Becoming Who We Are Ch. 04

He turned to go back to the kitchen. Rage boiled up in Bill Rohrbach. With a growl, he raised his fist, smacked the back of his son's head with all his might, and kicked the back of one knee. Jeff went down heavily. Bill Rohrbach smiled. Brains win every time, he thought.

Jeff moaned, stirring slightly.

"Get up," his father ordered, prodding him with a toe.

Jeff put a hand to the back of his head.

"That wasn't fair," he muttered.

"Life isn't fair," his father said piously. "Now go make me something to eat."

**

In his room, Luke pored over his math text and sighed. The figures and formulas looked as alien to him now as they had an hour ago.

He heard the click of his mother's heels in the hall. They stopped at his door and he prepared for battle. The door opened and Mrs. Tang stepped in.

"What are you doing?"

"My math," he said, holding up the book as proof.

"Oh," she said, surprised at not having to scold him. "How is it going?"

"Fine," he lied.

"Good. Your father's gone to the restaurant already, but the rest of us are going to church, so get out of those repulsive sweat pants and into something decent. We're leaving in fifteen minutes."

She did not pause for Luke to reply and strode away, the door slamming behind her. Luke sighed again. Church always struck him as a waste of time. He hated the hypocrisy of it all. He hated how phony his mother acted there, as if they were a happy and successful family, the way they used to be. She always put her arms around Mark and Mary and praised their accomplishments to anyone who would listen. If someone asked about him, she usually said, "Luke? He's fine. Now Mark here..." and she would praise his brother some more. Sometimes she even talked about John and how perfect he had been, heavily implying what a trial Luke was for her now.

And so that day at church went, until a lady introduced herself to Mrs. Tang and asked about the Tang children.

Mrs. Tang put her arms around Mark and Mary and said, "Well, Mrs. Anderson, I have two wonderful children. Even though it's a new school, Mary's brought home nothing but A's. And Mark here plays saxophone in the band. I love listening to him practice. He's very talented."

Mark and Mary looked a bit uncomfortable at this fulsome praise but smiled. Luke stood a few feet to one side. Mrs. Anderson turned to him.

"Are you a cousin visiting from somewhere else, dear?"

Mrs. Tang's face turned red.

"Oh, no," she said. "This is my older son, Luke. How could I have left him out?"

"You often do, Mom," Mark said mildly.

Mrs. Tang sputtered. The lady looked at the stained glass windows.

"Luke's got a lot of talent as a writer, Mrs. Anderson," Mark said. "You should read his stories. They're great! I wish I could write that well."

Mrs. Anderson turned to Luke with a warm smile.

"How wonderful! I'm a writer, too."

"Really?" said Mrs. Tang, trying to regain control of the conversation. How could Mark have said that?

"Oh, yes. I work at the Recorder-Gazette, for the features section. Even after twenty years, it's still great fun. I'm so glad to hear you write, Luke. Not enough young people do these days. You should see some of the mail we get. Practically illiterate."

"Luke's stories are just little things," Mrs. Tang said, dismissing her son's talents.

"Even if they are, they may turn into great things," Mrs. Anderson replied. She opened her purse and dug a card out of its depths. "Here's my business card, Luke. If you have a career day and you want to shadow a writer, give me a call. I'd be happy to do it, or find you someone else who can."

Luke took the card with a feeling of unreality.

"Thanks very much," he said. "I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," Mrs. Anderson said, grinning sympathetically at him. She had a feeling his parents did not favor his choice. She scanned the three faces before her -- Mrs. Tang's pursed lips, Mark's sly grin and Mary's sweet smile -- and got in a final dig.

"You're very lucky to have a writer in the family, Mrs. Tang," she said. "Take good care of Luke. The world needs people like him."

"Nice to have met you," Mrs. Tang lied, and turned away.

"And you," Mrs. Anderson said quietly, watching the four walk to a side door.

Mrs. Tang drove home in silence. Inwardly, she boiled: how could Mark say such a thing, especially to a stranger? And that woman! Talking about how wonderful writing was, as if Mrs. Tang didn't have enough problems with her eldest son already. That was exactly the sort of remark that would go straight to his head. He did not need any more encouragement in that area. No, indeed. That teacher of his was bad enough, wanting to enter his stupid story in a contest. It wouldn't win, and what was the point of paying an entry fee for a certain loser? That was not how Mrs. Tang lived her life. Since John's death, she had exercised control over every aspect of her life. She had planned each child's future. She was not about to give up her plans and her control.

