Jenna brightened.
“I’m going to be playing the Minute Waltz by Chopin and Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in C minor,” she said enthusiastically.
“That sounds lovely,” Mom said, looking cheerful again.
“What about you, Conner?” Dad asked.
I swallowed hard, afraid the lump of food would get stuck in my throat.
“Well?” Dad prompted.
I gestured at my throat and reached for my milk glass.
“He’s supposed to play a Mozart minuet,” Jenna answered for me.
I glared at her. She could have let me answer—instead of having to sound so on top of everything.
“I’m sure it will be very nice,” Mom said, giving me an encouraging smile.
Not likely, I wanted to say, but I bit back the words. Mom and Dad looked at me, their eyes full of hope, like they really did expect that, with a bit more practice, I’d be as good as Jenna. How could I tell them that I was going to disappoint them again? Across from me sat Jenna, looking happy and confident. Her long slim fingers rested on the table as if on piano keys. Playing piano was part of who she was. It wasn’t part of me. Would Mom and Dad ever see that?
After supper, I retreated to my room and Oscar’s company. At least he seemed to like me for who I was.
Chinese New Year
“Gung Hay Fat Choy!” Jenna and I greeted Ma Ma as she opened the door.
Ma Ma was wearing a red Chinese-style dress, and her round face crinkled into a wide smile at our words. The Chinese New Year’s greeting was one of the few bits of Cantonese Jenna and I knew.
“Sun Nien Fai Lok!” Ma Ma replied. “Gung Hay Fat Choy.”
Jenna handed Ma Ma the plate of cookies covered with plastic wrap.
“They’re gok jai,” Jenna said proudly. “Mom and I made them.”
“Doi jeh. Thank you,” Ma Ma said as she took them. She smiled at Jenna, but she looked past Jenna to Mom and narrowed her eyes slightly, as if to let Mom know she shouldn’t have brought anything.
I glanced back at Mom, remembering what she’d said about Ma Ma not finding anything wrong with the cookies. Apparently she had found something wrong— or maybe it was something wrong with Mom.
“You always do so much work with the food,” Mom was saying. “We had to bring something.”
As we stepped into the house and slipped off our shoes, I glanced from Mom to Ma Ma. I’d never thought about it before, but there were so many little things Mom did to try to please Ma Ma, following as many Chinese traditions as she could, like buying us new clothes for the New Year and making Chinese cookies. Maybe she was still trying to make up for the white flower mistake—still trying to prove herself to her mother-in-law. Trying to be the kind of daughter-in-law she thought Ma Ma wanted her to be. I felt a wave of sympathy for Mom. Living up to what other people expected of you was hard, no matter how old you were.
My moment of contemplation passed as Ma Ma ushered us into the living room, and we were greeted by a barrage of aunts, uncles and cousins rushing up to say hello. My cousin Ryan hung back at the edge of the room, waiting to catch my eye, and I slipped out of the crowd to talk to him.
At the dinner table, Ryan and I managed to sit beside each other. My mouth watered at the smells wafting off the dishes on the table, and Ma Ma and the aunts kept bringing out more and more platters!
“Mmm, hair. My favorite,” Ryan said under his breath as Ma Ma set out a plate of long thin black strands of what I thought was a kind of mushroom or maybe moss.
I stifled a laugh. Ryan was always making comments like that. But the stuff really did look like a plate of hair.
We waited for Yeh Yeh to say it was time to eat, then everyone began reaching for the food. I ignored the hair and helped myself to some fish, which was the food closest to me. I was careful to ignore the head and the tail and take a serving from somewhere in the middle. At home we used plates to eat from, but at Ma Ma’s we always used Chinese bowls. I plunked the portion of fish on top of the rice already in my bowl, then picked up my chopsticks. Everyone at the table had chopsticks to eat with, except Ryan’s little sister, who was only four. She had enough trouble handling a fork—let alone two sticks.
“Did you see the lovely plant Joe and Diane gave me?” Ma Ma said from her seat at the end of the table opposite Yeh Yeh.
