Wai Chim - The Surprising Power of a Good Dumpling

February

THE SHADOWS OF THE LEAVES on the wall bend to the right, like gentle waves coming to shore. It could be a good day.

When Ma stays in bed, our mornings are a game of fortune-telling where Im forever looking for signs. The search begins when I try to coax her up with a cup of herbal tea. I shuffle down the hallway, looking for a shadow that looks like a smiley face, waiting for a shock from the doorknob, or trying to miss the creaking board on the floor. These signs tell me something about what to expect behind Mas closed door.

I cant say if they work or not. There was definitely a day I missed the squeaking board and Ma ended up throwing the tea I brought her against the wall. Bad day. And then there was the time I thought the shadows outside Mas bedroom door looked like a kitten playing with a balloon. That day, Ma went out and bought me and Lily new iPhones because she said they were on special. Good day.

Todays shadows look promising and the knob doesnt shock me. The ceramic lid of Mas special teacup rattles in my trembling hands as I push the door open. In here, the shadows look menacing; the thin slats of sunlight threaten to break through the barrier of darkness that engulfs the room. Shes still in bed, bad sign. One for one.

I set the cup down on the bedside table. Mas tiny form is lost in a swath of thick blanket so only a matted black nest of her hair pokes out. I know shes not sleeping. My heart sinks.

Shes been in bed for two weeks now. Its not the first time, and I know it wont be the last, but I still cant smother the plumes of disappointment when she gets like this. When she stops being our mother.

Out of habit, I push my glasses up against the bridge of my nose. Ma. Caa4. Tea. I can still detect the tinge of hopefulness in my voice.

She doesnt stir. A small breeze makes the blinds tremble and the beams of light shiver, but nothing else in the room moves, certainly not my mother.

Ma. I put a hand on the cushioned part that I think is her shoulder and shake gently. Only then does she move and thats only to flinch my hand away. I stay by the side of the bed waiting for another sign, some acknowledgment that Im here. But she doesnt turn. As I leave, I shut the door as quietly as I can. This time, I think that maybe the waves in the shadows look more like spikes on a lizard, so not the good sign I thought they were.

Or maybe theyre just bloody leaves.

I plaster on a smile and head into the kitchen.

Its eerily quiet, just the sound of the dripping tap from the sink. Its the only plus side to Ma being in her room. My little brother and sister have been on their best behavior in the mornings since Mas been in bed.

The two of them are crammed together on one side of the tiny dining room table making breakfast. Ma threw out the toaster a while backtoast is too jit6 hei3 ( hot air ) and the darkened bits cause sore throats, she saysso we are eating butter and jam on plain bread. Lily is helping to spread the jam for our five-year-old brother.

Michael flattens his slice of white bread into a gooey patty and crams it into his mouth, jam and butter smearing all over his pudgy cheeks.

I grab a paper towel to wipe it off, but it just spreads the sticky mess around. Now bits of paper towel cling to his face. I shrug and reach for the tub of butter.

Hows Ma? Lily asks.

Sleeping, I say. Lily will know this is a lie, which makes it easier for me to say. Im a terrible liar, and I dont like to argue with my sister. While some people argue to be right, Lily argues just to prove the other person wrong.

Mommys sleeping! Shhhhh, dont wake her up! Michael says this way too loudly, so I shush him.

As expected, Lily is not buying. Okay, so, like, talking to herself or not talking at all? At thirteen, my little sister is more matter-of-fact and sarcastic than Ive ever been.

Shes sleeping , I say again, and jam the butter knife into the hardened brick. I gouge out a piece, not caring that it looks like somebody has hacked away a piece of flesh from the middle of the block. I do my best to spread it, then give up and just fold the bread over. I eat my buttered bread in two big bites. The lump of butter melts slowly on the roof of my mouth.

If Mommys sleeping again, are you taking me to school, ze2 ze2? Michael asks me, a snarl of paper towel still stuck to the corner of his mouth. His bowl haircut and perfect bangs make his brown eyes look even bigger. Hes so cute, sometimes it hurts my heart.

Lily is going to have to take you today.

Lilys outraged. I have to meet with my CT partners before our presentation. You can drop him on your way. CT stands for Communications Theater ; calling it drama is too pedestrian for the students at Montgomery High.

You start at nine, Lily. If you get going soon, you wont be late, I say.

Uuuuuugh! Lilys complaining is overly dramatic, but it doesnt faze me. She is up and running to our room, her sticky plate still on the table. I sigh and pick up my hardly used plate along with hers.

I leave the dishes in the sink and wet another paper towel in a final attempt to clean my brothers face. He sits there and lets me scrape things off with my chewed-down-to-the-nub nails.

Baba didnt come home last night. My brother frowns.

I know. Things must have been busy at the restaurant, I say. Ive noticed this has been happening whenever Ma stays in bed, but I keep this to myself .

Michael reaches up to touch my face. Look, Anna! An eyelash. You have to make a wish.

I smile and comply, closing my eyes and blowing on his fingertip, wishing for Ma to be out of bed, for Baba to be home.

For things to just be normal.

We smile at each other as the eyelash disappears, and Michael looks very pleased with himself.

Okay, its already past eight. Time to get ready for school, I tell him.

But I need Mommy or Baba to sign my permission form. He waves a piece of paper under my nose. Our librarian, Miss Holloway, is taking us to an art camp! But she says I have to get my parents to sign it or Ill miss out. Cant we just wake Mommy up?

I remember Mas shape in the bed, all bundled up and still. The last thing I want is for Michael to see her that way. Tell you what, you go get ready, and Ill see if I can wake her up, I say.