![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
exhausted
determined
shockedEDIT: I tried to put each of the pieces into a separate LJ cut, but it's not working for me. I even tried putting the whole entry into one whole cut, but it still won't work. I apologize.
COPYRIGHT:
The work that I post here are all copyrighted under my real name. If you plagiarize (that includes copying, rewording to make it look like you wrote it, or taking characters, dialogue, paragraphs, etc.) I will not hesitate to take legal action. Trust me, there is a way to know if someone has plagiarized my work, so don't even think about it. So please, use your own ideas. If you can't do that, then there's no point in you writing, is there? In that case, I suggest that you pursue another hobby that you CAN do.
If you see my work other than on my FictionPress or DeviantART please let me know.
--*--
Dancing Snowflakes is a series of Young Adult Lesbian/Bisexual stories that I started working on this summer (just for fun and to practice my writing.) Below are the first five I've written so far. Hope you'll enjoy and constructive criticism is appreciated. And again, please do not copy. Thank you.
Special thanks to my Girlfriend, DeceranPlane, TheLadyPendragon, and the people at Critique Circle for critiquing/beta reading! And special thanks to those who reviewed, favorited/alerted on FictionPress!
--*--
1.
This is dedicated to my Girlfriend Canta. Thank you for being there, and for loving me for who I am.
Dancing Snowflakes
I kissed her because I could...I wanted to...I did it.
I have been waiting for this moment since the day I first saw her on that winter's day: sitting in the back of the cafeteria, glancing at the window beside her. The girl with raven black hair, eyes the color of mud; the girl wearing tan hiking boots, pale blue jeans, and a turquoise sweater.
Smiling. Laughing. I wondered why she smiled and laughed. Perhaps it was the snowflakes dancing in midair and landing gracefully on the ground. Perhaps it was the hotdog she was eating.
I wondered why I didn't see her before. Of course, I've seen her many times, but not like today.
No. Today was different.
Her smile. Her laughter. Ketchup smeared across her right cheek.
"She's always sitting at the back of the classroom."
"She's always daydreaming."
"She's always looking at the window and smiling at lunch time."
The people around her would say. Their words prevented me from approaching her.
Two tables away from where she's sitting. I wished I could bring myself to stand up and walk up to her, ignoring their awed faces and whispers.
"Why did you smile?"
"Why did you laugh?"
I could ask her.
I could...I wanted to...I didn't do it.
2.
Monsters
I don't want to go to school today because that's where the monsters are. Better yet, I don't want to go back to school at all. I would rather be abducted by aliens or replaced by a changeling.
I tightly shut my eyes, willing the image to go away. That word painted on the door of my locker in green spray paint: Dyke. The edges of the letters jagged; monster claws sharpened and ready to pierce the victim's skin. Their claws.
I pulled the blanket closer to my neck and held my teddy bear.
I lied to my mom earlier this morning. She fell for it, encouraging me to stay in bed as she placed a glass of water and Aspirin on the night stand, kissing my forehead and letting me know there's Pepto Bismol in the refrigerator, just in case.
Of course I felt guilty, but I seriously don't want to go to school today because that's where the monsters are.
I took the pills and swallowed them down with some water. But I know that it won't ease the tears and sleepless nights.
I felt like a kid...except I'm not a kid anymore. Just a fifteen-year-old girl named Stacey Roland.
Stacey Roland with hair the color of coal. Stacey Roland with eyes the color of my mom's dry coffee. Stacey Roland who still sleeps with a teddy bear at night. Stacey Roland who happens to like girls.
--*--
I crushed on this one girl: a redhead named Rachel Summers who attends a different school, who by the way, liked me back.
My friends knew. Well...at first, they suspected it. When they would ask, I denied it.
Then one day while Rachel and I decided to enter 7-Eleven, I saw one of my friends browsing the aisle near the entrance. I could have turned us around and left, taking my hand off of Rachel's while I'm at it, but time was cruel to me that day.
My friend's eyes widened and she stood frozen. I bowed my head as Rachel led me to the other side to look for Slim Jims. When we waited at the cash register line I searched
around. No sign of her.
Nothing prepared me for the ordeal I had to go through starting that next day: my classmates were afraid to sit near me; the ones who did inched their desks away from me. Some briefly stared at me like I just sprouted another head. I could hear snippets of their conversation in the hallway:
"That's gross."
"You serious?!"
"Dyke."
When I tried to approach my friends - especially during lunch period - they would scurry like birds at the park, leaving their trays behind.
