used the word, “cheap,” as a talisman against the poverty that had so defined our lives.
But that was the last time I’d hear it come from her mouth. After she spelled out my name, she breathed her last.
“Mom?” I said one last time, but she never answered. She had lived fifty-seven years.
My sister and I spent a little more time with her body before we called out to the others that she’d died. Afterward, we all left the hospital and went home. It was the same little house I remembered from my childhood, but it felt oddly vacant without my mother’s presence. There was the courtyard, the sitting room, the stove on which many aromatic meals had been made. And yes, there was the kang, the place she’d spent so much of her life. My little shovel was propped up beside her bed.
When I saw that shovel, I wept. Next to the kang was a hole in the floor. I’d dug it so gradually—cough by cough—over her many years of infirmity, I was surprised when I really looked at the hole.
It was three feet deep.
5
“Read this letter,” Heidi said to me, handing me a piece of paper covered with Chinese lettering. She looked as though she had been crying.
“For me?” I said, a little confused. Heidi had become a good friend and an excellent writer for the newspaper, but we’d never had conversations of a personal nature. She was smart, and could hold her own against any male student.
“Sadly, it’s for me,” she said, looking away so I couldn’t see her eyes fill with tears. I felt slightly panicked when I saw that emotion. I immediately wanted to fix it, to do anything to stop the tears. “Remember the student I liked? Well, I broke down and told him of my affection.”
“And this is his response?” I asked.
She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Just read it.”
It was an act of trust. As I read the letter, which basically explained that a relationship between the two of them wasn’t possible, my heart softened toward Heidi. Suddenly, instead of looking at the girls sitting near the front of class, I began to see only one girl.
Over the course of the next few weeks, we started talking more.
“I think you’re very gentle,” she told me. “Very down to earth.”
It was against university rules for students to date and against Chinese law for students to marry. But suddenly, I thought of nothing else.
In China, people don’t date one person after another until they find that almost magical “soul mate.” Usually, we would have only a few serious dating relationships before getting married, so dating was a very sober undertaking for us. I began to feel Heidi was my destiny, so I tucked the adoration I felt for her into my heart. There, in privacy, it grew.
“I’m going for a walk,” I’d tell my roommates on the way to meet her downstairs.
For weeks, we’d arrange clandestine meetings across campus, hoping no one would notice we were always together. Having a forbidden romance was pretty invigorating. There was nothing quite like meeting Heidi’s eyes across class and knowing we shared such an intimate secret. I did tell one person, however. In one of my regular letters to my father, I mentioned I was very interested in a girl named Heidi. A few weeks later, I received a note back from him.
“Dear Xiqiu,” he wrote. “Thank you for your letter updating me on all that you’re doing at college. I encourage you, of course, to pay attention to your studies and not to get distracted by extracurricular activities.”
“Extracurricular activities” was apparently my dad’s euphemism for dating, and he seemed willing to tolerate it if I kept it within the right balance.
I figured we weren’t the only ones with a secret romance. Occasionally, I’d notice a couple walking around the school’s racetrack together. If they walked slowly, I knew they weren’t there for the exercise. Sometimes I’d see people holding hands in the quad. At night, under the cover of darkness, couples nuzzled on
But that was the last time I’d hear it come from her mouth. After she spelled out my name, she breathed her last.
“Mom?” I said one last time, but she never answered. She had lived fifty-seven years.
My sister and I spent a little more time with her body before we called out to the others that she’d died. Afterward, we all left the hospital and went home. It was the same little house I remembered from my childhood, but it felt oddly vacant without my mother’s presence. There was the courtyard, the sitting room, the stove on which many aromatic meals had been made. And yes, there was the kang, the place she’d spent so much of her life. My little shovel was propped up beside her bed.
When I saw that shovel, I wept. Next to the kang was a hole in the floor. I’d dug it so gradually—cough by cough—over her many years of infirmity, I was surprised when I really looked at the hole.
It was three feet deep.
5
“Read this letter,” Heidi said to me, handing me a piece of paper covered with Chinese lettering. She looked as though she had been crying.
“For me?” I said, a little confused. Heidi had become a good friend and an excellent writer for the newspaper, but we’d never had conversations of a personal nature. She was smart, and could hold her own against any male student.
“Sadly, it’s for me,” she said, looking away so I couldn’t see her eyes fill with tears. I felt slightly panicked when I saw that emotion. I immediately wanted to fix it, to do anything to stop the tears. “Remember the student I liked? Well, I broke down and told him of my affection.”
“And this is his response?” I asked.
She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Just read it.”
It was an act of trust. As I read the letter, which basically explained that a relationship between the two of them wasn’t possible, my heart softened toward Heidi. Suddenly, instead of looking at the girls sitting near the front of class, I began to see only one girl.
Over the course of the next few weeks, we started talking more.
“I think you’re very gentle,” she told me. “Very down to earth.”
It was against university rules for students to date and against Chinese law for students to marry. But suddenly, I thought of nothing else.
In China, people don’t date one person after another until they find that almost magical “soul mate.” Usually, we would have only a few serious dating relationships before getting married, so dating was a very sober undertaking for us. I began to feel Heidi was my destiny, so I tucked the adoration I felt for her into my heart. There, in privacy, it grew.
“I’m going for a walk,” I’d tell my roommates on the way to meet her downstairs.
For weeks, we’d arrange clandestine meetings across campus, hoping no one would notice we were always together. Having a forbidden romance was pretty invigorating. There was nothing quite like meeting Heidi’s eyes across class and knowing we shared such an intimate secret. I did tell one person, however. In one of my regular letters to my father, I mentioned I was very interested in a girl named Heidi. A few weeks later, I received a note back from him.
“Dear Xiqiu,” he wrote. “Thank you for your letter updating me on all that you’re doing at college. I encourage you, of course, to pay attention to your studies and not to get distracted by extracurricular activities.”
“Extracurricular activities” was apparently my dad’s euphemism for dating, and he seemed willing to tolerate it if I kept it within the right balance.
I figured we weren’t the only ones with a secret romance. Occasionally, I’d notice a couple walking around the school’s racetrack together. If they walked slowly, I knew they weren’t there for the exercise. Sometimes I’d see people holding hands in the quad. At night, under the cover of darkness, couples nuzzled on
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