Page 10 - My FlipBook

we wait for the bus. I try to come up with things to talk about,
but everything that pops into my head seems trivial or might
upset her.
I’m glad when the bus arrives. As it grinds through the
streets, I see that we’re heading toward the outer ring of the
city. Finally I think to ask, “Where’s Baba?”
“At the apartment,” Mama answers. “He just couldn’t make
it to the station. Oh, he’s been so . . .” She blinks furiously.
I squeeze her hand as she clamps her lips together and
brings her fist up to her mouth, collecting herself again.
“You’re a good girl for coming,” she says hoarsely. “We
need you.”
My heart jumps. They need me. She’s glad I’m here. I know
it is small of me to think this now, and I immediately suppress
the feeling.
“I’m just tired to death.” She flaps her hand close to her
chest as if asking me to excuse her. “I worked until nine, then
ran home to check on your ba. He’s . . . not doing well. Not
been able to work. I’ve been doing extra shifts to try to make up
for him.” She leans toward me, nudging my shoulder with hers.
“It’s good you’re here. You have to help take care of your baba.”
The words are like a warning signal. The Baba I saw at the
Spring Festival was loud and boisterous, goading Bao-bao and
me to set off fireworks, tossing back shots of liquor with the
friends we visited, eagerly exchanging information about study
schedules and rankings with the other parents whose kids were
able to go to high school. What does she mean take care of him?
Despite my growing unease, I try to keep my voice steady
and calm. “Of course. Now that I’m finished for the summer,
it’s no problem.” I’ve just finished my first year at vocational col-
lege in Linfen. It doesn’t offer the traditional academic course

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