UNSEEN: September
My fingers dance across the piano, pacing leisurely. Mariah sings two octaves above the song, her low voice dominating the smooth melody. I quicken - andante, andante, andante. I sneak a glance at the crowd; this had to be our smallest one yet. Lee stands in the back, his eyes reflecting his anxiety. His knuckles are white from clutching the tray too tightly as his teeth gnaw his bottom lip a bright shade of red. He meets my gaze, swallowing tightly as he turns back to serving a random customer.
I look away as well, facing the smooth black and white keys of Mother’s grand piano - my family’s pride and joy. By nature I am typically a clumsy person. Ye-Ye had forbidden me from ever setting foot in the kitchen. As great as a cook I am, we don’t have enough money to repair the kitchen if I accidentally scorched the counter tops and combusted the oven. After the incident where I spilled ice while carrying a stack of plates, consequently slipping on them, was the last straw. With no other job that wouldn’t endanger the customers, I was forced to be entertainer. I lift my hands away with the last note, listening as it dies and disappears into silence.
The clapping is the farthest thing from thunderous; the most vigorous of the clapping belongs to Lee. I speed into the next song, prancing across the keys. I doubt that such a song would further excite our audience, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Mariah’s voice is throatier, husky as she practically snarls. I wince. I probably shouldn’t have played that particular piece. Her break-up with her boyfriend is still fresh in her mind, and the lyrics ram the memory into her over and over with the chorus. Nonetheless, she continues to sing, sweet and furious.
There’s even less applause than before, much to my chagrin. One by one, the customers leave, trudging out the door - all eight of them.
Lee strides over; shoulders slumped as he clutches several different tabs. “We didn’t make much tonight,” he murmurs sadly, dropping them into my hands. We stared at the meager sum in disbelief - less than half of what we made compared to yesterday. I shove them down my pocket, disappointed. Ye-Ye would be heartbroken, and I never thought I’d miss those rude, infuriating patrons.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, reassuring myself more than anyone else. “It’s not any of our faults.”
“Yeah,” Mar agrees uneasily, squeezing her arms around Lee’s neck tightly. Lee didn’t complain, despite the fact he wouldn’t be able to easily breathe in such an awkward position. He’s was silent, still and deathly pale. A light sheen of sweat covers his temples and for the first time that night, I notice how his eyes sunk into his face, wide and half-lidded with exhaustion and a thousand other emotions I can’t recognize.
“I’m going to head up. Remember to give Ye-Ye the money, ‘kay?” Lee says, prying off Mariah’s fingers. He sways as he stumbles over to the stairs. Nobody moves to begrudge him of his well-earned rest. Even our cousins have already turned in for the night. That doesn’t mean much, though. We keep our apartment upstairs above the restaurant, separate from the bustle of the clientele and our workers. It was originally an apartment building, but Grandpa saved enough money to not only buy the place, but start off a business.
Summer is our busiest, not only because of our regulars, but because of my eight cousins as well. I had cousins, uncles, and aunts coming out of my ears. My non-immediate family has the ridiculous notion that since their children are of age and Ye-Ye is running a food business, my aunts and uncles could simply drop my cousins off for a job. Every year I’d spend my entire summer pushing my useless, loitering cousins out of the way, tending to pushy eaters, and all around trying to manage my developing migraine.
It is puzzling. My aunts and uncles had yet to come for my cousins. The calendar hanging above the small flooring where the stair curved upwards clearly shows that we are well into the month of September - almost November, even. In spite of my weariness, I laugh. Where has all that time gone? Time feels so distorted, the days longer and the seconds almost hours. I shake my head. The situation just becomes stranger and stranger as time passes.
I creep up the stairs behind my older brother, making sure he doesn’t trip over his feet. It’s ironic; it was usually the other way around. At the top, I watch him trudge over to his room. His broad, warm shoulders seem smaller, more vulnerable like the nineteen-year-old child he’s supposed to be, and not the man that stands in our father’s place. “Um, Lee,” I call out. He turns around wearily, his dark, resin eyes slightly red and puffy from fatigue. I want to say something encouraging, but staring into his pale face, I find that nothing I say would enhance the situation. “Nothing, good night,” I say hastily instead.
He stands rooted to that spot, watching me incomprehensively. He struggles to smile, shaking his head as he staggered into his bedroom. I look away, heading off in the direction of Ye-Ye’s office. I pass the room where my female cousins - Fai, Mei, and Bao - are stuffed into. They’re gossiping, giggling about things that not even Mariah (our only resident female) would feel comfortable speaking about. Subjects that most girls are interested in - human-interest (gossip, what else) and fashion. I wrinkle my nose, disgusted.
