The Wondrous Woo Page 7

  “When we are born, our souls are divided into two pieces. Your other half is floating around in someone else and it’s our life’s mission to find them.”

  I stayed silent. Where the hell was Jerry? He was supposed to call at seven p.m. and it was now seven-fifteen.

  “So I guess I was lucky that I found The Love of My Life so young.” She smiled into her needles. “God, there was just recognition, ya know? Like, we were just two people adrift, wandering aimlessly and then, BAM! There he was at the Red Clover Pub one night when I least expected it….”

  Seven-seventeen p.m.

  “It was more than sexual attraction with us. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex was great, but it was so much deeper. Like, we were so spiritually connected. I knew what he was thinking before he even thought it. Sometimes, we didn’t even need to speak. We just lay there and looked into each other’s eyes….”

  Seven-twenty-one p.m.

  “Meeting The Only Man I Will Ever Truly Love was and will always be the biggest thing that ever happened to me. I will never love like that again. No one will ever come close to a love that big. And now that we’re apart, my soul has been torn in two again.”

  Seven-twenty-four p.m.

  “So, what happened to him, Kathleen?” I asked her just to keep myself distracted from looking at the clock again.

  “Huh?” She looked up at me.

  “What happened?”

  She looked down and caught her stitch and continued to knit. Click click click. “Well, we were just too into coke. After I had a close call, my parents kidnapped me and sent me to detox. William Dexter Michael Rowan started banging Shirley Jameson while I was away.”

  Click, click, click.

  “He was just too out of it, see? He really loved me, but he was messed up. I mean, The Love of My Life was living on the streets. Last I heard, his brother got him out of Ottawa and took him to Texas. His family wouldn’t let me contact him. Said we were toxic together. Whatever. They don’t get it.”

  Click, click, click.

  “Anyway, there’s a reason I am telling you all this, Miramar. Don’t get so sucked up by love. Look at me. I am a broken soul.” I looked at her radiant skin, her abundant chestnut hair, her teeny perfect body. I thought about the effect she had on the men who swarmed to her and wondered what the hell she knew about being broken.

  “So, what you’re saying is that Jerry and I are toxic for each other?”

  “Not necessarily. I mean, take your time. If I knew what I know now, I would have said to The Only Man I Really Loved, ‘Hold up. We have all the time in the world for our souls to be together. Let’s not burn out so quickly.’ You understand?”

  Oh God, Kathleen, please do not start on me, I said to myself.

  Seven-thirty-one p.m.

  “Not really, Kathleen. But thanks anyway,” I told her.

  “Miramar,” she said, putting down her knitting needles.

  Here we go, I thought.

  “Have you seen yourself lately? You’re so skinny. You’ve got a whole set of luggage under your eyes. You walk around distracted all the time. You’re always with him and when you’re not, you’re waiting for him. And I know you’re not hitting the books anymore.”

  “I’m fine, Kathleen,” I sighed, trying to sound casual.

  “Listen. I know this is your first boyfriend. Take it from someone who has been to hell and back. If he’s the one, go slow…. Don’t make him think you’re desperate for him. Keep him on his toes. Play it cool. Meanwhile, keep your eye out there just in case you miss The Love of Your Life. You know, your twin soul.”

  “Did you ever consider that he is my twin soul?” I scoffed at her, refusing to meet her eyes. Click, click, click. I knitted furiously now.

  “Kitten, I am only trying to help,” she sighed, returning to her yarn.

  “I know, I know, Kathleen, but I’m not you.” The phone rang. My heart paused.

  “Let me, let me,” she said. She languidly uncurled herself from her tangle of scarf. Hurry up, I wanted to scream.

  “Hello? Hey, Jerry. How’s it going? Oh, yah? Hahaha … right, I know the one. Good times, good times…. Miramar? Hmmm … let me see if she’s around. That girl and her social life, you know. Always busy!” Kathleen held the receiver to her chest for one, two, three.…“Okay, she’s right here. Hold on a sec.” She handed the phone to me.

  “Hi, Jerry. Where are you? The Market? Yes, that’s the bar with the striped awning? Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The sun had risen and was shining on me again. I smiled at Kathleen as generously as I could before running to my room to put on some makeup. He loved me. I knew it.

