A Glasshouse of Stars

by Shirley Marr

  There is no smile today, no break on the surface. You arrange some biscuit-type crackers on the side, for dipping. It is not medicine, but it has never failed to fix you, whether you were in bed shivering from a cold or hot with fever, your face and forehead covered in your mother’s cooling rice paste.

  Ma Ma receives the hot chocolate gratefully, and you look at her making crumbs all over her big belly and feel the urge to brush them off her as though she’s your child. You are not ready to switch roles if that is the way things have to be. You cannot rely on Mrs. Huynh for everything—and right now you don’t know if you want to. You cannot be expected to buy the groceries and look after your mother and have to go to school at the same time. You just want to be a kid.

  Tired of thinking, you sit down next to her and pick up the letter off the bed. It is old and yellowed by time. You turn it in your hands, trying to find the opening to the letter inside, but to your surprise, there isn’t one. The letter has never been opened. You look at the words on the front, Old Language that you cannot read, and you think of the New Language you struggle with. And you mourn. You mourn for something you never had, because you cannot yet celebrate what you have not yet gained.

  “Is this your letter, Ma Ma?”

  “No. It belongs to your grandmother.”

  “And she didn’t open it before she left?”

  Ah Ma left the world a long time ago. Now she is only the face of the sad bride on the worst day of her life hanging on the wall, a frozen frame in time.

  “No. It’s because Ah Ma couldn’t read.”

  “Then why would someone write her a letter?”

  Ma Ma’s eyes take on a fierce look and her lips turn up at the corners even though it isn’t a smile.

  “Your Ah Ma was smart, you know. She was very good at figuring out how things worked. She could look at how someone cooked a dish or sewed a piece of clothing and she would come home and do the same thing completely by memory. She even fixed an old radio by herself once. She just never had a chance to get an education.”

  Ma Ma looks to the side, out the window.

  “But she was silly in the sense that she fell in love with a boy who, when he no longer loved her back, didn’t have the guts to tell her. So he wrote it in a letter and then ran away.”

  “Oh.” You put the letter back down on the bed.

  Suddenly, Ma Ma is pulling you toward her.

  “You know your stupid mother never got a chance to have an education either. You learn all you can, Meixing. You go to school and you become like Ailing, okay? So if a silly boy ever writes you a letter, you can read it and you can write back the most brilliant reply calling him a fool. And he will know he is dealing with a strong woman.”

  Ma Ma is done and she lets go of you to wipe the snot away from her nose.

  You are feeling stunned. You feel sad that Ma Ma called herself stupid because you know she’s trying the best she can to read and write both the Old and New Language using her pocket translation dictionary. But you are too stunned to say anything. Ma Ma held you. And not only that, never in a million years would you think she had anything nice to say about Ailing.

  “Ma Ma, I thought you hated Ailing? You don’t even call her your sister.”

  Ma Ma gives you a genuinely surprised look from over her snotty hand.

  “Have I ever said I hate Ailing? One day I know she will wonder why she is connected to a whole bunch of uneducated, loud, and crass women and she will disappear from our lives. I’m trying not to get too attached to her.”

  You pass Ma Ma a tissue and she gives a good blow into it.

  “Will you promise you won’t forget your Ma Ma when you are a Somebody one day?”

  “Never,” you say softly, and your eyes fill up with tears. You don’t cry, though. Ma Ma is emotional and pregnant and it wouldn’t be good for her to see. “I’ll never forget.”

  * * *

  That evening, even though all your aunts are gone, Mrs. Huynh does not come back. You look in the fridge and find a tray of kueh that Ailing had made. It didn’t set properly and Ma Ma had been critical and told her to put it into the trash, but you think it’s good enough for eating. It tastes delicious even though it slumps sideways and looks sad. You go about making Ailing’s midnight meal: scrambled eggs on toast. Ma Ma does not think much of the New Land food, but she is hungry so she eats it anyway.

  You go to stare at Ah Ma’s wedding photo out in the formal dining room nobody ever uses and nobody even goes into. She stares at you with those brimming eyes and that straight mouth. You smile at her. She makes a little smile back at you.

  Promise me you’ll be the best writer one day, she asks of you.

  I promise, you reply.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Stars

  You wake up early to make Ma Ma another hot chocolate before school. In the corner of your window something inside the pink cocoon shifts, but then it goes quiet again. You press the coin inside your fist and call out to Ba Ba, asking him to follow the sound of the bell.

  Big Scary’s scales are so cold under your bare feet, but she tries to warm the ones you stand on long enough, chasing you around the kitchen with glowing pink squares. You stare at the urn that needs to be filled with five gallons of water, enough to make a hot drink for all your aunts, and it seems silly to still be using it. So you unplug it and put it away and take the kettle back out.

  Breakfast is scrambled eggs on toast again, as it’s the only thing you know how to cook. After you take out four eggs, there are only two eggs left inside the carton. This makes you panic, so you shut the lid quickly and put it away. You are not sure if you are brave enough to go to the grocery store by yourself.

