by Lori Qian
We headed down to her office, and the nightmare continued: she simply could not find any record of William—or of anyone in his class, for that matter. We went with her to the room where all the transcripts were kept, but there was nothing on him. Her attitude was blasé and unapologetic.
William told her this was unacceptable. He had spent three years at that college and they must have a record of his being there. All she could do was to recommend he talk to another administrator at the other campus.
I’d like to say I couldn’t believe this—but actually, it was exactly what I’d expected when we came in search of the transcript. Unhelpful people and irresponsible record keeping—that was status quo here.
We went back to the first campus again and found the office of the guy who supposedly could help. He leaned back in his chair, chain smoked, and talked to everyone else that came in as we were trying to tell him about our dilemma. Finally, he casually said this was not his area and referred us to someone else. At the other campus.
We jumped in a taxi, went back to the other campus for the third time that day, and found this guy’s office. No, he knew nothing. No, he couldn’t help. No, this wasn’t his problem. He did give us the phone number for a dean whom he said might be able to help.
William called him on the spot. The dean was surprisingly friendly and said he would try to help the next morning. We were relieved, but still skeptical that anyone would help. We found a hotel and got some rest. Our hotel was decent and even had a view of the lake. We ordered room service and read, enjoying a peaceful night.
The next morning, we met the dean, who instructed the school driver to give us a ride to the old campus—the one where William had actually attended school. He was very kind and promised that the people there had been instructed to help us.
This campus was in the middle of nowhere and we had to take a very bumpy dirt road to get there, but we made it there in one piece. We got off the bus ready to begin to tell our story and try to find someone to help us—but to our surprise, none of that was necessary, because a man was waiting for us with a stamped transcript on his desk.
We couldn’t believe it! Of course, they hadn’t really found his original transcript, but the dean must have informed them to put something together showing that William had indeed attended and had done well, and they had done so. We were so grateful and so excited that we hardly gave it a second look. We stuck it with the rest of our papers, and headed back to Wuhan.
The bus ride to Wuhan took about an hour and a half. As soon as we arrived back, we checked into our hotel and then headed to the notary public guy. He sent us down to the translation place to get everything translated first. While there, we noticed that on William’s Huang Gang transcript, there were no dates showing when William had attended.
We were so upset. How could we have been so stupid? How could we have left without carefully checking this over? So careless! As we looked back on those few days in Wuhan and Huang Gang, in fact, we noticed several careless mistakes that we had made, all because we had gotten too excited. But we knew there was nothing to be done about it now. We just hoped the transcripts would be acceptable to BYU.
Once we’d turned everything in to the notary, we headed back to our hotel. We kept trying to get ahold of the dean of William’s college, who seemed to be purposely avoiding us. I personally think she was somewhat bitter about William heading off to America and didn’t want to be bothered with signing his recommendation form. I hoped I was wrong, but she couldn’t spare five minutes for us during those days. I also think she thought we were going to cause her a lot of trouble in asking for the transcript. Little did she know that we’d gotten it, no problem, without her help.
When we finally got a hold of her, she said she could meet with us when we got back from Huang Mei. Of course.
We arrived in Huang Mei on a Saturday around lunchtime. It was ridiculously hot, but it was wonderful to be reunited with William’s parents and Little Ling. We basically just hung out with them at home and at the store, and everything went really well. William’s parents were getting along a lot better and had developed their own system and routine that seemed to work for them. They shared the responsibilities of taking care of Ling and managing the store, and there didn’t seem to be tension between them. Every other time we’d come back, they’d had major problems getting along, and major financial stresses as well. However, the business was doing okay now and they seemed to be all right. I was grateful.
They did not have air conditioning, of course, and that was hard. The first day and a half was really bad for me. I had forgotten how dusty things were there and how high up we really were on the seventh floor. I had definitely forgotten what it was like to be without the comforts of home. William was an absolute angel to me, though, getting me ice and drinks and even carrying a huge, heavy fan up the seven flights of stairs so that I could be more comfortable. I don’t even know where he got the ice, now that I think about it. He’d always been attentive, but my being pregnant seemed to have brought this out even more. So I knew it was going to be a hard week in some ways, but with cold drinks, the fan, and William doting on me as best he could, I figured I could survive.