Once when I was walking down the hallway to my next class, a group of boys closed in on me - jeering and attempting to touch me in certain areas. I managed to escape, sprinting and ending up hiding in the girl's restroom.
Rachel and I argued. The worst was at her house. She complained that I haven't told my mom about us yet. I explained that she also doesn't know about me - I just couldn't tell her yet. After that, we didn't talk to each other. Three weeks later she moved - her dad's business had transfered to another town - and I knew that it was over.
Two days ago I decided to drop by the school counselor during lunch, telling her about a rumor that some of my classmates were spreading about me being a Lesbian and getting harassed for it as well. She told me she'd notify my teachers of the issue and have them speak to the suspected students in private.
It didn't help.
The whisperings, the stares, the harassment. They continued, and I began to see them all as monsters. Monsters who are afraid of me because of what they don't understand, but I'm afraid of them too.
--*--
I wonder about the others like me, still hiding in the comfort of their closets, afraid of the monsters outside.
I tightly shut my eyes again, willing it all to go away.
I don't want to go to school today because that's where the monsters are.
I don't want to go to school today because that's where the monsters are. Better yet, I don't want to go back to school at all. I would rather be abducted by aliens or replaced by a changeling.
I tightly shut my eyes, willing the image to go away. That word painted on the door of my locker in green spray paint: Dyke. The edges of the letters jagged; monster claws sharpened and ready to pierce the victim's skin. Their claws.
I pulled the blanket closer to my neck and held my teddy bear.
I lied to my mom earlier this morning. She fell for it, encouraging me to stay in bed as she placed a glass of water and Aspirin on the night stand, kissing my forehead and letting me know there's Pepto Bismol in the refrigerator, just in case.
Of course I felt guilty, but I seriously don't want to go to school today because that's where the monsters are.
I took the pills and swallowed them down with some water. But I know that it won't ease the tears and sleepless nights.
I felt like a kid...except I'm not a kid anymore. Just a fifteen-year-old girl named Stacey Roland.
Stacey Roland with hair the color of coal. Stacey Roland with eyes the color of my mom's dry coffee. Stacey Roland who still sleeps with a teddy bear at night. Stacey Roland who happens to like girls.
--*--
I crushed on this one girl: a redhead named Rachel Summers who attends a different school, who by the way, liked me back.
My friends knew. Well...at first, they suspected it. When they would ask, I denied it.
Then one day while Rachel and I decided to enter 7-Eleven, I saw one of my friends browsing the aisle near the entrance. I could have turned us around and left, taking my hand off of Rachel's while I'm at it, but time was cruel to me that day.
My friend's eyes widened and she stood frozen. I bowed my head as Rachel led me to the other side to look for Slim Jims. When we waited at the cash register line I searched
around. No sign of her.
Nothing prepared me for the ordeal I had to go through starting that next day: my classmates were afraid to sit near me; the ones who did inched their desks away from me. Some briefly stared at me like I just sprouted another head. I could hear snippets of their conversation in the hallway:
"That's gross."
"You serious?!"
"Dyke."
When I tried to approach my friends - especially during lunch period - they would scurry like birds at the park, leaving their trays behind.
Once when I was walking down the hallway to my next class, a group of boys closed in on me - jeering and attempting to touch me in certain areas. I managed to escape, sprinting and ending up hiding in the girl's restroom.
Rachel and I argued. The worst was at her house. She complained that I haven't told my mom about us yet. I explained that she also doesn't know about me - I just couldn't tell her yet. After that, we didn't talk to each other. Three weeks later she moved - her dad's business had transfered to another town - and I knew that it was over.
Two days ago I decided to drop by the school counselor during lunch, telling her about a rumor that some of my classmates were spreading about me being a Lesbian and getting harassed for it as well. She told me she'd notify my teachers of the issue and have them speak to the suspected students in private.
It didn't help.
The whisperings, the stares, the harassment. They continued, and I began to see them all as monsters. Monsters who are afraid of me because of what they don't understand, but I'm afraid of them too.
--*--
I wonder about the others like me, still hiding in the comfort of their closets, afraid of the monsters outside.
I tightly shut my eyes again, willing it all to go away.
I don't want to go to school today because that's where the monsters are.
3.
This is dedicated to my friends from YouTube, ChimeraYuri and Ferrilsblood. Happy Birthday and best wishes to you two. I hope you'll like this.
