Lao Lao's Letter

You stare. Just stare. Your hair gently rests over your vibrant eyes, vigilantly waiting. It’s 5:59 and you have been up since 4:03, just as always. The alarm will go off in a minute, the annoying mechanical beep will wake everyone up. Not you, though. Never you. You are never fully awake. Or at least your mind never is. You can control the beeping. You always can.

But you don’t. 

Instead, you deeply sigh and turn away from the clock. Then it goes off. 

Beep, beep, beep…

You cringe as the baby cries right on cue and as the kids angrily knock on the door to ask for you to settle the baby down. You don’t want to get up. You don’t have to. It’s always like this, never wanting to go to work. But obligation always wins in the end. You know it. You know it so well.

But you get up anyway. “Lance, can you feed Rori? She’s hungry and tired, so put her back to bed.” You start to head over to the bathroom to brush your teeth. “Ben has soccer practice from four to five today.” You wash your mouth and pick up the straightening iron. “Bree has piano right after school for an hour.” You move to the closet and slip on a white blouse. “Kate has hockey tryouts from seven thirty to nine tonight. Can you do that for me? I’m packed all day.” Your husband, Lance, stares at you blankly. It’s too early in the morning, you understand. “Lance?” You ask again, with a stern tone. He snaps out of it. “Ok, ok, I’m going…” You quickly get ready for work. Your body, as always, just keeps moving with a quick pace while your mind slugs around. All you can think about is how much you are dreading this day. 

“Bree, Kate, Ben, get your bags!”you yell, stuffing their lunch boxes into their backpacks. They instantly run down the hallway, suddenly full of energy, and gulp down their breakfast. They always race each other. Rori is finally asleep again when Lance puts her in her carseat carrier. As usual, Lance takes the kids out of the apartment and drops them off at school and day care on his way to work. You kiss him goodbye, he smiles at you still half asleep. 

Everything about today is normal. 

Until it isn’t.

As you step out of the apartment, you collect the paper and the mail batch from yesterday. You always forget to pick up the mail after work and end up having to do that in the morning. You flip through. Then you see a peculiar red envelope with small cursive letters scrawled on it. It stops you from getting out the car keys, from assembling all of your work and papers together. You decide work can wait. 

You read it. “To: Veronica, From: Lao Lao,” you say. Huh, you think to yourself. How odd. Lao Lao never sends me mail. It’s been over twelve years since I have gone to China, thirteen since I’ve seen her. Why now? 

You carefully open the letter with a letter opener and you see a milky white sheet of paper. 

Dear Veronica, it reads. Please come back to China. It is your mother. Love, Lao Lao

That’s all it reads. Extremely intriguing and worry-inducing, the sweet short note feels like a splash of cold water in your face. But instead to your mind. You are awake now. 

My mother? What could’ve happened? She can’t be sick, she is so healthy! You think to yourself. 

I have to go to China, you think. 

***

This is an impulse move. You don’t do impulsive things. You never did, even when you were in your teens. And now, you feel that you can’t since you are raising a family. 

But this is your mother, the most important person in your life. 

You don’t need to explain yourself to Lance, he’ll understand, you think on the car ride to the airport. Just calm down. 

You purchase a ticket and board the plane. 

***

You land in Beijing. You still haven’t called Lance. He has called you several times. You can tell that in each voicemail he leaves, he gets exceedingly more angry at you. You get it. He gets scared, desperate, nervous. In his last voicemail, he says he will report you missing to the police if you don’t respond in less than twenty four hours.

You don’t respond. Why you don’t is a mystery. Instead, you take a taxi to your mother’s apartment. Lao Lao is in the courtyard leaning on her cane. She knew you would come, she knows you too well. Your sister stands next to her with a sad smile on her faces. 

“Hello Veronica,” they say together with low energy. 

“How is Ma? What happened? Is something going on?” you ask nervously. 

They nod and they lead you up the stairs in silence. When they unlock the door to the apartment, you see your mother sitting lifelessly on the couch and staring blankly out the window. 

She is not the same. Her once jet black, slick hair is now a frail, silver mess that falls loosely around her eyes. She has a bony face, her sullen eyes are glued into their dark sockets, her mouth is a sliver of flesh. But most of all, her excited and sweet brown eyes are now just desolate, blank eyes that hold no memories, no joy. Nothing She is just bones and skin. She wears her old clothing, her favorite yellow and white dotted dress. It loosely hangs over her small shoulders. She is not the same mother that raised me and my sisters, the same mother who helped us through the death of our father. 

My mother has changed. 

“We thought you could talk to her. She doesn’t talk to us. She doesn’t eat, or sleep or do anything really. We have to bathe her and force soft foods into her mouth. I don’t know why, but I think Ma has died inside.” your sister says softly. “Besides, Ma always listens to you,” You nod and sit next to her. 

“Mama,” you say, just as when you were a little girl. “I am here. It’s me, Veronica.” She looks up at me, like a frightened caged animal. She places a bony finger affectionately on my cheek. She opens her mouth and I wait for her to talk. But she doesn’t. She closes it back up and turns back to the window. 

“Mama.” you whisper, hoping she will answer you. You reach out and grab a tuft of her silver hair, threading it through your fingers like this will be the last time you touch her hair.

Sighing, you recall the good old days. Mama has always loved stories.

“I still have the scar.” you say quietly, patting my hand. “Remember, Mama?” She looks over at you and cradles your palm with her cold hands. She nods, but doesn’t respond. “I came into the wood working shop with you. You allowed me to come that day because for weeks I had begged you to let me see what you were making. I saw the beautiful furniture and I got a piece of wood from a log and I used a carving knife to try to make something.”

You laugh, remembering how ignorant you were to use a carving knife on a thin piece of wood.

“Then I cut my palm. Sliced it deeply.” you say, sadly. “And you told me—”

“Stay away from my knives,” Mama responds. “I remember.” 

“Yes, stay away from my knives.” 

***

You return Lance’s call, explaining the situation. He is understandably incredibly angry at you but you tell him you have to stay.

“This was all from just a letter?” he screams through the phone. You think your ears are going to burst. “Yes,” you say. “I just had to stop to read it.”