Everyone turned to where Ma Ma was pointing. On top of a low cabinet, Ma Ma had set out Mom and Jenna’s cookies and a bowl of mandarin oranges. Beside these stood a large green potted plant that had what looked like miniature oranges growing on it.
I glanced over at Mom. Did she feel slighted because
Ma Ma hadn’t said anything about the cookies.
“The little oranges symbolize our wish for your prosperity in the new year,” Uncle Joe explained, smiling at Ma Ma.
Ryan whispered something about his dad sucking up to Ma Ma.
“The color orange is like gold,” Uncle Joe went on.
“Gold equals wealth. Everything we do for Chinese New Year has a meaning. Before New Year’s Eve, we sweep away the old year and the old problems.”
“I didn’t see him do any sweeping,” Aunty Diane complained in a low voice, getting a laugh from Mom.
“And we welcome in the new year and new luck,”
Uncle Joe continued, ignoring Aunty. “We eat foods of good fortune.”
He pointed to the plate of fish.
“A whole fish, with a head and tail, for a good start and a good finish to the new year.”
Ma Ma was beaming and nodding. Yeh Yeh had his gray head bowed over his bowl as he continued to eat, but he kept an amused eye on Uncle Joe. Ryan and I exchanged a look and followed Yeh Yeh’s example. Out of the corner of one eye, I watched Uncle Joe pull a plate of green beans closer and pick up the serving spoon, waving it over the beans to emphasize his next words.
“Long beans for long life,” he said, scooping up a spoonful of beans and dropping them into his bowl.
“Oh come on,” Aunty Diane cut in. “Stop showing off. You just looked all that stuff up on the Internet last night.”
Everyone laughed, including Uncle Joe.
“Hey, what can I say?” Uncle Joe said, throwing up his hands. “You look Chinese, people expect you to know about everything Chinese.”
“Yeah,” I said to Ryan under my breath. “Or they expect you to be good at school and music.”
“Or kung fu,” Ryan added, holding his hands up in a martial arts pose and making chopping motions.
My dad heard Ryan’s comment and smiled, nodding his head.
“It’s not that bad nowadays,” Dad said. “People are used to different cultures, but when I was a boy there were only a couple of Asian kids in the school. If the other kids thought I knew kung fu, I let them think it. Kept me from getting beat up a few times.”
Aunty Diane and Mom exchanged a look.
“You’ll never guess what I found in Conner’s bedroom the other day,” Mom said, obviously trying to change the subject.
I groaned, and Ryan leaned forward, eager to get some dirt on me.
Mom told the story of how she found Oscar while doing her New Year’s cleaning. I sank down in my chair.
Aunty Diane gave a shiver.
“I hate rats,” she said.
“But Oscar’s really cute,” Jenna cut in.
“We had a rat in my class at school last year,” Ryan said. “He was cool.”
I sat up a little straighter, surprised to hear my sister and cousin coming to the defense of rats.
“Rats make good pets,” I said, forcing myself to speak up. “But they don’t live very long.”
“Thank God for that!” Aunty Diane exclaimed.
“There are probably more rats than people here in the city,” Uncle Joe chimed in.
“Enough about rats,” Ma Ma ordered. “Have some more fat choy.”
She held up the dish of hair. Ryan and I looked at each other and couldn’t help laughing.
“I was born in the Year of the Rat,” Yeh Yeh said quietly.
“A good year.”
“That’s why he’s so hard-working and charming,”
Ma Ma said, with a wink at the rest of us that Yeh Yeh didn’t see.
After we finished dinner and the table was cleared, everyone moved to the living room. Ryan and I raced for one of the two couches, then sank down and leaned back, feeling stuffed.
“Bring on the lai see,” Ryan whispered.
I laughed. Lai see are the red envelopes filled with lucky money that the adults give out every New Year. It is definitely a major thing the kids in our family look forward to.
Pretty soon Ma Ma and Aunty Diane began handing out red envelopes.
“Now you wait until New Year’s Day to open those,”
Ma Ma told us.