As she parked in front of their house, she said only, "Go sit at the kitchen table. I want to talk to you all."

They looked at each other, but said nothing. They knew their mother well enough to recognize the signs of a nasty, imminent eruption, and no one wanted to make it worse.

Once inside, the three sat down noiselessly to wait as their mother deposited her purse in her bedroom. They did not even dare to whisper. Their mother's expression commanded perfect obedience.

Her heels clicked down the stairs and Luke hunched into his seat. Mark gazed grimly at him. Why wouldn't he stand up for himself? Didn't he see that caving in just made it worse the next time? Mark sat up straight as their mother entered the kitchen. Her eyes went immediately to him.

"Mark, how dare you embarrass me in front of a strange woman in church? You know we don't air our dirty laundry in public. That little remark of yours made me look bad."

She paused, glaring at him. Mark gave her a cool look.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just thought you had forgotten him, that's all."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You said I often overlooked him. And you know that's not true."

"Right, Mom. You don't actually ignore Luke. You just constantly cut him down, that's all."

Mrs. Tang's jaw dropped. She gaped at her younger son, astonished at his show of support for Luke, and thus, betrayal of her.

"How I treat Luke is not your concern, Mark. Your brother is far from being a talented writer. He is not, in fact, talented in any way. He's lazy. He is simply a drain on my temper and this family. Don't you realize how much happier we would all be if he..."

Her voice trailed off. Even at the height of her anger, she could not say it.

"...had died instead of John?" Luke finished, breathing heavily.

The others stared at him.

"Don't you think I wish I had died instead of him?" he cried. "Then you'd have your perfect son back and I wouldn't be living in this miserable hell!"

Mrs. Tang leaned forward and slapped him.

"How dare you speak to me that way! You live the sort of life your cousins in China would kill for! How can you be so ungrateful?"

A door slammed. Seconds later, Mr. Tang walked into the kitchen and saw the tableau of his wife with her hand still outstretched, Luke's head tilted sideways, a red patch already forming, and Mark and Mary staring openmouthed at both of them.

"What is going on?" he said.

Mrs. Tang whirled around to face him.

"What are you doing home?"

"Lee was doing fine on his own so I decided I could use a few hours off. What's going on here?"

"Luke," and she said the name with distaste, "was just telling us how much he hates to live with us."

Mr. Tang turned his attention to his eldest son.

"Is that true?"

"Now you're questioning me?" Mrs. Tang shouted. "Of course it's true."

Mr. Tang sighed. He had hoped for an afternoon of peace. As always, he felt unequal to the challenge of coping with his wife's rage.

"I'm sure you're right, Lucy," he said in a tired voice. "What brought this on?"

"I told a lady at church what a great writer Luke is," Mark said. "That did it."

Mr. Tang frowned, first at Mark, who almost never caused problems, and Luke, who seemed to have a special talent for irritating Lucy.

"I though we agreed you'd concentrate on your math this year," he said.

"I'm doing my best," Luke said, staring at the table.

"Even if he pulled all A's in math, that's not what he's especially good at," Mark insisted. "He's good at writing, and I don't see why you're both so against it. It's not like he's good at forging checks or something. I'm proud of him and you should be too."

"You obviously don't understand, Mark," his father said. "Whether he's good at writing means nothing. Writing won't put food on the table. It's not something that anyone can make any kind of a living at. Your mother and I want all of you to be successful, and that means having the sort of career that brings home a good paycheck, like a doctor or a businessman or a lawyer. Now, you're a good boy to stick up for your brother, but you're being loyal for the wrong reason. Be proud of your brother when he's a success at something that matters."

He turned back to Luke and sighed again.

"Luke, you disappoint me. When I was a boy in China, during the Cultural Revolution, I dreamed that one day I could spend my time studying, not working or worrying if my family would have enough to eat that day. You live the life I always wanted, and you don't even appreciate it. I wish I understood why."

He sighed heavily.

"Go on upstairs and get to work on your math. Make us all proud of you."

Mr. Tang picked up the Sunday paper from the table and headed to the hall.

"I'll be in my study," he said. "Don't bother me unless it's an emergency."

Mrs. Tang opened her mouth, then closed it. She regarded the two teenagers staring at her. Mark frowned. Mary looked confused.

"I'm sure you both have homework to do," she said. "So go do it."

"May we have lunch first?" Mary asked timidly.

Mrs. Tang rolled her eyes.

"Oh, all right," she said, turning to the refrigerator. "I'll make some sandwiches. I swear, I never stop doing things for you kids."

