Meimei Pt. 02

The next morning, An Shan joined me in the basement. I had been watching a tv show when she came down with a book and sat beside me on the couch.

I hit the mute button.

"Meimei, what are we doing?"

An Shan's head snapped to mine. Alarm flashed in her eyes. Only a moment elapsed before she seemed to compose herself and ask, "What do you mean?"

"Come on. You know what I'm talking about. Us."

She waited. When I didn't further elaborate, she shook her head, staring at me wide-eyed--as if I were an idiot for not explaining myself.

"You know the...uh...the massages and stuff."

Her breathing seemed rapid but silent. She looked at me without saying a word, and her eyes confused me. In a way, they appeared to beg and plead to me. For what, I had no idea. Yet, seeing them again, I decided she was growing terrified.

Again, her entire body--face and everything--seemed to relax into composure. She went back to her book, shrugging. "Just what you say, Gege--massages."

"Maybe once, but not anymore. What are we doing?"

"Don't," she snapped. She shook her head with her eyes boring holes into the book in her lap.

"I'm sorry. I--I just need to know if...."

She cut me off, voice breaking. "Please, Gege! Can't we just--just leave it alone?" she begged. "Please!" Her face seemed overwrought with fear and shame.

I turned to her, kneeling beside her. "I don't want to upset you. I really don't, but I can't go on like this--doing things and not understanding what they mean to you or how I should feel about them," I told her as gently as I could. "I like it--I love it, but I need to know if--if this is--I need to know what it all means. Is it serious or--or are we're just playing around?"

She snapped her book shut and rose. Looking down at me with glassy, pink eyes, she cried, "I asked you to leave it alone!"

"I know! But, I'm sick of being confused about how to feel, being mixed up between being your brother and being--."

An Shan stormed around the couch, putting it between us, so I never got off my last several words. Standing at the base of the stairs, her knuckles were white over the book. She drew a halting breath. Her splotchy red face and teary eyes bore into mine. She uttered, "It was all meaningless. It meant nothing."

I opened my mouth to say something, but I found I couldn't speak.

"I don't care," she said, and she laughed in an almost maniacal way. "Whatever. Does that help you? It was all whatever!"

She turned and pounded up the stairs, throwing the door shut behind her.

What the fuck? I didn't move or speak for a minute.

When I finally could form a coherent thought, I wondered why hadn't left it alone? Why had I second-guessed my instinct to take what was given and be content?

I needed to know. That was all there was to it. But could I have gone on without knowing? Five minutes earlier, it didn't feel like it, but just then, all I wanted was to have her back. Fuck knowing why, I thought, I just want her to want me.

As disappointing as it all was, I had hope in the fact that An Shan had been upset. She could not have really meant it. When she cooled down, I concluded, we might be able to talk through this.

But, An Shan quit visiting me in the basement. She didn't speak to me; she didn't even look at me.

It was over.

***

On June 1st, the paycheck deposited into my bank account crossed the threshold for which I had been planning for the last year. I already had the apartment complex selected--close to my classes and my job. There was a gym on-site. And it was cheap.

I made the call to the property manager, and I picked out my first apartment.

The next day, I moved in with the help of Baba. When I hauled the last box through the sliding glass door of my tiny new back porch, Baba waved me to the mini-kitchen counter.

Five one-hundred-dollar bills were fanned out. He said, "I am very proud of you, Erzi." (son)

This was stunning. Five hundred dollars! Baba was almost miserly in his money habits. This was generosity beyond anything I had ever seen from him. "I can't take that money, Baba."

He said, "Na qian." (Take it.)

"Wo bu keyi--zeren." (I mustn't. Duty.)

Baba looked at me for a moment and then nodded, scooping up the bills. "Hao. Hao." (Very well.) Despite my height and weight advantages of about eight inches and ninety pounds, the old man pulled me in for a hug.

When he let go, he said, "Jiating wanfan--xingqiri. Bie wang." (Family dinner--Sunday. Don't forget.)

"Bu wang." (I won't.)

He left, wiping his eyes.

***

Everything was on me now, and I loved it. Surprising as it may sound, even paying bills was a kind of pleasure. Though everything I owned was shitty, it was all mine. I had complete independence, and I never felt better in my life--with one exception.