Ryan and I nodded obediently, but as soon as her back was turned we looked at each other. Our families didn’t follow very many traditions. It wasn’t even actual New Year’s Eve. So why stick to the rules? Without a word we tore open the tops of our envelopes. I felt that familiar little rush of anticipation, even though Ma Ma and Aunty Diane always gave the same amount of money every time.
It would have been a perfect evening if Ma Ma hadn’t asked Jenna to play the piano. As the first notes filled the room, a feeling of dread coiled around me like a thick rope. The adult relatives made small sounds of appreciation as Jenna played. The rope tightened around my gut.
“Come on!” I whispered to Ryan, tugging on his sleeve.
“Let’s get out of here before someone asks me to play.”
I Hate Piano!
When we got home from Ma Ma and Yeh Yeh’s, I went straight to my room to check on Oscar.
“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, reaching one hand in for him to sniff. When he touched his nose to my fingertips, it felt like he was saying hello back.
I picked Oscar up and placed him on top of my bed, then leaned over on my elbows so that my upper body made a shelter. Oscar scurried under me, and I ducked my head to look in at him. He stood on his hind legs and touched my nose with his.
After a while I put Oscar back in his cage and put some food in his dish. I sat back for a moment to watch him munch. It felt good to be with Oscar. When I was with him, I could be myself and not worry about anything else. Oscar’s life was simple.
Sniff. Eat. Hide. Explore. Poop. Sleep.
There was a tap on my bedroom door.
“Where did you and Ryan disappear to tonight?” Mom asked, stepping into the room. “I was going to ask you to play your minuet for everyone.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” I muttered.
“What do you mean, Conner?” Mom demanded.
“You know I don’t like playing in front of people.”
“But you’ve got a recital coming up. You have to get used to playing in front of an audience,” Mom insisted.
“Why? What’s the point?”
“Conner,” Mom said sharply. “We’ve been through this before.”
She sighed and sat down on my bed, gesturing for me to sit beside her. “Playing the piano takes dedication and hard work,” she continued in a patient voice. “It may not seem like much fun right now, but later you’ll thank your dad and me for making you stick with it.”
I opened my mouth to object.
“I wish I’d had the opportunity to learn to play the piano when I was your age,” Mom went on.
Frustration bubbled up inside me.
“But that’s you, Mom. Not me,” I said. “Maybe you should take piano lessons.”
Mom looked at me in surprise, then laughed.
“I’m serious,” I said.
She smiled and shook her head.
“I wouldn’t want to inflict that on the rest of you,” she said dismissively. “I don’t have time, anyway.”
She got up off the bed, ready to leave, then caught sight of Oscar’s cage.
“You should wash your hands after you’ve been touching that rat,” she said.
I rolled my eyes, the frustration building pressure in my chest. She hadn’t listened to anything I’d said.
“Mom,” I called after her. What could I say to make her understand?
She paused in the doorway, and I took a deep breath.
“You know how you like cooking?” I began.
“Yes,” she answered slowly, not sure what I was getting at.
“It’s something you love, and you’re good at it,” I continued.
“But Ma Ma doesn’t seem to notice.”
“Conner!” Mom exclaimed, taken aback. I pressed on.
“Well, that’s how I feel too,” I said. “No one notices or cares what I like and what I’m good at.”
Mom’s expression softened.
“Oh, Conner,” she said, reaching out to me. I pulled away, and Mom winced. She took a breath.
“If you’re worried about the recital,” she continued,
“we don’t expect you to play as well as Jenna.”
I almost screamed.
“That’s my whole point, Mom,” I said. “You do expect me to be as good as Jenna. But I’m not Jenna. I’m me. Jenna loves piano. I hate it!”
I pushed past her and stomped out of the room, flinging more words as I went.
“You don’t even know what I like. You don’t know anything about me!”
“Conner, wait. Where are you going?” Mom called after me.
“I’m going to wash my hands!” I answered, not looking back.
The next day was piano lesson day. I got up and got ready, as usual, but I felt like there was a huge weight pressing down on me. I’d tried to tell Mom how I felt, but nothing had changed.