  There is also the problem of your uniform. You are down to your last clean shirt, jacket, and pair of pants. You look at the pile of dirty clothing in the laundry and, copying what you’ve seen done before, you turn all the clothes inside out, checking to make sure there are no tissues in the pockets. Then you throw them into the washer with a large scoop of powder. You turn it on and hope for the best.

  Ma Ma eats her eggs gratefully. She seems sluggish and unable to get out of bed, so you put your palm on her forehead to see if she has a fever. She shakes your hand off irritably and says she is “not sick.”

  Maybe she needs to get checked out by someone who knows what they are doing. Maybe both she and the baby need to be checked out. But you don’t know how you can make this happen.

  On the way out you see Mrs. Huynh standing at her mailbox again. You come so close to asking her to go talk to Ma Ma. But you don’t want to approach her only when you need her for something. You draw your shoulders up and walk away.

  Ms. Jardine notices Kevin’s bruise straight away. He tells her he beat up an older kid and grins. She says she will talk to him about it later. Then she notices that there is something wrong with you, even though you don’t have a bruise yourself, not one on the outside, anyway. It’s almost as if she can tell by magic, just by looking at the way you sit and the way you hold your own body. Standing beside her bookshelves, she asks you to come over while the boys are busy working and to sit in a beanbag chair with her.

  “This is my favorite book,” she says, and hands it to you.

  You open it and hold it in your lap. The sea of words inside makes your mind spin. But while it all attempts to overwhelm you, a few words you know jump out and, like little buoys upon that ocean, they keep you afloat. They remind you that you can kick and you can swim. Sentence to sentence.

  “Something is worrying you,” Ms. Jardine says. “Is it school? Or is it something else?”

  You feel too nervous to look her in the face so you concentrate on the brooch she is wearing instead, a pair of lungs all studded with blue and red stones.

  “Ma Ma,” you say, and your throat feels so dry.

  “Is Ma Ma not like she used to be?” asks Ms. Jardine.

  You nod.

  “And Ba Ba,” you say.

  “Is Ba Ba a
lso not like he used to be?”

  This is so hard. Tears form in your eyes.

  “Ba Ba is gone in a car accident.” The tears drop down onto your face.

  “Oh no, I am so sorry,” says Ms. Jardine, even though it is not her fault. “Let me ask a very important question, Meixing—do you feel like you are not how you used to be?”

  “I feel different,” you reply. “Some of it is a bad different.”

  “Have you told anyone else about this?”

  “No,” you reply, but now that you have told your teacher, it feels as though she is helping to lift the weight with you.

  “I have a friend who can help. She is called a social worker, and she can come to your house after school and have a chat with you and Ma Ma. Does that sound okay?”

  You nod.

  “My friend won’t be scary. She will probably bring some paper and supplies and ask you to draw pictures for her, like you do for me,” Ms. Jardine says, and she squeezes your hand. You think you will be able to draw some pictures for this friend.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” says Ms. Jardine. You desperately hope so.

  * * *

  You try to talk to Kevin on the way back to normal class, but he races ahead of both you and Josh, and you can’t catch him. Every time you go a little faster, he goes faster still. He swerves a completely different direction to the way you always take to get back. You and Josh look at each other in surprise until, still following Kevin, you realize he is avoiding the covered area of the schoolyard. You remember all too well what happened there last time.

  Josh gives you an understanding glance as the two of you part to go to your own classrooms. You have never seen Kevin make a beeline for the door of class so fast.

  “Kevin, I wish you would talk to me!” you shout at him.

  He stops and turns. In shock, you think, as you’ve never raised your voice before. You’ve surprised yourself.

  “Why? So you can try and understand me?” he spits out.

  “Because we are friends. Remember what you said?” you reply.

  “Don’t be a loser.” Kevin pulls open the door and storms inside. You catch the door before it slams on your face. You watch as he marches not to his desk, but right up to where your former friend is sitting, smiling away with her other friends. You watch as he grabs her by the arm and drags it up to where he is. You watch in horror as he tries to twist your Ah Ma’s ring off her finger.

  “Kevin!” Miss Cicely screams. “What do you think you are doing! Let her go!”

  “She is a thief! This is not her ring!” Kevin shouts as he finally tugs it free and holds it up in the air. Your former friend is squealing. Then she whacks Kevin right in the head.

  “This is it! Kevin, principal’s office!”

  “But, Miss, she just hit me!”

  “Shut up, you idiot boy!”

  Kevin stops flailing around and sags on the spot. His face goes red, your face goes red, Miss Cicely’s face is red too. Everyone else in the class stares in shock.

  “This time you will be expelled.”

  Expelled. Sounds like something to do with casting magic spells.

  This, though, is much too real.

  “You want a ‘thank you’? Here!” Kevin throws the ring at you. It bounces off your chest and rolls under your desk. Swiftly, you dive after it and hide it inside your fist. You turn to see Kevin marching out the door, this time successfully slamming the door behind him. You all jump.

  “Give that to me,” says Miss Cicely.

  You want to tell her it belongs to you. It has always belonged to you, and before that it belonged to Ma Ma and Ah Ma before her. It is a precious family heirloom.

  “Meixing, do you understand me?”

  There is laughter behind you. You don’t need to see who it comes from to know who it is.