The Butterfly Garden
The bell rang, signaling the beginning of the lunch period, and Emma and Gail headed outside together to eat lunch under the shade of the thick oak tree. The tree was surrounded by grass, Dandelions, Four Leaf Clovers, Daisies, and the chirping of birds. Nearby were the benches, where some of the students would sit and engage themselves in idle chat. Emma slumped down against the trunk, straightening her knee length skirt, while Gail sat in a cross-legged position beside her as she sat her lunch bag upon her lap.
Glancing upwards, Emma watched the clouds sail through the sky, the sun hidden in one of them, and then adjusted her glasses. A slight breeze teased her strawberry blond hair, and she flipped the flap of the lunch bag that lay against her chest open. For a moment, her brown eyes shifted, then she noticed a butterfly - orange with black veins and margins, and white dots - fluttering close, landing on a Daisy. Gail also stared at the magnificent insect.
"Monarch," she said through a mouthful of chicken salad.
"Huh?" Emma asked, turning to face her.
"That's a Monarch."
Emma nodded, remembering her girlfriend's expertise in butterflies. The Monarch flew away, most likely to search for more flower's nectar.
Gail prodded her elbow in Emma's side. "Remember when we first met?"
A blush rose on her lightly freckled cheeks."Yeah...you had a Lilac behind your ear."
They first met during their freshman year, during Spring one day, when Emma decided to eat outside. There, in front of the grand oak tree, was where she saw Gail for the first time - eating her lunch, a lilac tucked in her hair by an ear.
Gail told her later that her father would often bring a bouquet of flowers for her mother in the evenings after work: Roses, Tulips, and even Lilies. One day, the bouquet included Lilacs. They fascinated her so that, the next morning, she took one before heading to school.
If it weren't for the fact that numerous students attended the school, Emma would have met her at the first day. Then again, if it weren't for the Lilac tucked by her ear, she wouldn't have noticed her, for the Lilac compelled her to approach Gail, which was unusual considering Emma seemed reserved when it came to meeting strangers.
You had a peach in your hand and I almost jumped up," Gail added, wiping her hands with a napkin.
Emma smiled sheepishly, her mind recalling that day. Other than the fact that Lilacs captivated her, she was also allergic to Peaches. "And your salad had radishes," she said before taking a bite of her apple.
Gail giggled - a sound like the slow current of a river - her hazel eyes gleaming in amusement. Comical how after introducing themselves that day, the first thing they learned about each other was of their food allergies. Since that day, they had become best friends and in the fall of their senior year they started dating.
"Remember when I told you on your last Birthday that I will plant a butterfly garden for us this year?" Gail then asked.
"Yeah?"
"Been working on it."
"Yeah right."
"No, really I am."
Gail loved gardening and her mother taught her how to garden as a child. After her mother began working throughout the daytime hours, especially on the weekends, Gail began to garden by herself. It would amaze Emma that her girlfriend, a girl who would spend hours of her free time using her fingers to push the buttons of a video game controller, would enjoy the feel of dirt on her palms.
Gail downed a bottle of water. "And it'll have butterflies of all kinds," she mused as Emma listened. "Monarchs, Viceroys, Mourning Cloaks, Question Marks, Red Admirals, Buckeyes, Spring Azures, Cloudless Sulphurs, Clouded Sulphurs, Orange Sulphurs, Cabbage Whites..." she listed, counting each name by finger. "Oh, and I'm gonna build a butterfly house." She suddenly raised her arms in enthusiasm. "A bird house too!"
"A bird house?" Emma asked with a bewildered expression before taking a bite of her peanut butter and banana sandwich. Gail bobbed her head, the bangs of her auburn hair swaying on her forehead.
"As long as they don't scare all the butterflies away," Gail continued. "And a bird bath."
"Didn't you tell me one time that they eat butterflies?"
"Some do...but I'm sure they won't eat all of them."
Emma folded her arms, her lips curling into a smirk. "If this is going to be my eighteenth birthday present, why are you ruining it?"
"Let me finish first," Gail replied and kissed Emma's cheek, whose face reddened in response.
"And I'll plant flowers that would attract them: Marigolds, Rosemary, Hibiscuses, Daylilies, Black-eyed Susans, Asters, Coreopsises, Goldenrods, Lavenders..." She cupped her chin with one hand. "Oh, and Butterfly weeds and Butterfly Bushes too."
"What about Lilacs?"
"And those too."
"Why are you doing it on your own backyard? Why not mine since it's for me?"