When I entered the kitchen, Mom was making coffee. She turned to me as if she wanted to say something, but then Jenna followed me into the room.
“Morning, Mom,” Jenna said, ignoring me. “Can we make pancakes?”
“What do you think, Conner?” Mom asked. “Would you like pancakes?”
“I’ll just have cereal,” I said in a dull voice.
For a second Mom looked hurt, but I didn’t care.
She couldn’t just fix everything with food.
“Well, I want some!” Jenna piped up, not noticing what was going on between Mom and me. “And I bet Dad does too.”
Mom dug out the frying pan, and Jenna got the eggs and milk from the fridge. I turned my back on them and determinedly carried my bowl and cereal to the table.
Soon the delicious aroma of pancakes filled the room.
I stuffed a spoonful of cereal into my mouth and tried to ignore the smell.
“Hey, something smells good,” Dad said as he strode into the kitchen, hair damp, face freshly shaved. “What’s the occasion?”
“Since when do I need a special occasion to cook for my family?” Mom joked. “Besides, it’s New Year’s Eve tonight.”
“Does that mean you’re making Chinese pancakes?”
Dad teased.
“No, we’re making my pancakes,” Mom said, giving me a quick pointed look. Was she trying to tell me something?
I shoveled in the last of my cereal and pushed my chair away from the table.
“I better get going,” I said to nobody in particular.
I rode my bike to Miss Remple’s house. The roads were wet from the rain that had fallen in the night. I parked my bike outside the studio at the back of Miss Remple’s house and knocked on the door. Miss Remple answered, coffee cup in hand.
“Come in, Conner,” she said with her usual smile.
I stepped into the warmth of the studio and into the sickly sweet odor of her coffee and perfume, the familiar queasy feeling waking in me. The smell seemed worse than usual today.I hung up my coat on the rack by the door and took a deep calming breath while my back was to Miss Remple. Come on, I told myself. What’s one more piano lesson? Then, imagining a prisoner pulling together his courage before facing a firing squad, I squared my shoulders, turne
d and walked over to the piano bench.
I propped my music book up on the piano and readied my fingers over the keys.
“Let’s warm up with some scales,” Miss Remple said as if she were going to join in, which, of course, she wasn’t.
As she took her place behind me, there was a waft of perfume and coffee and the sound of a sip. I braced myself for the swallowing gurgle and plunked my fingers onto the keys, beginning the first scale
“All right,” Miss Remple said when I’d finished. “Let’s see how the minuet is coming.”
I took another deep breath, trying to loosen the heaviness that dragged at me. I fumbled through the pages of my music book, readied my fingers over the keys and began.
Before I was halfway through, there was an unexpected touch on my shoulder. I jumped, then winced at the jarring sound that rose out of the piano as my fingers hit the wrong keys.
“Sorry, Conner,” Miss Remple said quietly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Stop there for a minute, please.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice to stop. I waited, relieved at the reprieve, but puzzled. Miss Remple stood up and set her coffee cup down on top of the piano. She looked down at me silently for a moment, and I began to feel uncomfortable. Maybe she really was going to interrogate me this time.
But instead she sighed and smiled sadly.
“Your heart isn’t in this, is it?” she said. She didn’t seem angry. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
I sat there for a second, stunned. Then it was like a door had opened in front of me, and I went through it.
“I don’t want to play the piano,” I blurted.
I expected her to get mad or start in on the importance of practicing and how playing well doesn’t always come easily. But she didn’t.
“Have you talked to your parents about this?” she asked. If anything, she sounded sympathetic.
“I’ve tried,” I said. “But they won’t listen. I’m sorry, Miss Remple. I think you’re a good teacher and all, and piano music can sound really nice when someone like you or Jenna plays it. But…” I trailed off.
“It doesn’t matter how well you can play,” Miss Remple said carefully. “What matters is how you feel about it.It should be something you love and enjoy—not a chore that you hate.”
Truth About Rats and Dogs Page 8
