Breadcrumb #618
JANETTE CHIEN
Little One
You came from a seed that wouldn’t quite sprout.
I gazed, willing for a bud to emerge, searching for patterns along the skin.
As you nestled, I cleared the soil around you so you could breathe freely, a space for wishful expansion, a blooming in my eyes as the space in my belly grew before you did.
With bated breath, I waited, waited, waited,
No doubt, no seed purged from the dark womb, awaiting muffled sobs. Inside, static vibrates active inactivity, invisible but to me.
You mustn’t pluck the fruit until it is ripe, until it has loosened from its stem.
If it is too soon, the ghost fruit child wraps herself around your ankles, tighter with each step.
Until all you feel are tiny fingers bruising the skin. And your steps can no longer be light.
Will it hurt
Will it hurt, mama?
No my darling, it will be like a tiny prick, a butterfly’s feet, you won’t even feel it. Look at me and hold my hand. Everything will be okay.
She smoothes my hair, and she takes my hand and I rub my fingertips along the callouses on her palms, counting one, two, four. Prick. Ouch. My eyes water.
All done, the doctor says. He presents me with a cherry-flavored lollipop. I smile.
Will it hurt, mama?
No my darling, lift your arms and dive into the water. It will surround you and hold you. Women are created from water, child.
Will it hurt, mama?
No my darling. It will be like a low ache in your abdomen, and a drip drip down there. You won’t be able to swim for a week. It’s part of becoming a woman.
She places her hand on my belly, and I frown. I love the water and I am angry that it will be taken from me. She smiles at me.
You don’t have to worry about that now.
Can I help, mama?
Of course, my darling. She hands me the basket and shows me how to strip the strings from the beans, how to peel the skins from the tomato so they do not muddy the soup. I am slow with my clumsy hands and become frustrated.
It’s okay, little one, when you have kids, you will learn.
Can I use this, mama?
Of course, my darling. Though you are much too young and lovely to wear makeup. She takes the brush, dips it in the delicate powder and brushes my nose. The shade is too light, my skin is too dark. I appear like a ghost in her vanity mirror. She wrestles my kinky hair into two braids.
So coarse-lah, must be from your father’s side.
Can I wear this, mama?
Of course, my darling. But I don’t know if it will fit your da pi gu. She laughs, tapping my backside. My breasts are budding like tiny cones. Her flowing dresses trail the ground and blouse buttons strain around my waist. I am only 12 and I can fit into her shoes.
So big and healthy, like a real American. Your flesh is so tight and tan. Not loose like mine.
She shakes and jiggles side to side. Her arms are white, so white. A drifting pattern of stretch marks follows along her arm. She hides them with her hands when she changes.
Why are his hands like that, mama?
Do not stare, my darling. Uncle Sammie was electrocuted as a child and it paralyzed his left side. Schoolboys dared him to climb up a telephone pole. They were wild back then, chasing light bulbs that flowed down the canal from the factory. I used to be so jealous of Sammie’s adventures. Be a good girl and go talk to him. He has not seen you in so long. You are his favorite niece. When you were a baby, he would sing revolution songs to you.
But I don’t remember him.
How did she die, mama?
It is a sad story, my darling. Your grandmother was born with a tumor in her brain that grew and grew and grew until it began to press too hard and she could not bear it anymore. The tumor made her angry and she would curse and beat me and tell me I was ugly with a too-big mouth.
Will you come get me, mama?
Of course my darling, I’m on my way. What happened?
When I see her face, I start to sob. I clutch my backpack over my legs in the front office, hiding the dark bloom between my legs. The nurse didn’t have any extra skirts that fit me.
Am I pretty, mama?
Of course my darling. You are what I would call a second beauty. At first when people see you, they may not think you are beautiful. But the more they see you, each day, each day, then they see wow, you are beautiful.
“You are what I would call a second beauty.”
Will you stay with me a little longer, mama?
Of course my darling. Turn around so I can scratch your back. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.
When I wake up in damp sheets, fever broken, she is asleep next to me, resting her head on two hands pressed together. I touch her hair and inhale her powdery scent. She doesn’t stir.
Will it hurt, mama?
No my darling. It is a beautiful thing as long as you are with someone special. But you musn’t let boys see all of you. You must protect yourself as long as you can. Some boys may be nice and good, but you never know.
Will you come with me, mama?
No my darling. I wish I could. But you must go on your own.
I am 17 now and she only comes up to my chin. She wipes my face with her hands, smoothes my hair.
Be brave my smart girl. Take this torus pendant with you. It was your great-grandmothers’. You know the quality of the jade because it is nearly transparent and they have burrowed a circle very wide in the center. It must be done by hand or it will snap. Now it is even stronger, harder. Here.
***
Girls
We run bare armed into the sea--
feeling the sand and salt between our teeth
Take my hand, now.
In a fierce second, we plunge into the icy waters--
feeling like a thousand needles against our skin
Come on, now.
We emerge reborn from mother water, mother earth, mother sea
she holds us
What will everyone think, now?
We hold each other
feeling the cool damp skin of your shoulder, pressed against my cheek
same size now
Stay here, now.
The waves drown out our cries, turn them into coos and awes
Do as you’re told, now.
We take turns kissing each other on the forehead to
feel tenderness
Get to bed, now.
Do you remember how to swim? I ask.
I don’t think I was born with this ability
go deeper and feel the water overtake you
Get undressed, now.
I think I’m sinking
I think I’m doing it wrong
The waves are too high--
Don’t worry, I have you now.
***
How long will you stay with me, baby?
From the big screen windows of the bus, I see.
Little girl with glasses too big for her face. Her mother stands in front of her, shielding her from the street, same hair but cropped close, waiting…
How long will you stay with me baby?
Patterned hat with the ear flaps and yarn tassels
Pink mouth taking bites of a blueberry muffin
I sling your small violin over my shoulder
And in your jeans and doc martens, your feet are growing faster than the rest of you.
Now, I don’t need to hold your hand anymore, because I know that you will stay close.
I switch back and forth between them. Am I Girl? Mother? Which do I need more to feel?
Not mother, once infinite and vast, now crumpled like an injured bird to cup in my palm.
Not child, helpless with growing resentment like a weed emerging, holding the earth close and overwhelming it. Surpassing mother in distance from head to toe, curling, turning, closing.
The hum of the bus carries us away and mother and daughter are left behind waiting for the next.