"It wouldn't be a surprise."
"It's not much of a surprise anyway."
"And your parents wouldn't allow me."
"Yeah...you're right." Emma's parents were all about expectations and rules. Both of their yards only had a few bushes, and the usual grass and even weeds - which were often pulled by the neighborhood workers - and they intended to keep it that way.
Gail wiped her hands clean with a napkin after polishing off a sugar cookie. She placed the containers and remains in her bag, setting it aside on the ground. She dusted the crumbs off her shirt and jeans as she laid on her side, resting her head on Emma's lap. "It's halfway done. In two months your birthday will come and it'll be done...and we'll spend time together there...right after playing Fire Emblem."
Emma closed her eyes, chuckling softly as her hand gently stroked her girlfriend's hair, imagining them in a butterfly garden - Gail's butterfly garden - with Monarchs fluttering about and Lilacs tucked behind Gail's ear. A garden to themselves, just like in that book she read when she was younger, with the smells of Rosemary and Lavenders, and a stormless sky above with clouds like white cotton candy.
The bell rang, although Emma ignored it; she kept imagining that she was lazing about in the garden with Gail. Her hands now rested on her lap beside her girlfriend's head as she began to breathe deeply.
Gail, however, stood up and picked up her bag. She tapped Emma's shoulder with a finger. "Emma?" When her girlfriend didn't respond she poked her ribs hard.
Emma jerked awake from her trance, blurting out a "Huh?"
"Didn't you hear the bell?" Gail exclaimed, then grinned as she helped Emma to her feet while grabbing her bag as well.
As they walked together, hand in hand, the Monarch flew closely behind them - but this time with a blue Monarch - and they landed on the top of a Daisy, facing each other.
The Butterfly Garden
The bell rang, signaling the beginning of the lunch period, and Emma and Gail headed outside together to eat lunch under the shade of the thick oak tree. The tree was surrounded by grass, Dandelions, Four Leaf Clovers, Daisies, and the chirping of birds. Nearby were the benches, where some of the students would sit and engage themselves in idle chat. Emma slumped down against the trunk, straightening her knee length skirt, while Gail sat in a cross-legged position beside her as she sat her lunch bag upon her lap.
Glancing upwards, Emma watched the clouds sail through the sky, the sun hidden in one of them, and then adjusted her glasses. A slight breeze teased her strawberry blond hair, and she flipped the flap of the lunch bag that lay against her chest open. For a moment, her brown eyes shifted, then she noticed a butterfly - orange with black veins and margins, and white dots - fluttering close, landing on a Daisy. Gail also stared at the magnificent insect.
"Monarch," she said through a mouthful of chicken salad.
"Huh?" Emma asked, turning to face her.
"That's a Monarch."
Emma nodded, remembering her girlfriend's expertise in butterflies. The Monarch flew away, most likely to search for more flower's nectar.
Gail prodded her elbow in Emma's side. "Remember when we first met?"
A blush rose on her lightly freckled cheeks."Yeah...you had a Lilac behind your ear."
They first met during their freshman year, during Spring one day, when Emma decided to eat outside. There, in front of the grand oak tree, was where she saw Gail for the first time - eating her lunch, a lilac tucked in her hair by an ear.
Gail told her later that her father would often bring a bouquet of flowers for her mother in the evenings after work: Roses, Tulips, and even Lilies. One day, the bouquet included Lilacs. They fascinated her so that, the next morning, she took one before heading to school.
If it weren't for the fact that numerous students attended the school, Emma would have met her at the first day. Then again, if it weren't for the Lilac tucked by her ear, she wouldn't have noticed her, for the Lilac compelled her to approach Gail, which was unusual considering Emma seemed reserved when it came to meeting strangers.
You had a peach in your hand and I almost jumped up," Gail added, wiping her hands with a napkin.
Emma smiled sheepishly, her mind recalling that day. Other than the fact that Lilacs captivated her, she was also allergic to Peaches. "And your salad had radishes," she said before taking a bite of her apple.
Gail giggled - a sound like the slow current of a river - her hazel eyes gleaming in amusement. Comical how after introducing themselves that day, the first thing they learned about each other was of their food allergies. Since that day, they had become best friends and in the fall of their senior year they started dating.
"Remember when I told you on your last Birthday that I will plant a butterfly garden for us this year?" Gail then asked.
"Yeah?"
"Been working on it."
"Yeah right."
"No, really I am."