The males outnumber the females greatly in our household. The room across from the girls is filled to the brim, barely managing to hold the slightly younger boys - Feng, Tien, Andy, Kenny and Mike. I feel sorry for skinny little Kenny, who probably gets picked on by the other guys all the time at night. Of all of them, I like Kenny the best. He doesn’t mind washing the dishes anytime during the day, and I had yet to hear a complaint out of him. That is the least I could say for the rest of my cousins.
I move on, reaching Ye-Ye’s tiny office. I’ve stood in front of that door too many times to count. I scrutinize the wood where the white paint chips, revealing streaks of the dark brown timber. I knock on the door. Ye-Ye’s scratchy, wren-like voice calls out, warm and welcome, if not a tad weak. “It’s me, Ray,” I said. I push open the door, cautiously stepping into the office. A landslide nearly blankets the entire floor. It takes an elaborate dance to neatly avoid the black and white mess.
Ye-Ye’s trapped at his desk, his wrinkled hand gripping the pen tightly. His hand shakes and it’s a matter of time before the pen snapped into two. “It’ll be harder to fall asleep if you clench your fists so tightly,” I comment, carefully stepping forward. To go against my nature and not trip is harder than I try to believe.
Ye-Ye glances up, the pen dropping onto a document. “Raymond,” he mumbles, shocked. “I didn’t see you there.” I blink at him in surprise. But he just called out to me, told me to come in. I attempt to shrug off my unease. He folds his hands, his long, knobby fingers digging into his skin. “Did you come here for a reason?”
“Huh, oh yeah,” I look down at the table, stuffing my hand down into my pocket to fish for the money. I dump the bills onto the table. Unsteadily, he reaches for the money, analyzing it. He fists the dollars, running his thumb over the paper surface, trying to make sure it’s real. He stares at me, suddenly at a loss. He reaches for my hand, his smoky orange eyes glistening with unshed tears. Fear overwhelms me, and against all instincts, I tightly grip his hand in return. “Is something wrong?” I ask gently. Ye-Ye’s eyes water over. He leans over onto my shoulder, grasping my forearms, and cries. In all my seventeen years, I had never seen another man cry.
Awkwardly I curl my arm around to pat his back. His tears stream down his wrinkled face, bawling. “What’s wrong?” I repeat soothingly. His tears are precious, something that wouldn’t be willingly shown to just anyone. They are a man’s tears, tears that understand and have experienced the agony of truth and life.
He grips my shoulders. I wince, voiceless as he sobs desperately, “Is that really all there is? Is that really it?”
“Yeah, Ye-Ye,” I say.
“I’m sorry, Mao,” he blubbers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” I don’t listen as he sobs on, apologizing, riveted on that foreign name. Who is Mao? My confusion and questions override my senses. I can’t comprehend why Ye-Ye would hold me and call me “Mao”, but it doesn’t seem to be the best time to ask why, either.
Ye-Ye tired easily the past few nights. Tonight is no exception. I drag his thin, light body down the corridor into his room. His room is nowhere near as cluttered as his office - organized and tidy. “Need any help with him?” I jump, startled.
“Relax, it’s just me.” Oh, Mariah.
“Would you?” Wordlessly, she slings Ye-Ye’s other arm over her shoulder. Personally, I’m glad that Mariah leans toward the manly side - her strength comes in very handy (not that I’m a weakling, myself). Don’t get me wrong, she’s very beautiful, just not beautiful in an effeminate way. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
She stares ahead, looking anywhere but me. “There was too much to think about.” We heave Ye-Ye down onto his bed, settling him down between his covers. “Sleep would obstruct my thinking time.”
“I wasn’t aware you thought,” I joke. She chuckles wryly, her eyes half-lidded with the same exhaustion that Lee had portrayed.
“I’ve been thinking a lot these past few nights,” she continues. “And then I can’t help but feel depressed.” Her eyes close. Her long dark lashes flutter against her milky skin.
“Your ex-boyfriend?” I guess.
“No.” She sighs longingly. “I could only wish it were as easy as that.” Her soft words leave an odd, hollow ringing in the sharp night air. She gradually turns to me, her tortured eyes glazed and dim. “You have no idea what’s happening, do you?”
Should I say something? “I…”
Mariah purses her full lips. “Never mind,” she snaps. Her soft eyes flashes, apologetic. She tilts her head at an angle. Her boyishly cut hair swings in light tendrils across her cheek. “I can see you’ve been told nothing.”
“Been told what?” I ask. My childish curiosity forces me to forget my slight irritation at her sympathy.