  You open your fist and hand Miss Cicely the ring. She glances at it and then puts it in the top drawer of her desk. You feel yourself losing again. Kevin is right, you are a loser. You want to quietly sit down and make yourself as small as possible so you don’t lose any more.

  “Please go to the principal’s office.”

  Maybe you are an idiot as well because you don’t understand her. You go to sit down.

  “I said the principal’s office, Meixing—now!”

  You have never seen Miss Cicely so angry. You hurry quickly to the door and make sure it shuts politely behind you even though your hands are shaking uncontrollably. You think of Ma Ma telling you to stick it to the world and to be a strong woman—well, she says you have to be well mannered and meek too, so maybe you’re always going to be weak.

  * * *

  The punishment wall is empty except for the cheerful graffiti. You walk up awkwardly past it and see that the principal’s door is closed, so maybe Kevin is in there already. But peeking into the reception area, you see the back of the principal’s head as he talks to the lady at the front desk. You quickly pull away, and you are walking across the grassed quadrangle and toward the school gate.

  It is closed, but you push it open and you walk out.

  “Kevin!”

  Hands in his pockets, he has walked as far as the utility pole. He doesn’t turn to the sound of your voice. It is so cold out here, you almost wish you were back in class.

  “Kevin, please come back!”

  He keeps walking.

  “Don’t be a loser!” you yell to get his attention.

  He stops then and you catch up with him.

  “You are not a loser, not even close. Please. Come back with me.”

  Kevin shakes his head at you. “If I go to the principal and get expelled, my parents will never forgive me. They always go on and on about the sacrifice they made to get me here and don’t I know it!”

  He holds his empty palms out. “Why am I like this?” he says, a little more quietly. “Sometimes I don’t even understand myself.”

  You stare up at him. At his eye, almost knitted shut by the bruise.

  “Let me help you. We can figure it out together.”

  “I can’t go back,” says Kevin.

  “If we can’t go back, we go forward,” you finally say. “So let’s go.”

  You grab his hand, and by the sheer will of your intentions you are both propelled forward. The Lollipop Man is not on the curb this time of day, but you both go flying across the road feeling as though a greater force is ferrying you safely to where you need to go. The shame of Ma Ma and Mrs. Huynh catching you both crosses your mind, but you push it away. I need to be here; I need to do this. I am sorry, but I’m also not sorry.

  The black-and-white gatekeeper is at the open door of the glasshouse, hauling out a large harvest of a very pungent-smelling herb. Catnip, she says without moving her mouth.

  Your field of blue flowers and Kevin’s field of red flowers sit side by side under the slightly pinking sky, the sun now in the west. The moon is full again. You sit next to Kevin at the edge with your legs crossed, and your forget-me-nots tell him a story of memories.

  About a grandmother who could not read and the letter addressed to her. About a mother who could also not read and the dream that her daughter one day would. And not only read! Her daughter was going to read in the New Land, where she had the chance of the best life. The forget-me-nots tell the story of a daughter who could read a little but bore the weight of all the women who came before her on her shoulders, like a very difficult acrobatic act.

  Kevin looks over and you think he understands why you are blue.

  He picks one of the sleepy poppies from the field and presses it into your palm. You close your hand around it and hold it to your heart, and your eyelids become heavy. You fight to keep them open, but they close. When you open them again, you open them in the ghost world.

  The younger Kevin in the long wooden boat has become cold and slack, and Mrs. Huynh cannot wake him. You feel her rising panic, as there have been those on board who have fallen into slumbers that last foreve
r. They are unceremoniously wrapped in white sheets and put into the ocean.

  Wake up, you tell the younger Kevin. The cough medicine swirls in his stomach that has been empty for five days.

  You see the poppies fluttering behind the red of your eyelids. You see Mrs. Huynh take a crumpled photo from her pocket. It is the face of a toddler, but it is not the face of Kevin. She wipes away a tear and tucks the photo back in her shirt. This child is not on the boat with them, and you understand that this child will always stay the same age as in the photo. You understand now that this is why the Huynhs needed to get away to a land where there is enough to eat.

  But it will be to no avail if Kevin cannot wake up. You shake him, and suddenly he is sick and the cough medicine dribbles out of his mouth and swirls on the bottom of the long wooden boat. But he is finally awake. And the boat has hit the shore.

  You have reached the end of your journey, but it is only the beginning. Of cyclone fencing and barbed wire spirals and a cage where you will all stay until it becomes so long that you call it home. Even though it is a jail and not a home at all. Inside you rage and shout and your blood boils over.

  You look over at Kevin and you understand why he is red.

  “You don’t have to fight me,” you say, and you take both his hands in yours.

  As soon as you connect, a new color sweeps through both of your fields at the same time and they are no longer blue and red. All the flowers have become asters; all the flowers are purple.

  Above you the moon begins to move across the sky and over the face of the sun. As a complete eclipse occurs, the whole world becomes black.

  “Are you scared of the darkness?” Kevin asks you.

  “No,” you say.

  With your answer, the black sky is at once filled with a million galaxies.

  It is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

  “No,” you repeat. “Because you can only see the stars when it is dark.”