Gail loved gardening and her mother taught her how to garden as a child. After her mother began working throughout the daytime hours, especially on the weekends, Gail began to garden by herself. It would amaze Emma that her girlfriend, a girl who would spend hours of her free time using her fingers to push the buttons of a video game controller, would enjoy the feel of dirt on her palms.
Gail downed a bottle of water. "And it'll have butterflies of all kinds," she mused as Emma listened. "Monarchs, Viceroys, Mourning Cloaks, Question Marks, Red Admirals, Buckeyes, Spring Azures, Cloudless Sulphurs, Clouded Sulphurs, Orange Sulphurs, Cabbage Whites..." she listed, counting each name by finger. "Oh, and I'm gonna build a butterfly house." She suddenly raised her arms in enthusiasm. "A bird house too!"
"A bird house?" Emma asked with a bewildered expression before taking a bite of her peanut butter and banana sandwich. Gail bobbed her head, the bangs of her auburn hair swaying on her forehead.
"As long as they don't scare all the butterflies away," Gail continued. "And a bird bath."
"Didn't you tell me one time that they eat butterflies?"
"Some do...but I'm sure they won't eat all of them."
Emma folded her arms, her lips curling into a smirk. "If this is going to be my eighteenth birthday present, why are you ruining it?"
"Let me finish first," Gail replied and kissed Emma's cheek, whose face reddened in response.
"And I'll plant flowers that would attract them: Marigolds, Rosemary, Hibiscuses, Daylilies, Black-eyed Susans, Asters, Coreopsises, Goldenrods, Lavenders..." She cupped her chin with one hand. "Oh, and Butterfly weeds and Butterfly Bushes too."
"What about Lilacs?"
"And those too."
"Why are you doing it on your own backyard? Why not mine since it's for me?"
"It wouldn't be a surprise."
"It's not much of a surprise anyway."
"And your parents wouldn't allow me."
"Yeah...you're right." Emma's parents were all about expectations and rules. Both of their yards only had a few bushes, and the usual grass and even weeds - which were often pulled by the neighborhood workers - and they intended to keep it that way.
Gail wiped her hands clean with a napkin after polishing off a sugar cookie. She placed the containers and remains in her bag, setting it aside on the ground. She dusted the crumbs off her shirt and jeans as she laid on her side, resting her head on Emma's lap. "It's halfway done. In two months your birthday will come and it'll be done...and we'll spend time together there...right after playing Fire Emblem."
Emma closed her eyes, chuckling softly as her hand gently stroked her girlfriend's hair, imagining them in a butterfly garden - Gail's butterfly garden - with Monarchs fluttering about and Lilacs tucked behind Gail's ear. A garden to themselves, just like in that book she read when she was younger, with the smells of Rosemary and Lavenders, and a stormless sky above with clouds like white cotton candy.
The bell rang, although Emma ignored it; she kept imagining that she was lazing about in the garden with Gail. Her hands now rested on her lap beside her girlfriend's head as she began to breathe deeply.
Gail, however, stood up and picked up her bag. She tapped Emma's shoulder with a finger. "Emma?" When her girlfriend didn't respond she poked her ribs hard.
Emma jerked awake from her trance, blurting out a "Huh?"
"Didn't you hear the bell?" Gail exclaimed, then grinned as she helped Emma to her feet while grabbing her bag as well.
As they walked together, hand in hand, the Monarch flew closely behind them - but this time with a blue Monarch - and they landed on the top of a Daisy, facing each other.
4.
The story that will never be enjoyed
I'm like a book in the library, read and skimmed by many.
Once I would yearn for the day when her hands would finally open my pages; her eyes drinking my words and enjoying the story that could be:
The story of us.
One day she browsed through the immense shelves.
With eyes of wonder upon my name on the spine, she picked me up.
She glanced at the front cover for a moment and then opened my pages.
With eyes of dissatisfaction after reading my first chapter, she placed me back on the shelf and continued to browse.
She now reads another, and sits down at a table nearby as I watch her.
The book she now reads mesmerized her from the beginning to end, her eyes laughing with pleasure.
There will always be plenty of readers around, but there won't be another like her.
I'm like a book in the library, read and skimmed by many.
Once I would yearn for the day when her hands would finally open my pages; her eyes drinking my words and enjoying the story that could be:
The story of us.
One day she browsed through the immense shelves.
With eyes of wonder upon my name on the spine, she picked me up.
She glanced at the front cover for a moment and then opened my pages.
