Childhood

WEIGHTLESS

Reaching up. Hand held, supported. Long legs pacing beside me, rhythmic and steady. The spilled gravel on the sidewalk crunching beneath three pairs of feet, sun blazing overhead, black hair burning. Barely a breeze to even stir the weeds growing out of cracked pavement. All around, insects stagger through the air and cars speed by in the refuge of frosty comfort. Sweat is beginning to collect on my neck, in my cradled hand. We are almost there. I look up. She smiles at us, ensuring me our trek is nearly over. Nearing the sanctuary of air-conditioned bliss, the cool embrace of the shadowed entrance enfolds us. She swings open the heavy flyer-plastered door, which advertises puppet shows and book sales. We step into the sunlit red-tiled foyer, smiling in relief as our bodies take in the refreshing coolness. Particles of dust dance in the afternoon streams of light. I breathe in the familiar musty aroma. As my mother strides over to the counter to deposit our soon-overdue books, I lead my sister, who had just begun to walk, over to my favorite place. A special path lined by brown metal shelves, brought to life by the colorful, diverse, and organized spines they displayed. A mosaic of places to be, people to meet, experiences to try. So many possibilities. Which one do I choose? Sift, sift, sift. Thump. Oops, the bookend has fallen over. I strain to pick up and return the books to their original orientation. What’s this? A circle of rainbows growing into a tube with a creature resembling a human standing on top. The illustration looks familiar…like… what’s his name? Dr…Dr. Seuss? Dr. Seuss. He must have written it. Open book, flip to random page.

“Oh… the p-plaace…place…places. Oh the places you…you’ll g-go.”

Oh! The places you’ll go.

What does that mean? Oh well, the pictures are pretty and colorful. I pick up the book, hug close to my chest. Maybe mom will read it to me tonight and I can learn some more new words. One day, I’ll be able to read it to her on my own. She will be so impressed.

FLOATING

Cold. Freezing, piercing, unbearable cold. Frigid air numbed the exposed parts of my visage, left uncovered by my worn blue-plaid scarf. Everything is white, surfaces like chrome. I struggle not to slip. It’s hard. I move stiffly, decked in layers upon layers of bulky garments with promises of keeping me insulated. My book-laden backpack, covered in airplanes and steamboats, feel as heavy as the objects that embellish it. Onwards we plod, through paths made narrow by the Great Wall-like snow banks. My only source of comfort marches alongside me, sheltering my mittened hand.

“Keep it up, we’re nearly there!”

I want to reply, but my mouth is immobilized by the cold.

My dad was always working during the early stages of my life, so I hardly saw him. He would return home reeking of cooking grease and fried dough late in the night, long after I had fallen asleep after my attempts to stay conscious and greet him. His intensive labor in the various kitchens of Chinese-Canadian eateries was made worthwhile by the wide grin that would appear on my face after I’d eaten one of his extraordinary meals (His steamed fish with green onion and soya sauce was the best), made special during the few days he had off. I was astonished to discover that he had only learned how to cook after coming to Canada.

Our only car, a forest-green Chrysler Neon, was used by my father to transport himself to and from work, leaving my mother dependent on having to walk to take the bus to travel anywhere. As she was jobless and stayed at home to nurse and care for my sister and I, she would often take us out on “journeys”, as she called them, so we could spend time out of the house together. She did it for our sakes, so we could see, learn, and experience new things on a regular basis- going to the library, the park, the mall, the yearly exhibition. Our close friends and family lived in faraway places, so the presence of an excitable aunt, a doting grandparent, or even an irritating cousin was always absent in my younger years. Fully aware, she devoted all her time in the world to my sister and I, as though to make up for the inexistence of other family. She made use of what resources we had and gave us all she could for our well-being and happiness. Everything was for us. Even in Saskatchewan’s blistering heat and bitter cold, she would lead me, daily, on a several block-long journey to preschool, just so I could receive my primary education. She would repeat the same for my sister and throughout our first elementary years. All for us.

SUSPENDED

Scattered across the table lay the little grey and black flecks, dismembered from the pink rubber. Having been furiously abraded on the now deteriorating piece of loose leaf, they were now strewn across the dining table, lifeless little specks, finding their way under oily plastic placemats and into the rips of the aging vinyl tablecloth. I leaned my weary head against the white kitchen wall, covered in black scuffmarks and chipping paint. My head spinning, she persisted.

“Three times three?”

“Nine.”

“Three times four?”

“Twelve.”

“Three times five?”

“…. Twenty one?”

“No. Try again.”

“Sorry… eighteen?”

“No. That’s three times six. Try again.”

“Um…”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“…I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

She turned towards me. Eyes flashing like the veins of lightning that illuminated my room on thundering nights, driving me to take shelter in the canopy of clammy sheets.

“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s fifteen. Three times five is fifteen.”

I look down.

“You know, kids your age in China have already learned their multiplication tables. All your cousins have done the same. You should be able to too. You’re behind them.”

So much disappointment.

“I’m tired. I’m going to go rest, review your math until I come back.”

“Okay.”

After she retires to her bedroom, I look down at the sheet in front of me. A jumble of numbers meshed into shadows of grey left behind by my exhausted eraser. Spread out before me are exercise books, purchased on sale, overflowing with math exercises and puzzles that I didn’t understand. Why should I? No one else in my class was doing this yet. They were probably outside, splashing through the puddles left in spring’s wake. I looked up to the window. How badly I wanted to join them.

GRAVITY

Sprawled on the floor, a surrounding fortress of paper and hardcover print. Lost in another world, giving no notice to the sounds of scuttling leaves filtering through the open window or the pattern that the burgundy carpet was imprinting on my elbows. The final page sliced, the soft thump of the closing book echoing through the empty rooms of the house. I sit up, stretch, draw a graphite line through an item on a numbered list. My eyes wandered to the window. An immeasurable stretch of clear blue sky, stippled with wisps of white clouds. Through it, squawking V-shaped formations flew through the air, prospecting for better days and climates. I closed my eyes and ran my thoughts through my to-dos.

Math? Check.

Fold the laundry? Check.

Study for my spelling test? Check.

Plug in the telephone at 7—

I snap open my eyes and look to the clock. 6:56. I stand and rush over to the telephone jack at the bottom of the stairs and jam in the plug. Hardly a minute passed until the familiar ringing filled the voids of the house. She was early today. Eagerly, I pick up after the first ring.

“Hey, honey. Did you eat supper yet?”

“Yup. The rice you made was good.”

“Remember to drink lots of water to wash it down, you always get sick this time of year.”

“I will, mom.”

“What’s your sister up to?”

“She’s drawing, I think.”

“Make sure she drinks lots of water too. Anyways dear, I have to go now, it’s been really busy today and I’ve hardly had a chance to sit.”

She laughs.

“Study hard so you don’t end up like me!”

I smile at the familiar phrase.

“I will, mom.”

“Promise me!”

“I promise! See, I finished all my homework today!”

“Good! Keep it up. Now, I really have to go, my boss is yelling at me.”

She yells something unintelligible in the opposite direction from the receiver.

“That boss of mine. So impatient. Anyways, goodbye, honey! I’ll see you in a couple of hours. I love you.”

“I love you too, mom.”