In the same boat, sailing through a storm; working together to survive
FEBRUARY 17, 2020, EVENING
The knocking on the door continues. I freeze, trying to decide if I should answer.
A timid voice calls out, “Mei, are you there?”
I put on my mask and inch to the door. Leaving the safety chain on, I crack it open. It’s Juan, wearing a gray sweater and an N95 mask. Wispy hair strands dangle over her red, puffy eyes.
“Hello?” I quickly wipe off my tear-soaked cheeks. Why is she here?
“Did you see what happened?” Juan wraps her arms around herself. “I am really scared.”
“Come in.”
I unlatch the safety chain and gesture her inside. It’s comforting to have someone here. Juan slips off her flats and lines them up neatly next to a pile of shoes strewn on the floor.
“Did you see them sealing everyone in the building?” I ask as I lead her into the living room. “What’s going to happen to that girl?”
“My mother said anyone who’s had close contact with an infected person needs to be quarantined for fourteen days.”
I think of Father. He is treating infected patients. Will he ever be able to come home?
“What will happen if those people get sick? They won’t be able to get out.” I gesture for Juan to sit down, but she remains standing. Her hands cradle her stomach.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
The fear in her eyes is replaced by a shrug of embarrassment.
“I ate my last bag of shrimp crackers. I—I’m hungry.”
It takes me a moment to process what she’s saying. She mentioned shrimp crackers a while ago. Is that all she has to eat?
“What about your parents?”
“They left the day of the lockdown.” She blinks her teary eyes. “My mother hasn’t come home from work. My father went to Zhengzhou to pick up my half brother, who has Asperger’s and lives in an assisted living home.”
“I didn’t know you were home alone like me.” Something stirs in my chest. At that moment, I realize—she’s just as scared and lonely as I am. “Come, I will find you something to eat.”
I lead her into the kitchen, searching for something more to say, but I’m at a loss for words. I envied the laughter that drifted down from her apartment. I pictured her cooking with her mother after I lost mine. I wanted her perfect life. I guess I was wrong.
We sit across from each other at the kitchen table while I try to figure out what I can serve her.
Juan looks at me intently and says, “I’m really worried about my father.”
“Where is he now?” I ask.
“Trapped in a park. They won’t let anyone from Wuhan enter the city.” She scrolls on her phone for a few seconds, then shows me a photo.
A man with the same big, round eyes as Juan is wrapped in a multicolor blanket. Behind him, adults and children wrapped in sleeping bags, heavy coats, and bedsheets are spread across a lawn. Suitcases are split open, revealing the contents inside. In the distance, a woman is washing a blue shirt in a fountain.
How can they treat people from Wuhan as though they all carry the virus? Would these people have escaped the city if they knew they wouldn’t be welcomed in other places?
“Can your mother help? She works in the mayor’s office, right? Can she do something?”
Juan no longer tries to compose herself. Tears slide down her face. “My parents had a fight. My mother told my father not to go. They haven’t spoken since then.”
How I wish I had Mother’s skill to comfort others or Aunty’s ability to find solutions.
“I am so sorry. They can’t just keep them at a park. I bet your father will reunite with your brother soon!”
Juan wipes her tears off with her sleeves. “Thank you. Can you keep a secret if I tell you something?” She places both elbows on the table and leans forward. Without waiting for my answer, she continues, “All the hospitals in Wuhan are full and they’re running out of medical supplies and COVID-19 test kits.”
I remember a video that recently went viral and ask, “Have you seen the video of the ICU nurse?”
“Yes. It was that video that encouraged me to volunteer in the neighborhood.”
In the video, a young, round-faced nurse said that to preserve medical supplies, which are in dire shortage, she and her coworkers have to keep their hazmat suits on for the duration of their six-to-eight-hour shifts to prevent the suits from getting contaminated. She said that wearing an adult diaper is far worse than not being able to eat and drink. “My father has to wear a hazmat suit to treat patients. I am worried about him, too!”
Juan reaches over and pats my hand. “Don’t worry! Help is on the way. My mother’s office is in charge of building eighteen field hospitals. The first one, Huoshenshan, is already open.”
My spirits lift slightly. With that many field hospitals opening, maybe they can stop the virus and Father can come home soon.
“Is it true kids don’t get sick from this virus?” I stand up and make my way to the refrigerator.
“I’m not sure. My mother said it’s more dangerous for old people, and so far only a few young people have been sick from it. But she still insists that I wear a mask when I go outside.”
“I hope we don’t get sick. What would happen if we did?” I open the refrigerator and then close it. I need something I can offer her right away.
“My mother said the new field hospitals are going to have the best equipment, and doctors are coming from all over the country to help. Plus, we can take care of each other,” she says earnestly.
A warmth rises in me. I’m not sure how to respond. I always wondered what it would be like to have a close friend. With the boys in the Phoenix Group, we rarely have heart-to-hearts like this. I open the freezer and take out the curry I saved for Aunty.
“Do you like chicken curry?”
“Yes, I love curry.”
I remove the plastic lid of the glass container, cover it with a paper towel to prevent spatter, and then heat it in the microwave. Soon the smell of musky curry and sweet coconut cream fills the kitchen.
Juan takes off her mask, inhales deeply, and says, “It smells so good! Mrs. Fong told me you’re a great cook.”
“It tastes even better when it’s fresh.” I transfer the curry into a bowl.
Juan looks longingly at the food while I place a porcelain spoon inside and hand it to her.
“It’s sooo good!” she says in between bites.
My chest swells with pride.
I know that when people praise me, the polite thing to do is to say something modest, but I want to savor this moment. So many times when I heard her effortless piano playing, I felt talentless.
“I wish I knew how to cook, but my mother made me spend all my time practicing piano. I only know how to order takeout.” She grins.
“Well, you’re very good at piano.”
Juan smiles proudly, swings a section of hair over her shoulder, and says, “I won third place in the last Yangtze River Piano Festival. But playing piano can’t keep my tummy full.” She scrapes the last bits of curry from the bowl.
I smile and hand her a paper napkin.
“Thank you! This is the best meal I’ve had in a long time.” She looks at her phone. “Sorry, I have to go. My mother usually calls me at this time.” She puts on her mask and stands up.
“Do you want more food?” I walk back to the refrigerator.
Juan looks at me shyly. I open the freezer and grab the last bag of dumplings.
“Here, you can have this.”
Juan takes the dumplings but stares at me wide-eyed. It suddenly occurs to me that she may not know what to do with them.
“It’s easy. Just drop them into boiling water. When it starts boiling again, add a bit of cold water. Repeat that process one more time . . .” Seeing her confused face, I say, “Don’t worry. Call me if you have any questions.”
After Juan leaves, I send her a text.
HOW TO BOIL FROZEN DUMPLINGS