With eyes of dissatisfaction after reading my first chapter, she placed me back on the shelf and continued to browse.
She now reads another, and sits down at a table nearby as I watch her.
The book she now reads mesmerized her from the beginning to end, her eyes laughing with pleasure.
There will always be plenty of readers around, but there won't be another like her.
5.
Crossword Puzzle
"That's good to hear," Mom said.
Instead of tears and shouts, all I got was a glance, a smile, and a "That's good to hear."
Then she continued to work on the crossword puzzle.
Across from her, I stood at the front of the kitchen table, tapping the wooden surface with my knuckles.
She didn't look up at me again, her forehead creased, the tip of her pen lightly hitting the paper as she muttered something to herself in Mandarin.
Her eyes never left the page.
So I left and went up the stairs and into my bedroom. Not bothering to turn on the lights, I sprawled on my bed, staring at the white ceiling above me. Almost straight away, I stood up, turned on the lights and then focused my gaze on my backpack beside the night table. This morning I packed it with the usual necessities and small bags of cheese Doritos, but I wouldn't need it now. My eyes turned to the nail polish collection sitting on the top of the drawers, in the corner of my room. They were lined up in rows, the first one arranged by the colors of the visible spectrum; the rest in other colors like pink and black. Some even contained glitter.
I took the ones from the first row, including a clear glittered one, and placed them on the bed. Tossing my hair from my shoulders, I chose to start with the red one. I pulled the sleeves of my sweatshirt back, twisted the cap open - placing the bottle on the night table - and painted my thumbnail. Then I proceeded to the next nail with the orange one and so forth. As I painted my nails, I smirked and my mind wandered to the past.
--*--
I used to kiss Barbie dolls on the lips. At first it was a private ritual done at night after mom tucked me in. On one summer day - the type where it feels like the inside of an oven - I sprinted around a water sprinkler in our backyard, a Barbie doll in one hand, as Mom sat on a lawn chair nearby in her black and white bikini, working on a crossword puzzle. I giggled and spun around, letting the water drench my hair, the doll's hair and bathing suit. I ran towards Mom, grinning, and kissed the doll while holding its body, clad in a swimsuit, with my other hand in front of her. She smiled before resuming the question she was pondering the answer to.
And then there was the first girl I went out with. Megan who likes to wear coconut shoes, streaks her auburn hair in red and has ticklish lips. We met at the first Gay Straight Alliance meeting during our freshman year of High school, and much to my anxiety, started dating. Besides the phase with the Barbie dolls, little-naive-me would dance clumsily with the boys during those middle school festivals. Whenever my friends would gush about some gorgeous male Hollywood star, or one of the guys in the indie rock bands that would perform at the local mall, my mind would drift to the female stars or band members I've heard or seen before.
A few months ago Megan and I decided to hang out at my place after school a few months ago. Mom was out grocery shopping with my brother and dad was at work. Megan giggled as our lips met. We ended up under the kitchen table, so lost in pleasure and bliss that I didn't hear the sound of the front door closing.
"Look at that!" a voice chimed.
I winced in pain as my head hit the ceiling of the table. I swiftly turned and a monkey-like face smirked, kneeling down in front of us. Behind him, bending down, holding a bag of groceries in one hand and a book of crossword puzzles in another, was Mom. Megan chortled as though she was drunk, oblivious that we were interrupted. I crawled out, careful to not stumble when I stood up and stared angrily at my brother. Megan stopped laughing, most likely realizing the situation, and did the same.
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jian," she greeted casually, patting her fly-away hair and smoothing the wrinkles on her blouse and pants.
Mom just nodded and smiled, and then went her way to the counter, setting the bag beside the sink.
"I'm Charles," my brother chirped.
--*--
Today, I told her that I will never be able to love and marry someone of the opposite gender.
Today, I told her that I will never be able to bear any grandchildren unless I adopt or pay a visit to a sperm bank.
Today, I told her that I am a lesbian.
Seriously, I had heard stories about people my age or older, coming out and then getting kicked out by their own parents.
But all she said was "That's good to hear," and then went back to the crossword puzzle she was working on.
I kept painting my nails over and over, adding a new coat each time, blowing on them to dry before adding on the glitter.
"Lauren, Mom said to come down for dinner."
I turned and I saw my ten-year-old brother swinging the door back and forth, his hands holding the knob. I looked at him with a miffed expression, and he stuck out his tongue in response before racing down the hallway, his feet noisily stomping down the stairs seconds later.