**

Melina could hardly wait to get to homeroom Monday. As usual, Lakeesha was already there, reading.

"Guess what," Melina said, dropping her backpack on the floor and sliding into her seat.

Lakeesha looked up and smiled.

"Mark asked you to Homecoming," she guessed.

Melina's smile faded.

"No. Someone else did, though. Pete Hess. The guy in band I told you about."

"Oh, the one you went out with a couple of weeks ago?"

"Actually, we've been out a couple more times since then," Melina admitted.

Lakeesha grinned.

"Tell me everything," she demanded.

Melina laughed, half-embarrassed and half-delighted.

"Well, we went for a bike ride yesterday morning to this pretty park, and we talked for a while and we kissed and then he asked me."

"You kissed?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"He's a good kisser."

"Excellent! That's very important in a boyfriend. I sure kissed a frog or two before I met my prince. And I mean they kissed like frogs, darting their tongues out and trying to attach themselves to me. Gross!"

Melina laughed.

"Thank you for that image, Lakeesha. Anyway, yes, we kissed, and then he asked. I was pretty surprised. I've never been to Homecoming before."

"Of course not," Lakeesha said. "You're new here."

"I mean, anywhere."

"Oh!" Lakeesha regarded her friend with interest. "You're kidding."

Melina shook her head.

"I've never really been out much before. I mean, except group things. So anyway, are you going?"

Lakeesha nodded.

"Didn't I just tell you I have a prince of my own? Yeah, we're going."

"What's his name?"

"Evan Jackson."

Melina frowned, thinking.

"Isn't he the guy we saw with you at the football game?"

"One and the same." Lakeesha smiled with satisfaction.

"So do you have a dress and everything?"

"Yeah. I got mine a couple of weeks ago."

"What are the best shops to go to around here?"

"Your best bet is probably the mall. In fact, I'm going over there today. You wanna come with me? We can look around."

"Deal!" Melina said, smiling. She hadn't been shopping with a girl friend in ages. She had a feeling Lakeesha would prove a fun shopping buddy.

Mark sauntered in.

"Does he know?" Lakeesha asked sotto voce.

"Hardly," Melina said. "I haven't talked to him since Saturday."

"Break it to him gently," Lakeesha said quietly. "That boy likes you."

"We're friends," Melina said firmly.

Mark sat down.

"Who's friends?" he asked.

"We are. I mean, you and I," she replied.

"Who said we aren't?"

"No one," Melina said, wondering how to extricate herself from this conversation.

"Then why'd you say it?"

"Because certain people have this idea that you and I are more than friends."

"Oh," he said, comprehension coloring his tone. "You mean, certain people such as Lakeesha?"

"Um, yes, I mean, no," Melina said.

"She means, I had the idea you were kind of sweet on her," Lakeesha said helpfully. Melina blushed.

"Oh," he repeated. "Maybe. Maybe not. You'll just have to guess, won't you?"

"I don't have to guess," Lakeesha said, looking him directly in the eyes.

Unexpectedly, he grinned and winked at her. She smiled back. She liked Mark. Melina was a fool.

The tone sounded, signaling the start of the school day. Melina sighed with a relief that would last until she reached the band room.

At the start of fourth period, Melina walked into the cheerful, now-familiar room and headed for the instrument closet. At the door, a clarinet player stopped her.

"Melina?"

"Yeah?" Melina had seen the girl around, but she never spoken to her.

"Spending a lot of time with Pete Hess, aren't you?"

Melina frowned. Who was this girl and how did she know that?

"Maybe. What's it to you?"

The girl gave her a sardonic half-smile.

"Nothing, really. I just wanted to tell you to stay away from him. He's bad news."

Melina took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Where do you get off telling me anything?"

"Oh, don't get mad. You're just another girl up for membership in the Hess harem, and I feel kinda bad for you. I mean, I know him pretty well. He may seem great right now, but watch out. That's all."

"You've got one hell of a nerve..." Melina began, but the girl eeled by her and left Melina fuming to herself in a throng of kids. A few looked at her.

"Who was that?" she asked one with a clarinet in his hand.

"Tracy Higgins," he said.

"What's up with her?"

He shrugged, licked his clarinet's reed and blew air through the instrument.

"Went out with Pete last year and can't let go."

He ambled away, sounding a few notes.

Melina frowned and stepped into the closet to fetch her trumpet. She spotted Pete and Mark talking beside the sink. She slid her trumpet case out of its slot and made for the door to the band room. Pete spoiled her hope of escape.

