The Journal

by Ronnica Z Rothe

  “Hey, flooze,” she called out to me.

  Unthinkingly, I turned around and faced her. I knew it was a mistake as soon as I saw the smirk cross her face.

  “Oh, so you answer to your name now. About time you figured out what the rest of us already knew.”

  I said nothing.

  “I see that you’ve started an entourage. What’s the cripple’s name again?”

  Still, I remained silent, as I slid into my seat.

  “Minion or something like that? That fits. I hope the two of you are very happy together. Are you planning on going into business together on a pair of street corners? Perhaps she can earn enough money to fix her leg.”

  At that point, Clara jumped in. “Oh, but if she fixes it, she won’t make as much. After all, guys love cripples.”

  That was the last straw. I was fine with Ryan making fun of me, and even when the others joined in. Some of it was deserved. But Ming did nothing to be dragged into this.

  “Leave Ming out of this. She’s done nothing to you. All she’s done is befriend the person you cast aside as unworthy of your friendship. Jealous, huh?”

  And with that, I stormed out of the classroom for the second time in two weeks.

  The rest of the day went off as planned, though I did start my shift early since I went there after leaving school early. At 17:45 Ming showed up at the store and gave me a big hug. I could tell from her eyes that she had been crying. Had she too been teased at school? It would be the next step Ryan would take, I just hoped she hadn’t done it when I left Ming all alone.

  It was good to see Ming, as I was afraid she would have heard of my early exit from school and assumed dinner was off. She either hadn’t heard or didn’t pay any mind to it, because she didn’t even ask me about what happened. Then again, if Ryan had teased her as well, she would have a very good idea of why I might have left school early.

  But whatever hurt she was feeling, Ming quickly swept it aside and joined me in my enthusiasm for dinner. She had heard a lot about Hasan and looked forward to getting to know him better, along with the mystery guest at tonight’s dinner. Though she wasn’t interested in discovering or reading the Bible that I hoped to see tonight, she did look forward to it as a bit of an adventure into the unknown. She seemed excited because I was excited.

  Just after 18:00, we closed up shop, and Hasan made sure the alarm settings were set to securely lock the premises. Books were fairly easy objects to sell on the black market, so he had to be extra careful of security.

  I didn’t see what address Hasan had entered into the pod that picked the three of us up, but as soon as I saw that we were driving towards the south side, my heart started beating really fast within my chest.

  “Amala, are you okay?” Ming asked.

  “Uhh, yes,” as I steadied myself against the side of the pod. Hearing Ming’s voice brought me back from my memory of the last trip I took to the south side.

  Just then, the pod turned into a neighborhood only a few blocks from Jamari’s apartment. As it stopped, I looked up and knew exactly which apartment belonged to Hasan. It had an inviting front stoop, complete with potted flowers—so rare. He clearly worked to keep his walk clean.

  “Welcome to my home,” Hasan said as he lead us to his welcoming door. “Why don’t you girls clean yourselves up in the bathroom, while I check in on my daughter and dinner.”

  Ming and I did as we were told, taking the time to observe the neatness and warmness of the living room. While he was unable to keep the books at work organized and dust free, his home was different. I always did know he was a hospitable person.

  As Ming finished up, I walked toward the kitchen.

  After being introduced to his daughter, I asked her, “What can I do to help?” hoping the task I would be given wouldn’t be too hard. I had definitely learned all my cooking skills from my mother, which meant that I only knew how to put ingredients into the one-pot and turn it on.

  “Do you know how to peel potatoes?” she warmly asked.

  I paused before admitting that I never tried.

  “Have you seen it done?”

  My silence was more than enough answer for her.

  “Oh, girl, what do you know? You’re 17 now and plenty old enough to make a nice meal!” she exclaimed with a look of mock outrage on her face.