“Nothing.” She spins on her heel, gliding out the door. She flips the lights out, submerging Ye-Ye and me in darkness. Her expression is lost to me. Her next words are barely audible, monotone, even. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
I look away as well, facing the smooth black and white keys of Mother’s grand piano - my family’s pride and joy. By nature I am typically a clumsy person. Ye-Ye had forbidden me from ever setting foot in the kitchen. As great as a cook I am, we don’t have enough money to repair the kitchen if I accidentally scorched the counter tops and combusted the oven. After the incident where I spilled ice while carrying a stack of plates, consequently slipping on them, was the last straw. With no other job that wouldn’t endanger the customers, I was forced to be entertainer. I lift my hands away with the last note, listening as it dies and disappears into silence.
The clapping is the farthest thing from thunderous; the most vigorous of the clapping belongs to Lee. I speed into the next song, prancing across the keys. I doubt that such a song would further excite our audience, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Mariah’s voice is throatier, husky as she practically snarls. I wince. I probably shouldn’t have played that particular piece. Her break-up with her boyfriend is still fresh in her mind, and the lyrics ram the memory into her over and over with the chorus. Nonetheless, she continues to sing, sweet and furious.
There’s even less applause than before, much to my chagrin. One by one, the customers leave, trudging out the door - all eight of them.
Lee strides over; shoulders slumped as he clutches several different tabs. “We didn’t make much tonight,” he murmurs sadly, dropping them into my hands. We stared at the meager sum in disbelief - less than half of what we made compared to yesterday. I shove them down my pocket, disappointed. Ye-Ye would be heartbroken, and I never thought I’d miss those rude, infuriating patrons.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, reassuring myself more than anyone else. “It’s not any of our faults.”
“Yeah,” Mar agrees uneasily, squeezing her arms around Lee’s neck tightly. Lee didn’t complain, despite the fact he wouldn’t be able to easily breathe in such an awkward position. He’s was silent, still and deathly pale. A light sheen of sweat covers his temples and for the first time that night, I notice how his eyes sunk into his face, wide and half-lidded with exhaustion and a thousand other emotions I can’t recognize.
“I’m going to head up. Remember to give Ye-Ye the money, ‘kay?” Lee says, prying off Mariah’s fingers. He sways as he stumbles over to the stairs. Nobody moves to begrudge him of his well-earned rest. Even our cousins have already turned in for the night. That doesn’t mean much, though. We keep our apartment upstairs above the restaurant, separate from the bustle of the clientele and our workers. It was originally an apartment building, but Grandpa saved enough money to not only buy the place, but start off a business.
Summer is our busiest, not only because of our regulars, but because of my eight cousins as well. I had cousins, uncles, and aunts coming out of my ears. My non-immediate family has the ridiculous notion that since their children are of age and Ye-Ye is running a food business, my aunts and uncles could simply drop my cousins off for a job. Every year I’d spend my entire summer pushing my useless, loitering cousins out of the way, tending to pushy eaters, and all around trying to manage my developing migraine.
It is puzzling. My aunts and uncles had yet to come for my cousins. The calendar hanging above the small flooring where the stair curved upwards clearly shows that we are well into the month of September - almost November, even. In spite of my weariness, I laugh. Where has all that time gone? Time feels so distorted, the days longer and the seconds almost hours. I shake my head. The situation just becomes stranger and stranger as time passes.
I creep up the stairs behind my older brother, making sure he doesn’t trip over his feet. It’s ironic; it was usually the other way around. At the top, I watch him trudge over to his room. His broad, warm shoulders seem smaller, more vulnerable like the nineteen-year-old child he’s supposed to be, and not the man that stands in our father’s place. “Um, Lee,” I call out. He turns around wearily, his dark, resin eyes slightly red and puffy from fatigue. I want to say something encouraging, but staring into his pale face, I find that nothing I say would enhance the situation. “Nothing, good night,” I say hastily instead.
He stands rooted to that spot, watching me incomprehensively. He struggles to smile, shaking his head as he staggered into his bedroom. I look away, heading off in the direction of Ye-Ye’s office. I pass the room where my female cousins - Fai, Mei, and Bao - are stuffed into. They’re gossiping, giggling about things that not even Mariah (our only resident female) would feel comfortable speaking about. Subjects that most girls are interested in - human-interest (gossip, what else) and fashion. I wrinkle my nose, disgusted.