After putting the bottles of nail polish back, I trailed down the stairs and into the kitchen. It must have been over an hour since I've been upstairs.
The aroma of dinner wafted into my nostrils and I stopped, knowing that something was out of place.
"Let me guess...you bought all this pre-cooked?" I asked.
She raised an eyebrow, her lips turning into an amused smile. "No...I cooked."
"And I helped," my brother added with a wide grin. He nodded and his bowled shaped haircut bobbed.
Mom hardly cooks Chinese food unless our grandparents or relatives came to visit from China. Once upon a time, she would, but not anymore. Normally we'll just eat TV Dinners, Ramen noodles, or order take out.
We ate in silence with the exception of the silverware clanking on plates - we hardly use chopsticks unless our grandparents or relatives came to visit - as we chewed, munched and swallowed the shrimp egg rolls, sweet and sour chicken, and fried rice. Not unusual, like the surprise meal, as this is how we ate, even when dad was home. And he was out on a business trip for the weekend.
Dinner was also the only time when mom didn't work on a crossword puzzle.
In the midst of managing to get a small clump of rice to my mouth I found Mom staring at me.
"Don't tell your father," she said with a stern tone.
"Oooh..." my brother snickered.
"Hush!" she chided and he averted his gaze.
We went back to the usual chewing, munching, and swallowing.
I'm not surprised that she didn't comment on my multicolored glittered nails.
Afterwards, mom resumed trying to finish the crossword puzzle she was working on. Charles was up in his room playing video games. I washed the dishes and scrubbed the pots and pans. The water was cold and I was trying not to chip my nails. I heard the sounds of scribbling and marking from mom's pen.
"That's good to hear," Mom said.
I wanted to talk to her about it.
A chair screeched, then her sandals clicked against the wooden floor as she headed towards the living room.
--*--
I observed Mom from the front of the staircase. She sat on the edge of the couch, concentrating on the puzzle on her lap, her pen raised in one hand. Beside the couch lay a black crate filled with crossword puzzle books: some big, some small; some thick, some thin. She began buying them from the grocery store the day she and dad started arguing.
She never finished a puzzle as she would start on a new page every day, her pen lightly tapping the surface of the paper as she concentrated on figuring out the answers. The answers to the questions she internally struggled with.
I slowly turned and started to make my way up the stairs, my tennis shoes making creaking sounds on each step.
"That's good to hear," Mom said.
Instead of tears and shouts, all I got was a glance, a smile, and a "That's good to hear."
Then she continued to work on the crossword puzzle.
Across from her, I stood at the front of the kitchen table, tapping the wooden surface with my knuckles.
She didn't look up at me again, her forehead creased, the tip of her pen lightly hitting the paper as she muttered something to herself in Mandarin.
Her eyes never left the page.
So I left and went up the stairs and into my bedroom. Not bothering to turn on the lights, I sprawled on my bed, staring at the white ceiling above me. Almost straight away, I stood up, turned on the lights and then focused my gaze on my backpack beside the night table. This morning I packed it with the usual necessities and small bags of cheese Doritos, but I wouldn't need it now. My eyes turned to the nail polish collection sitting on the top of the drawers, in the corner of my room. They were lined up in rows, the first one arranged by the colors of the visible spectrum; the rest in other colors like pink and black. Some even contained glitter.
I took the ones from the first row, including a clear glittered one, and placed them on the bed. Tossing my hair from my shoulders, I chose to start with the red one. I pulled the sleeves of my sweatshirt back, twisted the cap open - placing the bottle on the night table - and painted my thumbnail. Then I proceeded to the next nail with the orange one and so forth. As I painted my nails, I smirked and my mind wandered to the past.
--*--
I used to kiss Barbie dolls on the lips. At first it was a private ritual done at night after mom tucked me in. On one summer day - the type where it feels like the inside of an oven - I sprinted around a water sprinkler in our backyard, a Barbie doll in one hand, as Mom sat on a lawn chair nearby in her black and white bikini, working on a crossword puzzle. I giggled and spun around, letting the water drench my hair, the doll's hair and bathing suit. I ran towards Mom, grinning, and kissed the doll while holding its body, clad in a swimsuit, with my other hand in front of her. She smiled before resuming the question she was pondering the answer to.