  “Well, Mom only ever cooks one-pot dishes, so I know how to do all those. Beyond that, I don’t have a clue. I’ve seen my grandma cook—and she’s a good cook—but she’s never showed me how to do anything. I think she likes being able to do something for my brother and me that we can’t do ourselves.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll show you how to do it.”

  “But why would you peel the potatoes? Can’t the one-pot make great potato dishes?”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want. But a one-pot does not know how to make mashed potatoes!”

  “Mashed potatoes!” Now it was my turn to exclaim. Though they had “potatoes” in the name, it had never occurred to me that they came from actual potatoes! I guess I just thought the potato mix was made from some type of flour.

  “Oh, dear, you’re in for a treat if you’ve never had real mashed potatoes!”

  Hasan showed me what to do, and as I was slowly making progress on my first potato, the doorbell buzzed. My heart was beating fast again—this time in excitement—as I anticipated who might be there. This was possibly the person who would be able to let me see a Bible!

  Hasan answered the door and escorted an elderly Chinese woman into the apartment. It was the same woman I had seen drinking tea with Hasan at Millennial Antiques a few weeks before. The woman easily looked like she could be my grandma’s age, but her face was characterized by pronounced laugh lines, not frown lines like my grandma. She held herself confidently, walked with grace, and was dressed neatly in a plain button-down shirt and knee-length skirt.

  “Amala, let me introduce you to Ethel Wu, a longtime friend and fellow book lover.”

  “Nice to meet you, Amala,” Ethel said, with a slight Chinese accent.

  I set the potato and peeler down in the sink and walked over to Ethel, wiping my hands on my pants. “Nice to meet you, Ethel.”

  There was a brief pause as I wasn’t sure what to do. Ming walked in and introduced herself, and I quietly slipped back to the sink to continue peeling my first potato. It was taking me a while.

  After Ming helped me peel the potatoes—she had done it before so she was able to peel three before I had finished my first—Hasan’s daughter finished preparing and cooking the meal. During this time, Hasan explained to Ethel my interest in books and how I worked at his store, as they sat at the table.

  As we sat down to dinner, Ethel asked us if it was okay if she prayed over the meal. This was a first for me—and as I looked to Ming, it was clearly something new to her, too.

  “Dear Lord, I thank you for this opportunity to meet new friends.”

  I had never thought about God having anything to do with who I met or when.

  “And thank you for this wonderful meal the girls have prepared for us,” Ethel continued. “May you bless this time that we have together and this meal. Amen.”

  Hearing that word almost made me snort, but I was able to restrain myself. I had heard it before, but always in a prayer in a movie, usually prayed by an over-the-top “religious” or “moral” character who was really a tax cheat or an adulterer. This was the first time I had heard a real prayer, especially said by someone who seemed so sincere about her faith. Though she was praying in front of us, it didn’t feel like she was showing off, but inviting us into a secret conversation.

  “Thank you for letting me pray. I like to pray before meals, though I know that that is unusual here. I grew up in a family where that was normal,” Ethel apologized.

  “Where did you grow up?” Ming politely asked.

  “In Nanjing, China. I moved to the United States—it was before the merger of nations—a
s a teenager, and have lived here ever since.”

  “Wow, I can imagine that was a bit of a change,” I said.

  “Definitely. I came from a family who regularly went to church and to whom worship of Jesus Christ was central to everything. Then I moved here, and anything to do with Christianity was uncool. Anytime I brought something up related to my faith, I was shot down as if I were just backwards and ignorant since I was born in China. For some time I tried to hide my faith and background, ashamed of my beliefs.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

  “When I was older and more mature, I realized that I shouldn’t be ashamed. I had a relationship with a living God who was very much still active. I started to speak up when given the opportunity to talk about spiritual things. More often than not, I was simply given an understanding smile. By that point, Christianity rarely received a belligerent response. It was like the people no longer cared one way or the other about spiritual things.”

  “Wow,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

  “So, Amala, what is your interest in the Bible?” Ethel asked, turning the attention to me.