Since my DUI arrest over a year ago, I had been telling myself that, once I had restored myself in my parents' eyes and earned my way to complete financial freedom, it would be time to find a girlfriend. It was true, and I wanted one. Needed one, really, because the new freedom I felt was like a shot of confidence and power. It made me horny as hell, but I wanted An Shan.

Our time apart did two things. First, it made me long for her. I thought about her all the time, not just the massages and touching. Showers felt lonely without her voice filling the bathroom, telling me about the new book she was reading, the new piece she had to learn, or just the dream she had the night before. An Shan had been a fixture of sorts for the previous months, and I missed her.

Second, her absence forced me to believe that her words must have been the truth: it was meaningless fun for her. It was whatever.

Over the time we spent together, I had grown to want her, but she, I realized, never wanted me. She just needed a man's body for practice. Her relationship goals were a lot higher than her dumb ass, DUI-jailbird brother.

I poured duty into the hole that she left in me, kicking ass in school, at work, and in the gym. The results showed. I was stronger and more fit than I had ever been. I wasn't a bear anymore; I was a tiger. Since I never called in sick and was always working hard, my boss gave me a small raise at work. Finally, I knew that by the end of the summer session in mid-August, I would have the necessary make-up college work completed so that I could enroll in a degree program at the community college or, if I wanted, apply for admission to an actual four-year university.

For An Shan, it was different.

She didn't come to Sunday dinners. Despite my asking them not to, Baba and Mama used those evenings together to share their disappointment about An Shan's recent behavior.

She wasn't practicing her piano, and she'd skipped her last two lessons. This made Baba furious because he still had to pay for them. She moved into the basement, and they rarely saw her anymore. She'd made new friends and was staying out late. She dressed differently--provocatively.

Mama especially disliked these last two because, in her eyes, it raised questions about promiscuity.

At a Sunday dinner in early July, my parents had become concerned enough to make a request of me.

"Ching ni gen ta tan-tan yidian," Baba said. (Please have a little chat with her.)

"Ta bu yau gen wo shuohua ne. Bu yau kan wo ne." (She doesn't want to talk to me or see me these days.)

"Wei shenma?" Mama asked. (Why?)

"Bu zhidao." (I don't know.)

Mama eyed me closely. She was a sharp woman. I suspected she knew there was something more.

Baba sighed. He said, "Wo siang-yi-siang ta he jiu ne, ye he de shihou, he tai duo." (I'm thinking she's drinking now, and when she drinks, it's too much.)

I nodded.

"Gen ta tan-tan. Chingwen ni." (Have a chat with her. Please.)

"Wo yao shi." (I'll try.)

But first, I would need to find her.

***

An Shan would not take my calls; she didn't respond to my texts. I emailed her:

"Meimei, I'm sorry for what I did to ruin our relationship. Can we talk? I miss you.--Love JD"

Before I sent it, I checked the "Notify When Read" option. Confirmation that the email had, indeed, been opened came back less than five minutes after I sent it.

But, a week later, she still hadn't responded.

Now, I was upset. I sent her another one:

"An Shan, if it really was 'whatever,' then you are one fucked up human being. Prove me wrong. Talk to me. -JD"

As before, my email was read almost instantly after being received.

This time, however, she responded:

"Fuck you, Russian Guy. Fuck you...," and then there were three Chinese characters written beneath these words. It read, "Yang gui zi."

The "Russian Guy" reference stung--a reminder of my early teenage years when I had let down my family.

Her use of "yang gui zi" was a kick to the nuts. To truly understand how much hate the phrase encompassed, one had to not only know Mandarin, but also some Chinese history. It meant "Foreign Devil," and it was a crude, abusive term, steeped in racism. It meant I was an outsider--to China and to our family, itself. It meant I was beneath her. The phrase carried with it the suggestions of being unclean, ugly, and unmannered.

I didn't tell Mama or Baba. I only explained how I had unsuccessfully reached out to her more than once. Baba was about to ask me to continue trying, but Mama intervened. She put her hand on his leg, and Baba glanced at her.

No words were exchanged, just looks.

A moment later, Baba turned to me and thanked me for trying.

***

The remainder of the summer slid away, and Mama and Baba drove An Shan to Boston for school.