And then there was the first girl I went out with. Megan who likes to wear coconut shoes, streaks her auburn hair in red and has ticklish lips. We met at the first Gay Straight Alliance meeting during our freshman year of High school, and much to my anxiety, started dating. Besides the phase with the Barbie dolls, little-naive-me would dance clumsily with the boys during those middle school festivals. Whenever my friends would gush about some gorgeous male Hollywood star, or one of the guys in the indie rock bands that would perform at the local mall, my mind would drift to the female stars or band members I've heard or seen before.
A few months ago Megan and I decided to hang out at my place after school a few months ago. Mom was out grocery shopping with my brother and dad was at work. Megan giggled as our lips met. We ended up under the kitchen table, so lost in pleasure and bliss that I didn't hear the sound of the front door closing.
"Look at that!" a voice chimed.
I winced in pain as my head hit the ceiling of the table. I swiftly turned and a monkey-like face smirked, kneeling down in front of us. Behind him, bending down, holding a bag of groceries in one hand and a book of crossword puzzles in another, was Mom. Megan chortled as though she was drunk, oblivious that we were interrupted. I crawled out, careful to not stumble when I stood up and stared angrily at my brother. Megan stopped laughing, most likely realizing the situation, and did the same.
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jian," she greeted casually, patting her fly-away hair and smoothing the wrinkles on her blouse and pants.
Mom just nodded and smiled, and then went her way to the counter, setting the bag beside the sink.
"I'm Charles," my brother chirped.
--*--
Today, I told her that I will never be able to love and marry someone of the opposite gender.
Today, I told her that I will never be able to bear any grandchildren unless I adopt or pay a visit to a sperm bank.
Today, I told her that I am a lesbian.
Seriously, I had heard stories about people my age or older, coming out and then getting kicked out by their own parents.
But all she said was "That's good to hear," and then went back to the crossword puzzle she was working on.
I kept painting my nails over and over, adding a new coat each time, blowing on them to dry before adding on the glitter.
"Lauren, Mom said to come down for dinner."
I turned and I saw my ten-year-old brother swinging the door back and forth, his hands holding the knob. I looked at him with a miffed expression, and he stuck out his tongue in response before racing down the hallway, his feet noisily stomping down the stairs seconds later.
After putting the bottles of nail polish back, I trailed down the stairs and into the kitchen. It must have been over an hour since I've been upstairs.
The aroma of dinner wafted into my nostrils and I stopped, knowing that something was out of place.
"Let me guess...you bought all this pre-cooked?" I asked.
She raised an eyebrow, her lips turning into an amused smile. "No...I cooked."
"And I helped," my brother added with a wide grin. He nodded and his bowled shaped haircut bobbed.
Mom hardly cooks Chinese food unless our grandparents or relatives came to visit from China. Once upon a time, she would, but not anymore. Normally we'll just eat TV Dinners, Ramen noodles, or order take out.
We ate in silence with the exception of the silverware clanking on plates - we hardly use chopsticks unless our grandparents or relatives came to visit - as we chewed, munched and swallowed the shrimp egg rolls, sweet and sour chicken, and fried rice. Not unusual, like the surprise meal, as this is how we ate, even when dad was home. And he was out on a business trip for the weekend.
Dinner was also the only time when mom didn't work on a crossword puzzle.
In the midst of managing to get a small clump of rice to my mouth I found Mom staring at me.
"Don't tell your father," she said with a stern tone.
"Oooh..." my brother snickered.
"Hush!" she chided and he averted his gaze.
We went back to the usual chewing, munching, and swallowing.
I'm not surprised that she didn't comment on my multicolored glittered nails.
Afterwards, mom resumed trying to finish the crossword puzzle she was working on. Charles was up in his room playing video games. I washed the dishes and scrubbed the pots and pans. The water was cold and I was trying not to chip my nails. I heard the sounds of scribbling and marking from mom's pen.
"That's good to hear," Mom said.
I wanted to talk to her about it.
A chair screeched, then her sandals clicked against the wooden floor as she headed towards the living room.
--*--
I observed Mom from the front of the staircase. She sat on the edge of the couch, concentrating on the puzzle on her lap, her pen raised in one hand. Beside the couch lay a black crate filled with crossword puzzle books: some big, some small; some thick, some thin. She began buying them from the grocery store the day she and dad started arguing.
She never finished a puzzle as she would start on a new page every day, her pen lightly tapping the surface of the paper as she concentrated on figuring out the answers. The answers to the questions she internally struggled with.
I slowly turned and started to make my way up the stairs, my tennis shoes making creaking sounds on each step.