  “Well, I found a journal from 2001 in Hasan’s store, and I’ve been working there to pay for it. In it, Beth—she’s the teenager who wrote it—quotes several verses from the Bible. It made me curious, as a lover of books, so I tried to look up the Bible and I couldn’t find the actual text online, though I found out a lot about it.”

  “Yeah, for whatever reason, no modern site hosts the Bible. There were old copies available online, but as Christians began to die off in this country, those sites no longer had funding or interest to keep the Bible up and the servers online. No one since has felt it necessary to make the Bible available again in English in electronic format.”

  “That makes sense. When I couldn’t find the Bible on the computer, I decided to ask Hasan if he had one. He didn’t, and that’s when he said to come to dinner to meet you.”

  “Unfortunately there are very few Bibles available these days in English. When I moved to the U.S., I brought a Bible, but it’s in Mandarin, not English, so it’s not likely to be helpful to you.”

  Ming and I giggled. “No, I don’t think that’d work.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what verses did Beth quote?”

  “Well, there was one in particular that interested me. It was from Fasians, I think.”

  “It’s Ephesians, not Fasians,” she kindly corrected. Do you remember anything else about it?”

  “It says something about being saved by grace, I think, and not by works?”

  “Ah, yes, that’s a beautiful verse. ‘For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works so that no one may boast,’ “ Ethel quoted.

  Ming and I both looked at her in astonishment. We were surprised she could quote a Bible verse word for word, not knowing that I would be mentioning it.

  “How did you know that?” I asked, still surprised.

  “I’ve had that verse memorized since I was a little girl, but in Mandarin. After I decided not to be ashamed of my faith, I memorized it in English as well so I could quote it to my friends, who mostly spoke English.”

  “Interesting. I’ve never really worked on memorizing anything that wasn’t required for school.”

  “So go on,” Ethel asked me to continue. “Why did this quote interest you?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it’s so different than anything I’ve read before. It was new to Beth, too, when she was writing. I guess I wanted to discover the Bible, too, like she did, I just haven’t had the opportunity.”

  “Well, you’ve probably figured out that I don’t have a Bible in English, though I’d be more than happy to loan you my Mandarin Bible, which unfortunately is of no help. I do know other people who may have a Bible in English. If we do find it, perhaps you and I could work together to put it online. It would be a worthwhile project. Would you like to go with me to my church this Sunday?”

  I was puzzled. From everything I had read, churches were no more in the USNA. Certainly my apartment in a converted church was a testament to that fact.

  “A church? Here in America?” my astonishment came through my words.

  “Yes, there are a few. Oh, it’s not a special building, like you probably are thinking. As far as I know, no churches here today have their own buildings. That is true. But a church according to the Bible is not a building at all, but a gathering of people. My church takes turns meeting in each other’s homes, and this weekend we’re going to Maria’s. Would you like to come with? Ming, you’re welcome to come, too.”

  “I think I would like that,” Ming said quietly.

  The rest of the dinner went by quickly, as all four of us enjoyed one another’s company. We agreed to do it again next Thursday.

  As Ming and I were leaving she said, “I can’t believe I’ve made 3 friends. I’ve never had any friends before.”

  I reached over and gave Ming a big hug. I was thankful to have her in my life, and she was helping me see that being the talk of the school wasn’t as bad as I thought.

  Storytelling

  When I got back from Hasan’s, Mom wasn’t home. Instead I found Grandma pulling a batch of homemade cookies out of the oven. Chocolate chip—my favorite. We so rarely had cookies as the store-bought ones are expensive and none of us knew how to make them from scratch. Even if you know how, it was sometimes hard to come up with the sugar or another sweetener that would work.

  “Hi, Grandma,” I said as I reached over to grab a cookie off the rack. Grandma good-naturedly slapped my hand away.

  “Don’t touch those, they’re still hot. Besides, you haven’t had your dinner yet. Your mom told me that you were hanging out with friends this evening, but she didn’t think that you were going to eat there. You were at Ryan’s, right?”