The males outnumber the females greatly in our household. The room across from the girls is filled to the brim, barely managing to hold the slightly younger boys - Feng, Tien, Andy, Kenny and Mike. I feel sorry for skinny little Kenny, who probably gets picked on by the other guys all the time at night. Of all of them, I like Kenny the best. He doesn’t mind washing the dishes anytime during the day, and I had yet to hear a complaint out of him. That is the least I could say for the rest of my cousins.
I move on, reaching Ye-Ye’s tiny office. I’ve stood in front of that door too many times to count. I scrutinize the wood where the white paint chips, revealing streaks of the dark brown timber. I knock on the door. Ye-Ye’s scratchy, wren-like voice calls out, warm and welcome, if not a tad weak. “It’s me, Ray,” I said. I push open the door, cautiously stepping into the office. A landslide nearly blankets the entire floor. It takes an elaborate dance to neatly avoid the black and white mess.
Ye-Ye’s trapped at his desk, his wrinkled hand gripping the pen tightly. His hand shakes and it’s a matter of time before the pen snapped into two. “It’ll be harder to fall asleep if you clench your fists so tightly,” I comment, carefully stepping forward. To go against my nature and not trip is harder than I try to believe.
Ye-Ye glances up, the pen dropping onto a document. “Raymond,” he mumbles, shocked. “I didn’t see you there.” I blink at him in surprise. But he just called out to me, told me to come in. I attempt to shrug off my unease. He folds his hands, his long, knobby fingers digging into his skin. “Did you come here for a reason?”
“Huh, oh yeah,” I look down at the table, stuffing my hand down into my pocket to fish for the money. I dump the bills onto the table. Unsteadily, he reaches for the money, analyzing it. He fists the dollars, running his thumb over the paper surface, trying to make sure it’s real. He stares at me, suddenly at a loss. He reaches for my hand, his smoky orange eyes glistening with unshed tears. Fear overwhelms me, and against all instincts, I tightly grip his hand in return. “Is something wrong?” I ask gently. Ye-Ye’s eyes water over. He leans over onto my shoulder, grasping my forearms, and cries. In all my seventeen years, I had never seen another man cry.
Awkwardly I curl my arm around to pat his back. His tears stream down his wrinkled face, bawling. “What’s wrong?” I repeat soothingly. His tears are precious, something that wouldn’t be willingly shown to just anyone. They are a man’s tears, tears that understand and have experienced the agony of truth and life.
He grips my shoulders. I wince, voiceless as he sobs desperately, “Is that really all there is? Is that really it?”
“Yeah, Ye-Ye,” I say.
“I’m sorry, Mao,” he blubbers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” I don’t listen as he sobs on, apologizing, riveted on that foreign name. Who is Mao? My confusion and questions override my senses. I can’t comprehend why Ye-Ye would hold me and call me “Mao”, but it doesn’t seem to be the best time to ask why, either.
Ye-Ye tired easily the past few nights. Tonight is no exception. I drag his thin, light body down the corridor into his room. His room is nowhere near as cluttered as his office - organized and tidy. “Need any help with him?” I jump, startled.
“Relax, it’s just me.” Oh, Mariah.
“Would you?” Wordlessly, she slings Ye-Ye’s other arm over her shoulder. Personally, I’m glad that Mariah leans toward the manly side - her strength comes in very handy (not that I’m a weakling, myself). Don’t get me wrong, she’s very beautiful, just not beautiful in an effeminate way. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
She stares ahead, looking anywhere but me. “There was too much to think about.” We heave Ye-Ye down onto his bed, settling him down between his covers. “Sleep would obstruct my thinking time.”
“I wasn’t aware you thought,” I joke. She chuckles wryly, her eyes half-lidded with the same exhaustion that Lee had portrayed.
“I’ve been thinking a lot these past few nights,” she continues. “And then I can’t help but feel depressed.” Her eyes close. Her long dark lashes flutter against her milky skin.
“Your ex-boyfriend?” I guess.
“No.” She sighs longingly. “I could only wish it were as easy as that.” Her soft words leave an odd, hollow ringing in the sharp night air. She gradually turns to me, her tortured eyes glazed and dim. “You have no idea what’s happening, do you?”
Should I say something? “I…”
Mariah purses her full lips. “Never mind,” she snaps. Her soft eyes flashes, apologetic. She tilts her head at an angle. Her boyishly cut hair swings in light tendrils across her cheek. “I can see you’ve been told nothing.”
“Been told what?” I ask. My childish curiosity forces me to forget my slight irritation at her sympathy.
“Nothing.” She spins on her heel, gliding out the door. She flips the lights out, submerging Ye-Ye and me in darkness. Her expression is lost to me. Her next words are barely audible, monotone, even. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have said anything.”