Just Friends(2)
Childhood memories of Lottie chasing me through the garden flood my mind. I try not to choke on the thought of her weakened body laying inside.
My great-aunt Lottie fled Saigon as it fell and was taken over by communists. She told me the story in detail of how she picked up and left everything she knew at age twenty, boarding a boat that was meant to hold two hundred people, but became one thousand. Desperate and grief-stricken, the people forced themselves onto the boat, trying to take hold of their last option out of the country as their homes vanished behind them.
Food had to be rationed, and even so, there wasn’t enough to go around. She described the bunk bed she lay atop of, hidden in a lower level of the boat, trying not to move, trying not to think, for the seven days it took to arrive at a small neighboring country.
From there, she waited months for a sponsor in America to host her arrival, and it came in the form of a generous family in Orange County. In her adult life, she stumbled upon the small town of Seabrook, California, and fell in love with the beaches lined with cypress trees and moss-covered thatched roofs. She settled down before tourists discovered it, and opted to open a convenience store instead of finishing college in a language she barely knew. That convenience store expanded to two locations, which later became seven.
Lottie understood what it was like to be ejected from the life you knew. So, when my mom and the five-year-old me showed up on her doorstep, fleeing from an abusive husband, my father, she let us take refuge inside her home. And eventually, inside her heart. I take a deep breath and bolster myself to see the women who raised me waiting inside.
As I enter, my body takes note of the eerie silence before I can register why it feels so blue. Lottie is missing from her spot by the window, where she’s usually whistling a tune or reading her newspaper.
I call out, “Mom? Lottie?”
“Up here!” my mom yells from above.
I sprint up the winding staircase to Lottie’s bedroom. When I walk in, I try to hide my shock at seeing Lottie propped up in a mechanical hospital bed, wearing one of her beautiful floral dresses.
My eyes dart to my mother’s. She smiles at me encouragingly, opening her arms as I run toward them.
Her comforting scent wraps itself around my heart and squeezes as I squeeze her.
“Hi, Mom,” I breathe into her neck, “I missed you.”
“Missed you too, sweet pea.”
Turning to the mechanical bed, I bend down.
“And Lottie!” my voice pitches upward, hoping to raise the obviously somber mood. “How are you managing to look so gorgeous in this dinky bed?!” I kick it playfully, trying to disguise my unease as I take in how wrong she looks in a hospital bed.
A mild laugh bubbles out of her, eyes twinkling as her shoulders shake up and down gently.
“Come here, my sweet girl.” She reaches out to my head to bring me down, giving me her famous sniff kiss—a kiss on the cheek that starts with a deep inhale and ends with a smooch. The ridiculous sound of her aggressive inhale on my cheek always makes me laugh.
“Congratulations on graduating, con.” She uses the Vietnamese word for child lovingly. “I am so proud of you.”
Her voice sounds weaker, bringing tears to my eyes before I can stop them.
“Now”—she waves her hand in my face—“no crying for me, con. I’ve had a happy life. Everything I could ever want is right here in this room.” I look behind me at my mom standing in the corner with a pained expression on her face, trying so hard to be stoic for my sake. “You don’t let this drag you down, okay? I’m comfortable here. I want you to go enjoy! Enjoy life!”
Even after living here for fifty years, she has an accent that perseveres. I will never stop loving the sound of it. Speaking her life truths to me in fragments or dropping the s on plural words.
No matter how much pain she is experiencing, I know she will go to lengths unknown to keep it hidden from me. She and my mom have always been this way. Encouraging me to be strong, forge on, despite the circumstances.
I give her another hug, aware that this frail body beneath me contains all the love I felt in my childhood, and is now being ravaged by cancer.
“I love you,” I whisper brokenly into her ear. I wipe my tears with my hands before taking a seat in a chair set up beside her. But the second I do, Lottie chastises me.
“No, no, con! Don’t sit here with me. You finally back home. Go explore.”
I squint as I try to catch her darting eyes.
“Lottie, don’t be silly—”
“Baby,” she croaks. “I’m not joking. Please, go enjoy this beautiful day. I’m not going anywhere.”
I still at her words, unsure how to respond.
“Shoo! Out you go!” She waves her hands theatrically until I stand. “Keep going!” She doesn’t relax until I’m halfway out the door.
“Okay, okay,” I concede in a weak voice, peeking my head through the door one more time. “I love you.”
“I love you too, con. Now, go have some fun.”
Chapter 2
Two weeks ago I got the call. If you’ve ever gotten “the call” in your life, you’ll unfortunately know what I mean. The one that creates a before and after in your story, bookending each side. Whatever you had been doing prior to it becomes so hilariously insignificant in comparison to the words coming through the phone speaker.