I continued working, lifting, and taking catch-up classes. My grades were solid, and with the two classes I was taking in the fall term--Physics and World Civ--I would have the grades and credits to start a degree program and maybe even matriculate into a full-time college.

I continued having Sunday dinners at home with my parents, but as the weeks and months of An Shan's first term elapsed, they both grew more and more stressed. Their smiles weakened. Their faces paled. Their appetites waned. The silences around the table lengthened.

Finally, in late October, the news poured out of Mama. An Shan's mid-term grades were disastrous. She had been skipping scheduled practices and classes. They would be flying out next weekend to see her.

The Sunday following their trip to Boston, we had another family dinner. My parents were pleased. An Shan gave them assurances and showed confidence in her ability to turn things around.

All seemed well. Then, mid-December hit.

An Shan had failed three of her classes due to absences. Her end-of-term piano recital earned her a D in Performance 1--this was a grade partially determined by her peers, which made it even more shocking. She was placed on academic probation. One more misstep and Berklee was through with her.

I had never seen my parents so disappointed, and I had plenty of first-hand experience in that area. I have no idea how An Shan managed to live in that house with them during winter break. I avoided the place.

On the Sunday following a deeply uncomfortable Christmas, I had no choice but to go back to my parents' house for dinner. Baba told me that he was going to make an important announcement. I was certain it had to do with An Shan, so I thought I might be able to skip. Baba, however, was serious, and he was my father. He insisted; I came.

An Shan and I avoided eye contact. The atmosphere of that table was as tension-filled as a Mexican standoff, as awkward as a serial killer at a convent.

Baba finally spoke, breaking the terrible silence. He explained that An Shan needed a steadying influence. He was staring at me.

He said he had rented a two-bedroom apartment near Berklee--an apartment complex designed for musicians and music students. It had piano practice rooms.

He glanced at An Shan, and then his eyes went back to mine.

Then, he explained that I would accompany An Shan to Boston and be her chaperone for the next semester. I would live in the apartment with her. I would make sure she got to classes and stay in contact with her professors and her academic advisors. I would make sure she didn't fail again.

An Shan and I, both, instantly voiced a protest. Her voice won over. "I don't need a chaperone, Baba!"

"Yes. Yes, you do," Mama responded.

An Shan retorted with a short, plaintive burst.

"What about my apartment and my job?" I asked, looking at my father. "My life here? I like the freedom I've earned."

Baba's eyes closed. His head bowed slightly. "Wo cuo le, erzi. Ni dwei le. Wo duibuqi ni, keshi ni dei gen ni meimei dao Boston qu." (It's my fault, son. You're right, and I'm sorry, but you must go with your sister to Boston.)

Mama interjected. "We will help you find work. Hao ma?" (Okay?)

I nodded solemnly. "Hao. Wo yao qu." (Okay. I'll go.)

"Xiexie, erzi." (Thank you, son.)

Meimei pushed her plate away and left the table.

Baba began to rise and call her back, but Mama touched his arm. He settled into his chair, and Mama silently followed An Shan up the stairs.

Baba and I remained. He explained how it had to be done, that An Shan's talent was too enormous to allow her to waste it away. He said the family needed me.

"Wo dong, Baba." (I understand, Papa.)

I did. I wasn't offended. Everything Baba had told me had been said with an expression of deep regret--he knew he was hurting me to help An Shan. I didn't argue that my time and energy shouldn't be sacrificed for the benefit of my sister. She was incredibly talented. It really would be a tragic waste.

There were two things I lamented. The first was losing my freedom. I loved controlling my destiny, paying my bills, and not being beholden to anyone. The second was An Shan. We had arrived at a point where we didn't give a fuck about one another.

***

A week and a half later, An Shan waited in my car as it idled on the driveway in front of our home. Baba sat in the driver's seat, chatting with her. I stood on the porch beside Mama.

She pulled me in for a hug. Then, she cradled my face. "Be gentle with An Shan. I know the love you had for her. Find it again. This is why I ask Baba to send you."

I didn't know what to say.

She kissed each of my cheeks. Then, Mama urged me toward the car like a child might launch a toy boat down a river.

Baba kissed An Shan's head and climbed out. We shook hands, and then he pulled me in for a hug. He was weeping.

He drew back. I climbed into the car, and An Shan and I left for Boston.

