Ghost Forest

by Pik-Shuen Fung

  Thank you for telling me.

  Don’t cry, it’s already in the past. I knew you would cry right away.

  Thank you for telling me.

  I knew you would get upset at me for saying this. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you would get upset.

  I’m not upset at you. I’m crying because I’m sorry.

  I haven’t blamed you. Every generation is like this. You see how I get angry at your grandma all the time too. I can’t help it. But I’m trying to change.

  SLEEP

  Sometimes I think about what I would do if my dad were alive today.

  I love you, I would say.

  I wouldn’t care if he said it back or not.

  I would hug him.

  I would put my arm around him while he watched the news.

  I would tell him about my husband.

  Can’t wait for you to meet him, I would say.

  I would finish reading The Pocket Thich Nhat Hanh to him.

  Remember that time you yelled at me and slammed the door because I didn’t address you when I called you? I would say.

  I forgive you for everything, I would say.

  I would wake him up at sunrise.

  It would be his birthday, and he would be turning sixty-three.

  We would practice tai chi in the morning light.

  I would slice papaya for us on a plate. We would eat it on the balcony.

  I would boil hot water and steep osmanthus tea.

  We would study translations of the Heart Sutra, mine in English and his in Chinese.

  Emptiness is form, I would say. What does that mean?

  If you think you understand, then you probably don’t understand, he would say. He would shake his head and chuckle.

  We would listen to jazz.

  This album is Solo Monk, I would say.

  And my dad would nod his head.

  I would take him out for dim sum.

  We would eat for hours, and then we would go for a walk.

  Isn’t it a beautiful day? I would say.

  Look at how green it is, I would say.

  I would ask him if he was in the mood for ice cream, and because he’d said he would be more carefree once he got better, we would share three scoops of ice cream in a cup.

  I would choose pistachio, vanilla, and black sesame.

  This ice cream is not bad, he would say, but it would be perfect if it felt less cold on my teeth.

  I would laugh, and then we would continue on our walk, maybe with a puppy because he would want a puppy in his life.

  We would stop by the beach and watch the sun sink into the sea.

  Then we would head home, where my mom and sister would be on the beige couch watching television together, and my grandma would be eating mango and resting her feet.

  We would walk in the door, and the puppy would run over and scramble up on my sister’s lap.

  What should we eat for dinner? my dad would say, as we slipped our heels out of our shoes.

  You four decide, my grandma would say.

  What do you two want to eat for dinner? my mom would ask.

  I don’t know, my sister would say.

  Anything, I would say.

  Let’s eat pizza, my dad would say.

  Then we would sit around the dinner table with boxes of hot pizza, the cheese seeping grease stains into the cardboard.

  We would eat until we were stuffed, and then we would have strawberry cheesecake for dessert.

  Then we would all sit close together on the couch, turn on the television, and listen to the hum of the news as we sank into its lull.

  I’m ready to sleep, my dad would say, and we would peel ourselves off the couch.

  Good night! we would say.

  I would stand there, and watch my dad walk into his room before he fell into a long, deep, and wonderful sleep.

  And I would say, I love you! as I clicked off each light in our home.

  for my grandmother

  for my mother

  and in memory of my father

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my sister, Pik-Tone: You read a million drafts with boundless compassion. Thank you for your big heart and your keen intuition, for being my first reader and my life buddy since you were born. When I write, I write to you.

  To Julia Masnik, my wise and gentle guide: Thank you for the wonder and the play, for being by my side on every step of this journey and always knowing what I need. My gratitude to Gloria Loomis and the Watkins/Loomis Agency.

  To Nicole Counts, my loving and ingenious editor: Thank you for believing in me, challenging me, and seeing what I couldn’t see. You’ve been my champion since the day we met, and I’ve grown so much in your care.

  I am deeply grateful to Chris Jackson, Mika Kasuga, Ada Yonenaka, Greg Mollica, Avideh Bashirrad, Madison Dettlinger, Jess Bonet, Carla Bruce-Eddings, and the rest of the incredible team at One World and Random House. My heartfelt thanks to Simon Sullivan for the gorgeous design, and to Donna Cheng for a cover I love beyond words.

