Maybe I should thank my missing hymen for saving me from serious relationships. And along with them a boat load of grief, man troubles, and probable death.
“YOU NEED A NICE Chinese boy,” my father said.
With a chicken thermometer for a penis and an ego the size of Texas.
No thank you.
“I’ve been asking around Chinatown. My friend has a son who...”
“Dad, you just want me to end up a headless skeleton with barnacles, washing up on shore. Your unborn grandson as fish food,” I wailed loudly.
“I didn’t tell you to go and marry a black man!”
White. Scott Peterson is white, Dad.
“Or end up with my head cut off, connected to my body by a thin sinew. My throat slashed. Slumped in a driveway.”
“That’s why I keep telling you not to date white men. They have bad tempers.”
Black. O.J. Simpson is black, Dad.
“So it’s better to float face down in the backyard pool in Cupertino like Jason Cai’s wife?”
Poor woman had to die in Cupertino.
Like Sean said, “Everyone has to die.” But the last place on earth I wanted to die was in a town like Cupertino. Asian suburbia. I would feel like such a failure, a nobody, a nameless yellow face fading into nothingness.
My father said nothing. He shuffled off.
Thank you, Jason Cai. The Asian community tried to make it the Chinese Laci Peterson case. The world disagreed. A Chinese immigrant who was not pregnant just didn’t hold the same appeal. No one was interested in a dead green card whore.
The papers claimed that Jason had fallen in love with his wife Silicon Valley style. Over email. He married his wife who was fourteen years his junior and brought her to the States from Shanghai to live the American dream.
Six weeks after their wedding, her eighty-seven pound body was found floating in their pool behind their suburban home in Cupertino.
Welcome to America.
Jason’s lawyer got him off. A few years later, he killed someone else. He must have been desperate to land himself in jail. Just like O.J.
A little while later, my father walked into my room again.
“You have a date this Saturday. Wear lipstick.”
“What? What do you mean I have a date?”
“I have already set it up.”
“I can’t, Dad. I have plans this Saturday. I’m hanging out with an old friend.”
“A man?”
“Yes, I do believe he is a man. But I’ll double-check with him when I see him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”
“Talk like a lady, Fi. Bad girl.”
My father left the room and returned a moment later.
“Okay, you have a date this Sunday. Wear lipstick.”
I tried to object, but Pepito was shoving something into my mouth. I spat it out. It was one of his doughnuts. That was his way of saying “fuck you” for spitting out his well-intentioned vomit.
Hai.
CHAPTER
FIVE
ON SATURDAY, SEAN’S CALL woke me up at around eight-thirty in the morning. I had expected to have brunch, lunch, or dinner with him, but not breakfast.
“Hey Fi, you up?”
“Well, now I am,” I replied groggily.
“Good. I’m swinging by in half an hour to pick you up.”
“What? What time is it? And where are we going?”
“It’s time to get up. No need to put on makeup for me. Dress warm. We’ll be outdoors.” Sean hung up.
I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and threw on a t-shirt, sweatshirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. Just as I was about to sip my hot morning tea, my cell phone rang again.
“I’m outside, Fi.”
Sean waved at me inside his shiny, black Mercedes. I got in the front passenger seat, yawned, and leaned my head back on the headrest.
“God, Sean. I wasn’t expecting you until a little later.”
“Carpe diem. Didn’t you watch that movie?”
“Well, I can’t carpe the diem until I have some breakfast in me. Can we stop off to get something to eat?”
Sean tossed a Noah’s Bagels bag at me and handed me a cup of coffee. “Here. Thought you would say that.”
An asiago bagel with sun-dried tomato smear. Still warm from the toaster oven. For the early hour, it was better than a five-course meal at Gary Danko.
“I might need that hymen after all, Sean,” I mumbled with my mouth full of bagel as Sean drove.
“Really?”
“My father is sending me on a date tomorrow night with the son of one of his Chinatown friends.”
“Ooh, who’s Prince Charming?”
“How the hell should I know? ‘You have a date on Sunday. Wear lipstick.’ That’s all he said.”
