SEVENTY-FIVE

 

 

Point Roberts, Washington

Two Months Later

 

 

Mei says I am getting good at using the iron. I have twelve more shirts to press and then a box of cabbage to chop up for the restaurant. But when we are done with our work for the day, Mei and Shu said we get to share the rest of the sweet lychee fruit their father brought back from Vancouver.

I share a big room with Mei and her twin sister Shu. They are my age, I think. They are nice to me. Like sisters. We work together, go to school together, and play together. Their bedroom is like a dream. It has glass windows and an electric light.

Their parents are from Taishan, so they are hard for me to understand. But they are very kind. They own their own restaurant and laundry business in this small village called Point Roberts. They used to live in a nearby city called Bellingham until white mill workers chased all the Asians away. But here in Point Roberts we are welcome. Mei says many of the people here are from a country called Iceland. They like the Cantonese food we cook for them. I want to learn English so I can ask them all about their country. Mei and Shu are teaching me.

Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I saw snow. Real snow. It snowed all morning. It did not collect on the ground. Mei said it was too warm for it to stick. But just watching it fall was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. We took a break from schoolwork to run around outside and try to catch the flakes on our tongues. The flakes are smaller than in my dreams. But beautiful all the same. I hope it snows a lot someday. That it collects on the ground and builds up deep—so deep that they cancel school and we can just play in it all day.

We ate steamed gaau ji dumplings after playing in the snow. It was the biggest platter of gaau ji I have ever seen, each dumpling full of ginger and scallions and pork, served hot with black vinegar to dip them in. Gaau ji and as many cups of strong, hot tea as we wanted. Filling, warming, delicious. And it wasn't even for a special holiday! But eating the gaau ji made me sad too. It was always a special dish for my family. Something we had when things were very good. When we were happy.

On some nights, when the sky is clear, I look up at the Northern Dipper and I wonder if my family is looking at it too. If we can both see it, maybe we are not so far apart. I wonder if I will ever see my family or my village again. My father's smile. My mouse. I do not think I ever will. My heart tells me there will be no going back. It makes me sad. Sometimes, during the night, I cry. I miss my home. But I am not hungry anymore.