  To Jordan Ginsberg, my brilliant Canadian editor, and the Strange Light team: Thank you for welcoming me and giving this book a place in my home country.

  To Holly Tavel: How lucky I was to get a spot in your class fifteen years ago. Thank you for instilling confidence in me and encouraging me to write this book.

  To Morgan Ross: Words cannot express the gratitude I feel for you. Thank you for your generosity and your discerning eye, for reading draft after draft and helping me shape the empty space of this book over and over.

  To Peter von Ziegesar: Your enthusiasm for every version of this book has buoyed me in the most difficult of times. Thank you for always cheering me on.

  To Daniel Goldbard and Autumn Graham: Thank you for reading early drafts, for the flowers and the dinners, for celebrating all my acceptances and rejections with equal exuberance.

  To Jyothi Natarajan, Yasmin Majeed, and everyone at the Asian American Writers’ Workshop: You opened all the doors for me. Thank you for nourishing me and accepting me with open arms. Thank you to Anelise Chen and The Margins, for editing and publishing my first story, Ghost Forest, which grew into this book. And thank you to my fierce fellowship cohort, Ayesha Raees, Jen Lue, and Zena Agha for the magical, transformational year.

  I am thankful for my teachers who read excerpts and shared invaluable feedback: Sophie McManus, Mike Scalise, Bushra Rehman, and Padma Viswanathan. Thank you to Ava Chin for the pep talks, and to T Kira Madden for rooting for me. Thank you, Catherine Chung, for writing me an inspiring mentor, and then becoming one too.

  I am grateful to the Millay Colony and to the singular Metatron Press for the early support. To my Kundiman Retreat and Mentorship Lab family: Thank you for being my community.

  Thank you to Kiyomi Dong, Diana Geman-Wollach, and Mallory Kotik for giving me insightful feedback on my seedling pages. Thank you to Stephanie Liu and Natalie Fu for the illuminating conversations about astronaut families. And thank you to the friends whose encouragement kept me going over the years, especially Elsa Duré, Hillary Harnett, Ruby Shah, Michael Glassman, Rahul Keerthi, Nathanael Geman, Neha Zope, Neerav Parekh, Abhay Sagar, Mannan Jalan, Paolo Servado, Valeria Dröge, Alison Kuo and Williamson Brasfield, Eric Huang, Amanda Ajamfar, Emma Eisenberg, Amanda Huynh, Kathie Halfin, and Heesun Shin.

  To Pinky-Z Wu: Amy Haejung, Annina Zheng-Hardy, Kyle Lucia Wu (for being my caring pub buddy), and K-Ming Chang (for paddling the kayak ahead with verve). I’m so happy we found each other.

  To Uncle Frank, Auntie Kathy, Yi, and Grace: I’m so grateful for your kindness.

  To Auntie Garis, Uncle Ben, and Billy: Thank you for your love and care.

  To my in-laws, especially Lily, Ollie, J
ulie, and Kevin: What a joy it is to be in your boisterous and endlessly doting family.

  To my aunts, uncles, and cousins, especially Wah E, Kinyi, Uncle Edric and Aunt Linda: Thank you for your love and unwavering devotion. Thank you, Uncle 9, for always looking out for me.

  To my father, a visionary, the wisest person I knew: It is one of my greatest fortunes that you were my dad.

  To my mother, the most kindhearted person I know: You are the epitome of courage, persistence, and selflessness. Thank you for going to the ends of the earth to support me in everything I do.

  婆婆, 多謝您對我的照顧和關愛。您是我心目中最有創意的人。

  And to Ben: In your love, at last I found my home.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Pik-Shuen Fung is a Canadian writer and artist living in New York City. She is the recipient of fellowships and residencies from the Asian American Writers’ Workshop, Kundiman, the Millay Colony, and Storyknife. Ghost Forest is her first book.

  pikshuen.com

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