Sean laughed and nearly sprayed coffee on the steering wheel.
“You should show up wearing only lipstick. You’ll bag that boy in no time. I’ll be going to your wedding next Saturday.”
“Shut up. It’s not funny. That guy will probably bring his grandmother, mother, father, and the whole family.”
“Of course, they need to check out and approve his future bride. Pinch your ass. See if you are good child-bearing material.”
“No kidding. Every time my father sets me up, it’s always some fat Chinese guy who can’t speak English and needs to get a lifetime supply of Proactiv. Who is more interested in reaching level thirteen on World of Warcraft than...”
“Dating you?”
“Yes, Sean. Yes.”
“So don’t go. Tell your dad you’re dating me.” Sean winked.
“Yeah, right. First, he doesn’t like white guys. Second, he still remembers that little incident with you setting Stephanie’s head on fire. I don’t think he’ll be too thrilled about me hanging out with you.”
“So tell him not to date white guys. You didn’t tell him about today then?”
“God no. Told him I had to go into the office. What am I? Stupid?”
“Never. You’re highly cerebral and darkly twisted. My dream girl. Speaking of Stephanie, whatever happened to her after I turned her into a candle?”
It was sick, but I couldn’t help but laugh. I almost choked.
“Well, your little stunt burnt half her face, Sean. I heard she got pretty disfiguring scars from it. Her parents took her out of St. Sebastian’s. The word was that she attended high school for a year, but the kids made fun of her too much. I think she was home schooled for a while. Then she hung herself from the shower rod when she was sixteen.”
“Bitch had it coming.”
“Sean, she wasn’t that bad.”
“What? Do you have amnesia? As I recall, you had a photographic memory.”
“I still do.”
“She told everyone I was a fag because I wouldn’t kiss her. When my dad got wind of that, he beat the crap out of me for a week straight. He swore to beat the faggot out of me. Useless, as I didn’t have any in me.”
“Oh, right. I remember that.”
Stephanie had been the prettiest girl in our class. And it naturally followed that she had also been the meanest girl as well. She had believed that any guy she wanted was automatically hers.
Sean had felt differently, thanks to his mother. Beautiful, flirtatious, and inappropriately oversexed, Sean’s mother’s blatant sexuality embarrassed him at every PTA meeting. One time, Sean and I had volunteered to distribute name tags at the welcoming table. A striking, heavily made-up brunette in tight red jeans and a see-through Spandex top sauntered up to us. She wasn’t wearing a padded bra.
“So which one is your teacher, baby?” she asked Sean.
“Here you go, Mom,” he mumbled as he handed her the name tag.
“Tell me it’s that cutie there.”
“No, Mom, that’s Father O’Malley. He’s the parish priest.”
“How lovely. A man of the cloth. See you later, baby.” She walked off towards Father O’Malley, swaying her hips.
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As heads turned to follow her undulating hourglass figure, Sean averted his face and cursed.
It was the first time I had heard anyone say “fuck.”
And it was then I suspected why Sean didn’t seem to care for the prettiest girls at St. Sebastian’s. They reminded him of his mother. Like Stephanie.
But Sean hated bullies more than he hated flirty women, thanks to his dad who was a mean son of a bitch. Sean’s father never came to PTA meetings. He just sent Sean to school with bruises on his back and belly. Sean showed me behind the rectory. Back then, child abuse was not as hot a media topic as it is now. Back then, Catholic priests were enjoying fun times with altar boys with impunity.
“So how are your parents, Sean?” We had driven over to Lake Merritt in Oakland. Sean was circling around for a parking spot.
“They’re dead. The old man finally drank himself to death about seven years ago. And my mother followed him a year after that. Breast cancer. She had a lump the size of a cherry tomato, but refused to see a doctor. Thought that ignoring it would make it go away. It made her go away in the end.”
“Oh, Sean. I’m so sorry.”
“She was just afraid to lose her tits. So she lost her life instead. Stupid. Here, you want some of this onion bagel? Taste it and tell me how good it is.” He handed me another bagel.
