. Mei waited for him for a moment.

“Come on, Dad,” she said in Mandarin. She began walking away. Ten steps. Her dad didn’t follow. Twenty and thirty and she turned and her dad was still standing by the grave.

“Ba!” Mei called. “It’s getting dark. We have to go.”

Her dad didn’t seem to hear. The silence curled around them. He put his hands over his face. His chest rose and fell. Mei only watched as he fell to the ground on all fours. “Not now,” he said in Mandarin, so softly that Mei wasn’t sure if she was only imagining it. Then louder. “Not now.”

Mei stood and watched and frowned as her dad rolled up his sleeves and scooped out a pile of dirt and grass and twigs and bugs, tossing it to the side. He repeated it a few times before Mei unfroze. She began walking back towards him.

“Dad!” Mei yelled in Mandarin, too. “It’s time to go.”  Her dad ignored her and continued digging. He didn’t even look in Mei’s direction. She ran towards him and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him up. He didn’t budge. He looked so frail but it was all sinew and muscle and he didn’t need to bend to her will. He continued to dig with his hands.

“Dad, we need to leave,” she tried in a gentle voice, forcing herself to keep it low. “Please come with me.”

“Get a bag,” he muttered. He took off his own backpack and began scooping the dirt into there.

“Dad,” Mei’s voice rose and shook. She felt she was floating, breezy and unembodied, unable to latch on to anything, not even her dad. “It’s late. Come on.” Why wasn’t he listening? “We shouldn’t be here.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said without even turning his head.

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” Mei sputtered. “I know better than you.” Her dad ignored her. Mei pressed on. “You’re not going to get her back. We’re not going to get her back. She’s not even there anymore. We crumbled her into dust!” Her voice trembled but she forced herself to get more words out. She wasn’t done yet. “She doesn’t exist!”

Her dad finally turned his head to look at her. He had a terrible look on his face, rage and despair and frustration and contempt. His features were contorted into something barely recognizable, a kind of desperation she had never seen before, but he didn’t say anything. He just scooped another bit of dirt into his backpack. Mei fell to her knees, next to her father, and dug. His hands were already coated with dirt, fingernails browned and reddened with blood. Hers quickly became the same. It began to rain, and they continued to dig. Droplets formed on her dad’s brow, dripping down onto the damp soil as he worked. Finally they reached a few feet below ground. Dirt piled up next to them. They had almost formed a crater in the ground. They knelt together, staring at the empty hole in the ground and the trampled, flattened flowers underneath the small mountain of dirt. They dug so deep there were earthworms crawling everywhere and ants all over their hands. Mei couldn’t tell if the wetness on her face was spit or tear or rain and it was raining, thundering. Her fingernails and her hands and her legs and her head and her feet and her back ached, but they dug and dug until their bags couldn’t hold any more of anything.

Her dad rose, and Mei did too. She put his arm around her body, and he rested his weight on hers as they walked back through the miles of forest, back to where her car was parked. The spot where his hand touched her shoulder became warm and damp. Rain pattered at their feet and on their heads. They reached the car and began to drive home and listened to soft Chinese pop songs on the way. The dirt from her dad’s backpack and their hands and their bodies coated the car and the seats.

Mei’s dad was staying with her for the night. The next day he’d be flying back to Texas. She cooked dinner as he took a shower and when he emerged, they sat across the table from one another and shared a meal, each holding a bowl of rice in their left hand and chopsticks in their right. The sun had begun to set and her dad’s face was illuminated, lightening his deep brown eyes. Looking into her dad’s eyes was almost like looking into a mirror. They were so similar, much more than her and her mom. Mei had tried to fight it, but it couldn’t be helped.

Their chopsticks clinked against the bowls and their teeth. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since they had left the park, and Mei could see the backpack filled with dirt near her doorway, weighed down by death.

“Ba,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat and swallowed and tried again. “Ba, I think we need to talk.”

“Duh,” he said, in his heavily accented Chinese-English way, and it was so unexpected that the muscles in her face all unclenched, at once, and her cheeks lifted and her mouth opened and her lips broke out into a full-hearted smile. He smiled too at the same moment, a rare, real, full-toothed grin. Something bubbled up in her chest and she burst into laughter, almost a shriek, and before she could contain it more came pouring out and her dad was laughing too. It was pure and unfiltered and uncontained. Their laughter filled the kitchen and warmed her body from her fingertips, up and down and out, just like her mom used to be able to do.

They recovered and Mei cleared her throat again. “Do you remember how much Mom loved chicken nuggets?”

Her dad nodded. “I remember.”

“Okay,” Mei said. “I miss her. Every year,” she said, voice breaking. And her dad understood, because he nodded again, and he was and would be the only person who could ever understand. Mei’s stomach turned and her chest closed and opened. “How do you? Do it?”

Her dad shrugged. “Don’t think.”

“How else?”

“Sleep.”

“You mean you dream? About her?”

“Sometime. I lie on bed. When wake I think about dream before get up.”

Mei thought about her mornings, how she would wake, terrified, and double and triple check that she was waking up on the left side of the bed. “And it helps you?”

“No.” He looked down and started eating again. “But I remember.”

Maybe that was the best she could hope for. “Okay. Good advice.” She hadn’t meant for it to sound sarcastic but she thought that maybe it did.

“Mei,” her dad said, a look on his face not quite as terrible as the one he had worn by her mom’s grave but one just as terrifying, and suddenly Mei had thought she understood but she didn’t, not at all. “Jiang Meishan,” he repeated. “I am sick. Dying. They say I am healthy and may live. I know they are wrong. Chinese know. I come today to see your mom. I promise her I die with her. We die in China together. But she is here. Somewhere in park. You must find her. Keep finding her. Bury us together, not here.” Mei had begun to cry again and her dad saw and tried to make her laugh. “Here there are guns and cheeseburgers,” he said, but the tears only fell faster.

Mei let his speech falter, and she blinked away the blurriness that shrouded her sight. “I will. I will, I promise. You won’t die here.” She looked at her dad, across the table from her, swathed in the golden, hallowed sunset. He didn’t look away. He only blinked, and tears ran down his face, the first time Mei had seen him cry in the daylight.