***

We had been on the road for more than two hours. Neither of us spoke. The radio had been shut off by An Shan a few minutes ago when, finally, I broke the silence.

"The minute we have an argument and quit being--being close, you become the family fuck up. You quit practicing, you drink too much, you fuck up at school, and the rest of it. That cannot be a coincidence, Meimei."

She didn't respond.

"Unless there's something else that happened right around that time. Is there?" I asked.

"No."

"So, do you want to talk about why things changed?"

"No."

"Well, is there anything you do want to talk about?" I asked. "We've got two long days of driving ahead of us here."

"No."

I shrugged.

A minute or so elapsed.

I said, "I've got it. Let's go over our apartment rules."

She didn't respond.

"Who does which chores and stuff," I explained.

"Whatever."

I glanced at her, and she stared out the window.

***

We spent the night in a motel on the western outskirts of Cleveland, about halfway. There were two full beds in the room. When she took a shower, I laid in bed remembering when I saw her through a drunken, puke-and-piss-ridden evening at a motel back home. It seemed like years ago when, fighting the urge to relish in her naked body, she astonished me by bringing herself to climax against my hand.

That Meimei was gone.

All of the lights were out when she emerged from the steaming bathroom, but I saw, silhouetted against the glow of the television, the protruding girth of her breasts as she strode across the room and slid into her bed.

Wow, I thought, that body...just wow.

We arrived in Boston at mid-afternoon on the following day. Our landlord met us at the apartment, and with keys in hand, we moved into the shabbily, but comfortably furnished two-bedroom near the Back Bay Fens.

I gave her the master bedroom. We shared one small bathroom. The place had a kitchen, but the previous owners must have loved frying food in oil; the ceiling and walls shined with yellow grease.

***

By way of Baba's connections, I was offered a part-time job at the Symphony Orchestra as a human resources assistant. I scheduled auditions, called in substitutes, and made zillions of copies of sheet music, among other tasks.

It was alright. It enabled me to earn some cash and be An Shan's chaperone.

Once the semester began, my days were straightforward. See An Shan off to her classes, and then head to the Symphony. Baba had me assigned as An Shan's "guardian," so every day, I was emailed her attendance. It also gave me online access to her grades. When I returned, I ate lunch and chilled for an hour before An Shan returned. Then, my main job was to ensure that she studied and practiced her piano.

And she did.

I walked with her to the practice rooms and sat in a lounger, listening every afternoon for three hours and in the evenings after supper for two more hours.

She didn't complain about it. If anything, I suppose her attitude about my supervision was one of annoyed resignation.

In another way, it was like she was the contrite sinner. She acted like she knew she'd fucked up and partied her ass off during the first semester, gotten caught, and now accepted my irritating presence as part of the punishment.

She worked hard.

I was bored as hell. Five hours a day?

At first, I fucked around on my tablet while she played, burning up hours on YouTube like time was as expendable as old newspapers. That didn't last long. So, I started doing push-ups and sit-ups while she played.

There were lockers in the practice room for convenience. I rented one and stuffed it full of exercise equipment--heavy resistance bands and so forth. Her practice time was my workout time.

The problem was I couldn't work out for five hours. I needed something more.

It had been too late to enroll at Northeastern for regular classes, but their online classes were open. I took on some student debt and enrolled in World History B and College Algebra.

***

The most challenging part of those weeks and months was living with An Shan--living with a person who so loathed me that a day without exchanging a single word was the norm. Ten words a week from her might have been the average.

For my part, I tried to engage with her in the beginning. As it became clearer that she would not respond, I clammed up. When it was my turn to cook and the meal was ready, I would say, "Dinner." When it was time to go to school or practice, I asked, "Ready?"

Since I wasn't there during the first semester, I never got to see how she was when she cut loose, but on my watch, she dressed conservatively for her classes. As to her social life, even though she got lots of calls from friends, she cut them all short. I can't say how many times I overheard the words "I need to practice tonight" or "I've still got studying to do" coming from her.

She was a hermit. Her grades were tops, right down the line. I couldn't see the point of my being there at all.

I told Baba and Mama. They told me to "Keep with it."

That I felt socially disconnected added to my frustration. My evenings were tied up with supervising her practices--every night. I wanted to go out. Meet some women. Maybe get laid.