"Hiya, sweetie," he called.

She stiffened. What was he thinking, calling her that in front of Mark and everyone else?

"Hi, Pete. Hi, Mark," she said, nodding to both and bolting through the door before either could say anything. Her face red, she wove through the chairs to her spot. She sat down, assembled her instrument and hoped the rehearsal would improve her day.

"So didja hear?" Pete asked Mark as the two headed for the door. "Melina's going to Homecoming with me."

Mark sighed.

"No, I hadn't heard," he said calmly. "Good for you. She's a great girl."

Hearing everything Mark had not said, Pete smiled. He liked to win.

**

The mall had fewer people than Melina had expected. She turned to Lakeesha.

"Is it always this dead?"

Lakeesha frowned.

"What do you mean?" she asked, gesturing at the trickle of people wandering through the mall. "This is a pretty decent crowd for a Monday afternoon."

"Really?"

"Yes," and Lakeesha's voice held a tinge of exasperation. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know, " Melina replied, backing down. "In Maryland, the malls were always pretty crowded, that's all."

"Oh. Okay," Lakeesha said, relaxing. "So where do you want to go first?"

"You tell me. You know this place. Where can I find a dress, not too expensive, that'll look good on me, but not so good that my parents won't let me wear it?"

Lakeesha laughed.

"Your parents sound like my parents. Always obsessing about how much skin people, specifically male people, can see. C'mon. Let's try the department stores first."

**

Joe Taylor stretched until he heard a couple of joints pop. The back door slammed and his wife rushed in, plopping a canvas bag filled with books on the kitchen table.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, kissing him on the cheek. He enveloped her in a bear hug and lifted her off the ground in a show of strength.

"Hey!" she protested, but not seriously. "What's that for?"

"Because I absolutely, positively adore you," he said, setting her down and kissing the tip of her nose.

She grinned up at him.

"I'm rather fond of you, too, Colonel. But what will my daddy say when he finds out you're a Yankee?"

"He'll just have to live with it. At least I'm a courteous, well-educated Yankee, even if I don't have a Virginia pedigree. And since when did your daddy care, anyway?"

"He doesn't. I'm just rattling your cage."

"Rattle away, my dear," he said amiably.

"So what do you want to do for dinner? It's your night to provide our meal."

His face crinkled into a smile.

"I want you for dinner."

"Dad!" Melina said, walking into the room. "There are impressionable children around. And besides, that's gross."

As one, the Taylors turned to regard their daughter.

"Would you rather I slapped your mother around?"

"Of course not," Melina said, peeved. "But do you have to be all over each other all the time?"

"You've had seventeen years to get used to it," her father said. "So get used to it, already."

Melina rolled her eyes.

"So what's for dinner?" she asked.

"I think we'll try that Chinese restaurant your friend's parents own," Mr. Taylor said. "Maybe they'll give us a friendly discount."

"Dad!" Melina cried. "You wouldn't ask for one, would you?"

"Honey, I'm joking. Of course I wouldn't. Now, you've been to this place. What kind of clothes are appropriate?"

Melina appraised her parents' clothing. Her father wore khakis and a sweater, while her mother had on jeans with dusty knees and a sweatshirt.

"Mom ought to change, but you look fine," she said.

"As if that's news," her mother said. "Your father was born with razor-sharp creases in his legs. Me, I've just spent the afternoon kneeling on the floor and putting IV lines into dummies, and every speck of dirt in that room seems to have settled on me. As usual. My cross to bear, I suppose."

"Mine, too," her husband added, his eyes twinkling.

Mrs. Taylor gave him a ferocious scowl, spoiled its effect with a yawn, and strolled to the stairway.

"Heartless cad. I'll be down in two shakes. Don't you dare go without me."

At the restaurant, Mrs. Tang greeted and seated the trio, giving Melina a second glance as if to place her.

"Hi, Mrs. Tang," Melina said. "You probably don't remember me, but I came here a few weeks ago with a friend, and I'm friends with Mark."

"Oh, yes," and Mrs. Tang's face lost its little frown. "Melanie, isn't it?"

"Close. Melina. And these are my parents, Col. and Mrs. Taylor. Mom and Dad, this is Mrs. Tang."

The Taylor adults swiftly exchanged an amused glance. Their younger daughter had certainly picked up a good deal of poise lately.

"We're pleased to meet you," Mrs. Taylor said. "Melina's told us a lot about your son. He sounds like a terrific kid."