“What do you mean? Can’t you taste it yourself?”
“Nope, all tastes like cardboard to me. Some fat kid named Darrell, who raped his sister, shoved a pencil up my nose at juvie. Lost my sense of smell permanently.”
“Oh my God. I’m afraid to ask what happened to him.”
Sean looked up at me with a mischievous grin.
“You’re eating. I’ll tell you later.” He winked at me again.
I laughed. “Poor kid. Whatever you did to him, Sean, Darrell had it coming.”
“Yes. Yes, he did.”
“SO WHAT HAPPENED TO you after St. Sebastian’s?” I asked him after we parked.
Sean began pulling out a shotgun. Clay pigeon shooting over Lake Merritt. This early in the morning, I should have guessed. Sean had been an excellent marksman with his slingshot when he was a kid. He took out a rat’s eye once at his house with a single shot.
“Well, juvie for one. Lucky for me Stephanie didn’t die, so they let me out when I turned eighteen. Changed my name. Fast tracked college and medical school in Puerto Rico. Surgery residency. Blah, blah. Here I am.”
“Holy crap. I am in the presence of greatness.”
“Thank you, thank you. And you became a liayer?” Sean smiled as we walked toward the lake.
“Please. No lawyer jokes. I’ve heard them all. But yes, college, law school, then husband hunting.”
“Well, your father will have that covered for you. No worries.”
“God. I’ve been trying to tell him for ages that I don’t date Asian guys.”
“Why not? Penises too small? It’s not like you’re a sex maniac. Hell, I doubt you even have a libido.”
“What? Why would you say that?”
“If you had a raging libido, your first time wouldn’t have been with a dildo dipped in Lidocaine at the fine age of twenty-eight. You would be out dressed like a slut in some bar, trying to catch yourself a man. Any man. If you were a lesbian, you’d be doing the same thing, but in a lesbian bar. But instead, you are spending the day with yours truly, bitching about your arranged date tomorrow night.”
Sean hit the nail on the head. He had a special talent for that sort of thing.
IN THE SEVENTH GRADE, Sean and I decided to dress up as Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence for Halloween. That year, the Sisters had angered the Catholic Church with some raucous public paddling. The Church got mad because the Sisters had been enjoying it.
The nuns at St. Sebastian’s denounced the Sisters as handmaidens of the Devil himself. Abominations against God. They were here with the sole purpose of hurting Jesus.
So Sean got us two nun outfits and some cheap makeup from Walgreens. He took one look at me and said, “Christ, Fi. You look like a real nun. Sister Maria’s going to love you.”
Of course, he was right.
When Sister Maria saw me, she said, “How adorable! Fiona wants to be a nun. Isn’t she sweet? You’ve made Jesus very happy. But not that much eyeshadow, dear.”
I didn’t realize then that I was Hello Kitty in a habit. Being yellow and having a vagina meant I couldn’t pull off the Sister of Perpetual Indulgence outfit. Being Hello Kitty sucked.
When Sister Maria saw Sean, she called his mother and sent him home.
White boys had all the fun.
AND SEAN WAS RIGHT again now.
Even though I never told Sean about Grandmother or Eddie Martin. Or about Uncle Yuen.
When I was seven, my parents dragged me on a fourteen hour flight back to China to visit some of my cousins. At their house, boys were allowed first dibs on all dishes at mealtimes. Girls had to wait until they took all the chicken drumsticks, wings, all the good parts. So of course, I grabbed my fork (because my Chinese cousins assumed I didn’t know how to use chopsticks, being American and all) and nabbed a prime piece of chicken in protest.
I got sent out to the open yard for my audacity even though it was raining. That’s what happens when Hello Kitty refuses to play according to the rules. She gets sent out in the rain. Blackballed, ostracized, shunned, punished.
Uncle Yuen paid me a visit out there. He was what people called a funny uncle. Not because he was full of laughs, but because he tried to tickle me in all the bad places. Alone, out in the rain, vulnerable. Hello Kitty was a sitting target until a flock of roosting pigeons suddenly took off from the roof and distracted him.