  Later that night, after another evening of pitchers, Jerry and I were in my bed. He was too drunk to have sex. I had to pull off his clothes and tuck him under the covers. Exhausted, I fell beside him. “Hey, Jerry?” I whispered.

  “Hmmmm….” He mumbled from the pillow, his eyes already closed.

  “How do you feel it’s going? Like with us?”

  “Whaaaa…?” He stretched his arms out in front of him and turned over to me with half-opened eyes.

  “I love you,” I whispered. I hated the unmistakable plead I heard in my voice.

  A pause. “Thanks, Mir,” he said, closing his eyes again and patting my arm. “Goodnight.”

  I lay in the darkness making excuses for his response — he was tired, he was drunk, but the fear grew and spread through me like a snowstorm. As the flurries overcame my core, I trembled beneath the duvet, turning away from him and curling into myself.

  Chapter 13 ~

  The ancestors rely on the living to keep up their quality of life. They knew that without the requisite incense, paper money, and roast duck once in a while, prepare to have bad luck fall on your heads! The ancestors will curse you and suck their teeth about the ungrateful dogs that were their children. They will look hungrily at the other dead people whose children burned offerings and always remembered to put out a dish of meats and a can of Coke at the altar. The worst thing you can do to The Dead is to forget them.

  AS A FRIGID FEBRUARY blew in, as was planned what seemed a lifetime ago by three siblings who used to be one thing to each other but were now something else, I went home for the weekend of Chinese New Year. I hadn’t seen my family in almost half a year. As the time neared, I thought about cancelling, sure that if I left Ottawa, Jerry would forget about me or find someone else. I imagined numerous scenarios in which women swarmed him like piranhas. But in the end, I kept my promise, and as the Greyhound neared Toronto, my eyes filled with tears.

  Darwin shrieked when I came through the door and threw his arms around me, knocking me off balance. He had grown at least three inches since September.

  “Let me take my coat off first, Dar,” I laughed. He had on the round tortoiseshell glasses, a long-sleeved T-shirt with Yoda on it, and jeans.

  “Hallo, Miramar Woo,” he shouted. Darwin was always loud. “Wait ’til you see what I got you!” He dashed to his room. Ma came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked tired, with small half-moon shadows beneath her eyes, but her hair was neatly tied back, and she had a big smile across her small face.

  “Miramar! Are you hungry?” she asked and patted me on the arm.

  “Hi, Ma. You know what? I am hungry,” I beamed back, still glowing from my little brother’s enthusiasm. Ma took her cue and rushed back into the kitchen.

  Darwin returned, skidding down the hallway, while I pulled off my boots. I noticed that Sophia was behind him. “Hey, Mir,” she waved. Her hair was in a side ponytail tied with a bright pink scrunchie. I scooped her up in a big hug. My brother and sister felt so good to me; I had not realized how much I missed them.

  Darwin shoved a small green bag, emblazoned with the gold label Harrods across it, at me. In his other hand, he held a l
ong tube. “Ma helped me pick it out when we were in London,” he said. I looked inside and pulled out a long box.

  “Okay, okay, let me sit down,” I laughed, going into the living room and settling on the couch while my siblings trailed after me.

  “Open it, open it,” Dar squealed. I flipped the box open. Inside, was an elegant fountain pen, with silver filigree covering its black body. I picked it up and was surprised at its heaviness. I took the cap off saw that its nib was engraved in gold and silver.

  “Darwin, this is most beautiful pen I have ever seen,” I exclaimed. Darwin jumped up and down.

  “It’s because you’re a scholar, see? So you have to write some smart stuff with it, okay?”

  “Okay, Dar, I will!” I laughed.

  “I got Sophia the same thing, but in pencil, ’cause in math, you have to use an eraser.” Of course, Sophia was the real scholar now. I felt a twinge.

  Darwin gave me the tube next. “Aiya, let Miramar settle in,” Ma called as she brought out a tray of food to the next room. We migrated to the dining-room table as Ma laid out congee and fried noodles. I sat, the table already set with my parents’ good china and cloth napkins, and took out a poster of Boy George from the long tube.

