AndeRS Zhou
Anders Zhou is a senior in high school from the Bay Area. In his free time, he enjoys creative writing, and he often combines this interest with drawing out photo journals, writing cookbooks for his neighbor’s recipes and building small musical portfolios. When he isn’t traveling around San Francisco finding and writing about food, Anders enjoys going out for runs and hiking in the mountains. Anders is also a committed advocate for the queer community, a cause that he cares very much about. Check out Anders’s food blog at thefatwinter.wordpress.com
Winter Fox
The early morning fog rolled in late. The papers said there would be sun and high seventies this week; the weather disagreed. Even after the loud traffic on the 7th had died down, the portentous fog persisted hungrily, like a winter fox over-taking a white rabbit.
Allentown was quiet, almost stagnant. Little Mei knew everyone on her block, and so did her mother.
Lamentably, her father wasn’t around much.
Often, Little Mei would spend hours at Mother Greenlie’s house. Mother Greenlie lived behind a red door two blocks down.
Little Mei would always bring tea, which she enjoyed brewing with Mother Greenlie. Sometimes, she would bring her math homework. When she felt up to it, Little Mei would play some piano for Mother Greenlie. Once, she even danced a number from Korsakov’s Sheherazad, which she had learned the week before at dance class.
Mother Greenlie was gone now. She had left last August, before Little Mei began eighth grade. Little Mei cried for hours, but Mother Greenlie had to go. Her mother felt sad, too.
“It is the way it is,” Niang had said, in her broken English. “There is no such thing as an endless party. Not here, nor in the heavens, nor anywhere else.”
“It’s too bad,” Ba-Ba had said. “The rent’s high enough as it is.”
Niang had only sighed at that.
Little Mei kept all this in mind as she rounded the corner of her driveway late this morning.
Lately, she had been running home from school, after Niang dropped her off. Things were difficult, and Little Mei couldn’t concentrate at school anyway.
As she arrived home, she couldn’t help but notice the red door two blocks down.
Lately, Ba-Ba had been taking some time away from work, after Niang had observed one day that his eyes looked red. Things were difficult, but Ba-Ba couldn’t concentrate at work anyway.
As Little Mei arrived home, she noticed her mouth felt dry. Her hands felt clammy as she gripped the doorknob, opening the door into the dark house. The fog chased after her, like an angry fox.
Niang had picked up an extra shift this morning at the grocery. Ba-Ba was surely gone, probably having some coffee.
Little Mei raced up the stairs like a rabbit, as quietly as possible. She shut Ba-Ba’s door behind her, and fumbled to open up his closet.
At the bottom of Ba-Ba’s closet sat a little piece of black luggage. Though it had caught Little Mei’s eye some time ago, she had only taken interest in it after finding a bright golden box inside.
The bright golden box was full of white powder.
Yin-fen was the name.
A week before she noticed the black luggage, Little Mei found her Ba-Ba kneeled over, his head bent as if he were praying. Next to him sat an open golden box. Ba-Ba seemed tired, and his eyes were blood red.
Little Mei had instantly known that something was wrong. She slipped away, hurrying to erase the image of him kneeling in her mind.
Quickly, Little Mei brought out the golden box and raced back into her room. She opened it, and she dipped her pinky finger into the white powder and slathered it underneath her nose.
Huff.
Puff.
And instantly, it was as if Mother Greenlie had come back.
And instantly, it was as if Pastor Jenkins was gone.
And instantly, it was as if Morning Fog had left.
And instantly, it was as if Niang and Ba-Ba had started to love each other again.
Huff.
Puff.
Little Mei could live again.
“Little Mei, what are you doing?” a soft voice inquired.
Little Mei tore her gaze from the white powder.
“Little Mei, why aren’t you at school?”
Ba-Ba stood at her doorway.
Little Mei, sitting on her little pink bed, began to feel hot tears drip down her cheeks.
“Little Mei, please go back to school.”
Little Mei nodded, letting Ba-Ba pick her up. Ba-Ba moved over to shut the golden box and stuff it back into the little black luggage. He then stowed the luggage back into the closet.
“Little Mei, if I ever catch you gone from school, I’m going to have to hit you.”
Little Mei nodded. She knew that the white powder inside the golden box was a bad thing.
“Never, ever, use Ba-Ba’s things,” Ba-Ba said. “Ba-Ba’s things are Ba-Ba’s things. Leave them alone. If I ever catch you using the white powder, I am going to hit you.”
Little Mei was crying now, her sobs racking her little chest with so much force, she hardly had room to breathe. Grabbing her backpack, she quickly ran out of her room, down her stairways, out of the house, and past the red door. She would have to go to school.
But not Ba-Ba.
Ba-Ba looked at the little golden box for a long hour after Little Mei had left.
Finally, he picked it up, and took out a small knife.
Huff.
Puff.
And he wept bitterly, as his knife dug deeper into his forearm.
This was the only way he could live.
Huff.
Puff.
San Diego or L.A.
San Diego or L.A.
golf carts and a tan gourmet
array of rough lane. Laying
thick like sandpaper
atop cushions, in the horizon — dreams
and Adega! Shore, (they) say
in L.A. snapshots of the
lazy bluff — blue spray.
Brick, bike, land. A tur
tull green lawn with alternating stone.
Bright white wheel guiding my green bar white top cart through
the mall parts of crapshot greens and land-palm trees.
bland candy stains, de leche
mom starts, banding sand or clay
into an umami of feelings paying a
dip-dye panned crepe for
on top cushions, nothing green is the way it seems.