The next day, unexpectedly, it began to cool off—drastically. I mean, it was like it went to fall weather all of a sudden, with nice breezes and everything. I could not believe it. The days we were out visiting relatives were so comfortable. If it had been hot, I would have been so crabby and miserable and I’m sure I would have made William miserable too. I had never been so grateful for cool weather as I was on those days. Everything was easier for me. Part of it was that we didn’t spend a super long time at each person’s house; we just had nice, brief visits with everyone and saw everyone we had hoped to. I didn’t have as hard a time getting used to the food and other conditions this time, either, which again I was so grateful for.
Every time I felt tempted to complain about things during this visit, I reminded myself that this was William’s last trip home for a long time. It was going to be incredibly hard for him to leave his family and go to America, knowing they were so far away and that it would be a long time before he saw them again. I still let out a couple of complaints, but I tried hard to go with things and make him happy. His family loved us so much and they were so proud of him. I just wanted this to be a wonderful memory for all of them. After another day in Huang Mei, we would head back to Guangzhou.
chapter 49
We had one more month in China, and I wanted to make the most of it. William would spend that time preparing for his GMAT (Graduate Management Admission Test), which he would take a month after we got to Chicago. I planned to spend the time writing and enjoying every moment of my pregnancy. It was so nice to have this transition time, where we were ending one important era and moving on to another.
I often found my thoughts turning to America and what we hoped to find there. There was so much that was still unknown. How would William adjust? How would I, for that matter, after having lived in China for more than three years? How would it be to live with Mom and Chrissy? Would William actually get into BYU? It was hard to believe that dream could come true, but it was there. How would it be for William to attend church in America? How might his faith change once we no longer had the security of our little congregation and we were in a new, much larger church group? How would it be to live the simple life now that neither of us would be working and we’d be living off our savings? How would our marriage handle all the changes? And most importantly, we were to become parents within the next two months. What would little Abraham or Annabelle teach us? How would this little person change our lives?
I felt nervous, but joyful. I felt proud of us. We had worked incredibly hard to get this far and we were finally taking this next step. Together.
We’d spent our last night in Guangzhou walking around Clifford Estates, visiting all the places that had meant something to us. The dorm William had lived in when he’d first come. My fi
rst apartment. Our first apartment together. The school where we’d met and worked together. The little store we always visited to get milk or bread, sometimes ice cream. The wet market where we knew all the ladies at the vegetable stalls, the fruit stands, and where we went to buy chicken or fish. The lake. The lake we’d walked near so often. The mountain where we’d first climbed up to the tower. That night when everything fell into place.
The next morning, we carried our suitcases down and headed toward the bus stop. William was holding the huge envelope of X-rays documenting his TB journey. He was about to put it in the suitcase when we caught each other’s eye.
“Do we actually need these?” he asked me.
“No, we don’t.”
We both smiled, and with that he folded the big envelope in half and stuffed it in the trash can. I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d need them any time in the future, but it felt too good to place them in the trash and leave that memory behind to worry too much about it.
We needed to take a small bus to the larger bus station in the front of Clifford Estates, so we dragged our three suitcases down the block and began the journey.
We bought our tickets and found our bus. We’d bought a few snacks for the bus ride to Hong Kong, where we would spend two days before heading to America. The plan was to go to the Latter-Day Saint temple there, and I was so looking forward to showing William around Hong Kong and just watching him experience that wonderful place since he’d only had a glimpse the previous Christmas.
He put our suitcases underneath the bus in the storage compartment and we found our seats. He was fighting back tears, and the bus hadn’t even pulled out of the station. There were no words to offer him, but I understood. He was leaving his country. We linked arms, facing out the window.
Tears streamed down his face. They fell right off his chin, and he made no attempt to stop them or wipe them away. So much love and emotion, just freely pouring out of him.
“I never knew China was so beautiful,” he said.
My tears came too then, more slowly, but they came. And they came for all kinds of reasons, mostly relief, I guessed. And reverent awe, too, of all that had happened since I’d boarded that plane in Chicago three years earlier. I thought of that girl who’d calmly set foot in China, knowing she was supposed to be there. My mind replayed scenes from the early days—meeting my students, trying to get a phone cord that first week in China, the orphanage, the friendships, those beautiful Sundays at church, running out on the track after school, learning to cook and appreciate food in a new way, all the travel adventures. Figuring things out, helping my family, understanding them. Connecting with my mom, saying good-bye to my dad. Finding myself. Realizing my strength and independence, and finally feeling peace.