  “Look, look over here,” Darwin pointed to the bottom left corner where Boy George’s hand rested against his thigh. Scrawled in purple marker, it read, “Dear Darwin’s sister. Your brother is a gas. Love, Boy George.” I looked incredulously at Darwin, my mouth hanging open.

  “He came to my performance at…” he looked at Ma. “Where were we, Ma?”

  “Um. Name is Royal Albert,” Ma replied as she ladled soup into small bowls.

  “Yah, Boy George came to meet me backstage afterwards. He’s pretty nice. He was in a dress! And makeup. He said we should record together sometime.”

  “Darwin, you are freaking amazing!” I hugged him and never wanted to let him go. Darwin shrugged. He was the same little brother he had always been whose best weapon was picking his nose and flicking it at people. He was also the same generous, lovely boy who always thought of others. Boy George had been lucky to meet Darwin Woo, I thought.

  “Lemme go. You’re squeezing me too hard,” Darwin said, breathlessly. I released him even though I did not want to.

  “Eat, nui nui, eat,” Ma chided. She was calling me daughter, and it warmed me.

  The rest of the visit was filled with their stories. Sophia described her colleagues at the Faculty of Mathematics at McGill, causing us to fall off our chairs laughing. She bent over and pretended to lean on a cane, crooning, “Class, class, you are about to witness brrrrilliance.” She imitated each one of those men she called “The Dinosaurs.” Ma pretended to be shocked at Sophia’s insolence, saying she should respect her elders. Still, Ma couldn’t resist laughing.

  “But do you like them? Are they nice to you?” I asked.

  “They’re all right, I guess,” Sophia sighed. “They’re just so booooooring. And they always have food stains all over their clothes. Oh! And another thing. Their sweaters are like a million years old and covered in woolly pills. I want to shave them. You know how I can’t stand that!” Sophia sneered.

  “And the Gorkys?”

  “Well, I love Mrs. Gorky. She’s a real artiste. She paints watercolours and our house was done by a professional designer. It’s truly rad.”

  “She feeds you enough, Sophia? You are too skinny,” Ma frowned. “Pai kwot mui,” she frowned. Skeleton girl.

  “Yeah, Ma. We eat. We’re vegetarians, Iris and I. She told me to call her Iris. Iris became a vegetarian because she says she couldn’t hurt a fly so she couldn’t justify eating a dead animal.”

  “Waaaa? You’re not eating meat?” Ma wailed.

  “No, Ma. Iris says there are some people who are vegetarian their whole lives and they’re healthier than the rest of us. Iris says we are more spiritually attuned to the natural world when we don’t have dead energy inside us. Meat is dead energy.”

  “Tse-seene,” Ma proclaimed. Crazy. “Mrs. Gorky is wrong. You have to eat meat to stay healthy. Tse-seene gwaipau.” Crazy ghost-lady.

  “Well, I don’t agree with you. Iris knows a lot more about it than you do.” Sophia smiled tightly and examined her perfectly glossed pink fingernails.

  Ma’s face was turning purple. Hoping to derail Ma and Sophia from locking horns, I quickly turned to my brother who was sucking up a noodle, his head over his bowl. “Darwin, how are the people you’re living with?”

  He shrugged. “S’okay.”

  “S’okay? It’s very nice. The nicest residence,” Ma said.

  Darwin nodded. “It’s pretty cool. I got a new Atari 7800 in my room.”

  “And the conservatory? Are you having fun there?”

  “It’s okay. A lot of rehearsals. Sometimes, I just want to sleep, but they wake us up at six a.m. to be in class for seven-thirty. Torture.”

  “Do you have friends?” I continued to push him for more glimpses of his life in London.

  “Yeah. There’s a guy two years older than me there from Brazil. His name is Raul. He’s a prodigy too. He likes Pac-Man.”

  This made me happy. Thank God for Raul, another freak genius in the world so that my brother would not be alone.

  On New Year’s night, we chatted and ate our dinner of steamed clams, broccoli and beef in black bean sauce, and roast duck. I suspected Sophia had only become a convenient vegetarian because she dived into everything and had seconds. We continued to catch up like people who had gone on separate vacations when Sophia suddenly said, “I’d like to visit Ba.”