  I almost winced, hearing the lie I told Mom being repeated back to me. It was one thing to lie to my Mom, but it was much harder to lie to Grandma. I quickly grabbed for a cookie and stuffed it in my mouth, so I only had lie with a nod and not with a word. I burned my tongue in the process, which I probably deserved.

  Grandma gave me a look of disapproval, but I shrugged it off.

  “I’ve already eaten, don’t worry. But a cookie—or two—is just what would top it all off.”

  “I hope so, dear. When I was your age I tried to survive on a junk food diet, and it didn’t have the prettiest of consequences. I even ended up throwing up during a sleepover. Mom and Dad didn’t ever keep much junk in the house so I always pigged out when I was at someone else’s house. That was a mistake—my body wasn’t used to it. Just be glad that junk food isn’t as readily available anymore after all the food reform. Everyone is much slimmer today than when I was young, and healthier, too.”

  “Yeah, but I’d sure like to have a cookie now and then. I guess that’s why I have you!”

  “Glad I’m good for something,” Grandma said as she started to remove the cookies from the sheet with a spatula, placing them on a fancy plate I had never seen before.

  “Is that our plate?” I asked.

  “No, this is an old one I’ve had for years. It’s the last remaining dish in my mother’s set. My brothers and I weren’t the gentlest of kids, and I’m afraid most of them were broken on our watch. Breaking dishes is a great way to get out of having to empty the dishwasher, but I wouldn’t recommend it if you’re a fan of a peaceful household.”

  “Ha, nice. It’s pretty—wish you had more.”

  I knew this was the perfect opportunity to bring up her parents again. After all, she brought up her mother first. It was hard for me to approach the touchy subject again. After sitting in the quiet, dark kitchen for a few moments longer, I mustered up the courage.

  “Uhh, Grandma?”

  “Yes, dear?” she said absentminded. I could tell she was distracted. Perhaps the dish had her thinking of her childh
ood some more—all the more reason for me to ask my questions.

  “Could you tell me more about your childhood? I’d really like to hear more about what your parents were like.” That seemed like a safe way to begin the conversation. If I jumped into the Christianity issue too early, she might just close down the conversation once again.

  “Well, Mom was a good woman who meant well. She just wasn’t very strong, unlike your mother and I. We both are willing to stand up to our menfolk, but Mom never really did.”

  “Was your dad mean to her?”

  “No, not really. But it was always him who made the rules, and for the most part, the one to enforce them. I still remember what it felt like to be spanked as a young child!”

  “You were spanked?” I said in disbelief. I thought that was something from the 20th century, not more recent times.

  “Yes, though by the time I was an adult, they had outlawed it. I suppose it didn’t hurt us too much, but it certainly hurt my pride to have to be spanked. I always lorded over my younger brothers that I knew what to do and did it, and that they were doomed to be the lesser siblings.”

  “Are they still alive? I’ve never really heard much about them.”

  “No, Logan and Aiden both died when you were young. I left home at 16, and never really had much to do with my family after that. I did reconnect with my brothers about 30 years ago, after Mom died. They reached out to me, and we did meet up a few times. We didn’t have a lot to talk about...they tried to fill me in on all the years that I missed, but it was just too hard to hear. Plus, they tried to convince me to come back to the church, and I was having none of that.”

  “So they were Christians, too?”

  “Yes, they were. It was hard not to be, being indoctrinated like we were.”

  “Wait, but a lot of people your age ‘grew up in the church’ as you say, right?”

  “Well, some, sure. But not like we were. My family wasn’t the typical go-on-Sunday-and-that’s-enough-for-us-thank-you kind of church people. There were many people like that in those days. No, my family was the church-isn’t-where-we-go-but-what-we-do kind. They also thought they were better than the others for it. We went to a church where that kind of attitude was the norm, so I didn’t realize that there was anything strange about it until I went to public school in 6th grade. Before that, I was homeschooled.”