And then there was William. I had come from the other side of the world to find him. How I loved him! He had already changed my life, and I had a clear, almost tangible feeling there would be many good days ahead.
I looked out the window as we drove over a bridge. Looking down at the river, I noticed how the water was calm but seemed purposeful at the same time—moving steadily and beautifully. The water reminded me of all the small lakes in the midwestern United States. That water also seemed calm and purposeful. So often I’d gone fishing with my dad when we lived in Wisconsin. On one particular day, it was just the two of us. I couldn’t have been more than ten years old. We sat side by side on a pier, him teaching me how to thread my hook and toss my line out just like he had done. Both of us had our feet hanging over the edge. Blue sky, sunshine, my dad.
“Daddy, I want to do this forever.” It wasn’t that I loved fishing. In fact, I didn’t. What I loved were those quiet moments, just the two of us. “Can we go fishing again tomorrow?”
My dad smiled. “Well, we’ll have to see. But we’ll be out here again soon, that’s for sure. Hey, looks like you got one!” I laughed as he helped me reel it in.
Dad. I remembered the fishing trips. I remembered everything about him—the stories, the prayers, the music, his faith, his humor. His cowboy boots. His guitar. And yes, I remembered the globe. That day in Chicago when he had shuffled out of his bedroom with something to tell me. He’d given his assurance that he knew me, and he knew what I needed to do. He gave me the courage to take that step, that leap, to China, and toward myself.
As I held William’s hand, the bus moving further away from Guangzhou, it became clearer than ever how profound Dad’s words had been, and how—without them—perhaps I would not have come to China. His words were a gift.
“I think you should go to China.”
“You do, Dad?”
“I really do.””
About the Author
Lori Qian holds a BA in anthropology and philosophy and an MA in applied linguistics, and has advanced graduate training in school leadership, literacy instruction, and elementary education. She is a regular contributor to Urban Family Magazine in Guangzhou, China, and enjoys presenting around the world on topics ranging from cultivating creativity to pedagogical approaches to writing. She is passionate about education, multiculturalism, and self-improvement. After living in China for ten years, she recently relocated to Alpine, Utah, with her family, ready to embrace an entirely new adventure. Qian is currently working on her second book, Fighting for Fitness, a self-help memoir of her own health transformation.
SELECTED TITLES FROM SHE WRITES PRESS
She Writes Press is an independent publishing company founded to serve women writers everywhere. Visit us at www.shewritespress.com.
Accidental Soldier: A Memoir of Service and Sacrifice in the Israel Defense Forces by Dorit Sasson. $17.95, 978-1-63152-035-8. When nineteen-year-old Dorit Sasson realized she had no choice but to distance herself from her neurotic, worrywart of a mother in order to become her own person, she volunteered for the Israel Defense Forces—and found her path to freedom.
Learning to Eat Along the Way by Margaret Bendet. $16.95, 978-1-63152997-9. After interviewing an Indian holy man, newspaper reporter Margaret Bendet follows him in pursuit of enlightenment and ends up facing demons that were inside her all along.
Filling Her Shoes: Memoir of an Inherited Family by Betsy Graziani Fasbinder. $16.95, 978-1-63152-198-0. A “sweet-bitter” story of how, with tenderness as their guide, a family formed in the wake of loss and learned that joy and grief can be entwined cohabitants in our lives.
Renewable: One Woman’s Search for Simplicity, Faithfulness, and Hope by Eileen Flanagan. $16.95, 978-1-63152-968-9. At age forty-nine, Eileen Flanagan had an aching feeling that she wasn’t living up to her youthful ideals or potential, so she started trying to change the world—and in doing so, she found the courage to change her life.
Gap Year Girl by Marianne Bohr. $16.95, 978-1-63152-820-0. Thirty-plus years after first backpacking through Europe, Marianne Bohr and her husband leave their lives behind and take off on a yearlong quest for adventure.
This is Mexico: Tales of Culture and Other Complications by Carol M. Mer-chasin. $16.95, 978-1-63152-962-7. Merchasin chronicles her attempts to understand Mexico, her adopted country, through improbable situations and small moments that keep the reader moving between laughter and tears.