  We looked at Ma. She laid down her chopsticks and looked into her bowl a long time before she finally answered in forceful Cantonese, “We do not talk of the dead on Chinese New Year.”

  “But I’m only here for a short time. I want to go to the grave,” Sophia persisted. Things had been going so smoothly. Ma had even included a dish of simmered tofu and vegetables as a goodwill gesture for Sophia.

  “We will not talk of the dead,” Ma said again in the same cold even tone.

  “You mean we should never talk about Ba now? Because with the way things are going, and how hectic our schedules are, we’ll only see each other during the New Year,” Sophia’s voice started to get whiny. I felt the familiar gathering of winds that always marked the beginning of battle between Ma and Sophia.

  We weren’t done eating, but Ma stood and started to clear the plates, her head down.

  “Did you hear me, Ma? Hello? I asked you a question,” Sophia persisted. I kicked her under the table.

  “Ouch!” Sophia shot me a drop-dead look.

  Ma went to the kitchen with her first load of dirty dishes.

  “Stop it, Sophia,” I hissed. “Just stop. It’s too soon for her. Leave it alone.”

  “Not for me. I want to go,” Sophia answered. Darwin looked down at the table.

  “Then you go. You go alone, okay? Or I’ll go with you. Just drop it.”

  Sophia flung herself back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Am I the only one who remembers Ba around here? Shit!”

  Ma came around the corner and slammed her hands on the table. We jumped. “You think you’re the only one? You’re the only one who lost Ba? You think so?” Ma’s voice rose.

  Sophia didn’t answer. Something in Ma’s eyes told me this was different, not like any of their other fights.

  “You know nothing! Nothing!” Ma thrust a finger in Sophia’s face. Her whole body was trembling.

  I got up from the table. “I’ll help clean up, Ma. Don’t worry about this.” I waved my hand around the table, meaning the dishes, but what I really meant was the whole thing with Sophia, even though I knew that was impossible. My heart was speeding up.

  Ma sat down, looking as if the air had been let out of her. The only sound was the dishes clinki
ng together as I stacked them. “No talking about the dead on the New Year,” she repeated in a voice so quiet it sent shivers down my back. She turned to face the photo of Ba that was now hung on the wall. I didn’t understand what was happening. She could look at him, think about him while seeing his face, but we couldn’t talk about him. I had to side with Sophia then, and wonder why not? He loved New Year. We were here for him.

  Sophia stood up and pushed her chair against the table roughly. “Fine. Thanks very much. Great to see ya, Ma, as usual,” she said and went to her room.

  Ma kept to her seat, her eyes still on the photo of Ba. It was the one of him taken on a fishing trip in High Park. He was laughing, squinting in the sun, a tiny perch attached to his hook. I remember the gweilos had stared at us. No one else had been fishing. I guessed that for them, the pond was just decoration: a small synthetic lake in the middle of their city park. But for Ba, it had been a fishing hole. I watched Ma as she looked at the photo, unable to read in her face what she was thinking. I sat down beside her while Darwin kept his eyes on the table.

  “Mo baun fat,”Ma whispered. No solution.

  “To what, Ma?” I asked her, wondering if I should hold her hand or touch her, something I knew people did when someone they loved was hurting. I must have taken too long to consider because she got up and went to her room before I could move.

  Sophia re-emerged a couple of hours later to join Darwin and me in the living room. We were about to watch the final episode of The Wonder Years.

  “Move over, little D,” Sophia nudged Darwin, and he shuffled over on the couch. Sophia snuggled in, one arm around Darwin. I was on the other side of him, reaching my arm across his shoulders too. Our Ba’s matching La-Z-Boy, in the same brown-and-gold floral pattern as our couch, sat empty.

  We watched the show silently. We had watched Kevin Arnold grow up and made deep philosophical connections about life with his pals, Paul and Winnie. The final episode ended with a quote from the adult Kevin as the camera rose above the neighbourhood and flew over it: “I remember a place, a town, a house like a lot of houses. A yard like a lot of yards, on a street like a lot of other streets. And the thing is, after all these years, I still look back … with wonder.”