I had left the lunch table so suddenly that I didn’t realize I had taken my fork with me. I stabbed his hand with it. His tickling days were over.
That’s why I love birds. I really owed them one.
“I THINK YOU MIGHT BE onto something, Sean. I don’t like touching people. The feel of another’s bone and flesh reminds me too much of my own mortality. Creepy.” And of my funny uncle in China.
“Yeah, that might be an issue with dating someone, Fi.”
“No shit. I’m a loner. Doomed forever to wander the moors alone.”
“Not necessarily. You could marry this Asian boy.”
“I told you, Sean. I don’t date Asian guys.”
“Oh yeah, why?”
“Two reasons. One called Theo. The other, Keith.” I kept the other reasons to myself.
Sean waved to a man in a thick blue jacket, who looked up as we walked over. He had been loading the traps with clay pigeons. Seeing us, he straightened up and held out his hand. “Nice to see you again, Sean.”
Sean shook his hand. “Max, this is my friend, Fiona. We’re going to do a little shooting today. Over there.”
“Nice to meet you, Fiona. Okay. Let me know when you guys are ready.”
We wandered a little ways further and stopped as Sean loaded his shotgun. “PULL!” He bellowed.
A clay pigeon shot into the air.
Sean aimed and fired. Crack.
The orange target shattered.
“Nice, Sean.”
“Thank you. So, what are you waiting for, Fi? Dish. I know you’re dying to. Theo. Keith.”
Even when we were in the sixth grade, I always had the sneaking suspicion that Sean could read minds. Although his uncanny ability had impressed me, it had also frightened me. It was like having Counselor Deanna Troi for a best friend.
“Theo. High school boyfriend for a week. Korean guy.”
“Boyfriend for a week? Wow, a long, serious relationship, I see. Your dad must have been thrilled.”
“My dad didn’t know. Anyway, Theo’s parents were both doctors. Well-educated. Wealthy, but country bumpkins at heart. Lived up in a four-story house near where Robin Williams used to live in the Pacific Heights. His father regularly beat his mother to a pulp, causing the neighbors to call the p
olice. He thought wife-beating was his birthright because he had a yellow penis.”
“I hope you convinced him otherwise.”
“Nah, left that to some other lucky woman. Hence, a week.”
“I see, and Keith?”
“Oh no. I’m not done with Theo. He also had this thing where his little toe kept falling off.”
Sean snorted. “PULL!”
Crack.
“His little toe kept falling off?”
“That’s what he told me. Said he had to keep going to the hospital to get it re-attached.”
“Did you ever see this, Fi?”
“No, why would I want to?”
“Then please tell me you didn’t buy his bullcrap.”
“Nah, I’d figured that he was fibbing. Sounded too incredible.”
“Yeah, I’ll say.”
“He also had a mentally ill grandmother who regularly ate her own shit.”
Sean lowered his shotgun and stared at me.
“Did you just say that she ate her own shit?”
“Yup, and not only that, she believed that her fecal matter was so nutritious she slipped some into the family dinner when they weren’t looking. They had to lock her in her room while they cooked. Not joking.”
Sean stared at me with wide eyes. I noticed how very beautiful they were.
“Christ, Fi. Tell me you never ate dinner at his house.”
“What are you, crazy? Meatloaf with a taste of grandma for dinner and watch his dad beat his mother for entertainment afterwards? No thank you.”
“When you put it that way, makes me think you missed out on some serious family entertainment at his house.”
“God, thanks to Theo, I didn’t date another Asian guy until Keith last year.”
“Ah, Keith. Please tell me he didn’t eat his own shit.”
“No, worse. He ate his cats’ crap.”
“Fi, you’ve got to be kidding me. You are one weirdo magnet. Where did you meet this guy?”
“Tell me about it. Keith. Chinese. Met him in salsa class. By the way, worst music in the world. Does nothing but give me migraines.”
“Me too. I’d rather bang my head on some cymbals. But wait, your dad let you go salsa dancing?”
Hello Kitty Must Die Page 4
