Fiction by Laura Zhang
The first time I fell in love, my family had just moved from a rural inland town in China to a westernized and prosperous city along the country’s southeast coast. I remember sitting in the second row of my new classroom, palms sweating and face burning like coal from my old home’s stove.
“Welcome to middle school. If you’re not a new sixth grader, you’re in the wrong room,” the teacher said, pacing from the front of the classroom to the back. “I see, everybody here is ready for their first English class.” His baritone voice reminded me of Li Quo, an actor famous for dubbing Western movies.
“I’m Mr. Wong, but you can call me Tony. That is my English name.”
A couple girls giggled. A few boys whistled low.
Unlike the rest of the teachers, including those from my old town, who dressed up in suits and ties, Tony wore beige khaki pants, a lime green shirt, no tie, and a pair of Nike sneakers. His dark hair covered most of his forehead and sometimes fell across his brown eyes. He stood about an inch taller than the tallest boy in the class but was as skinny as any of them. When he walked back to the front, he looked at me and smiled. I lowered my eyes to my desk, my twelve-year-old heart pounding against my rib cage. It was the beginning of the Indian summer season, and the buzz of the fluorescent light charged the room with currents of excitement. English, with its strange signs and sounds, tickled and poked me for forty-five minutes on that bright September morning.
On my way home later in the afternoon, I saw a pear-shaped bottle on the rack of a newsstand booth and was mesmerised by the dark-brown liquid content. A classmate called it Coke. When I got home, I asked Father for ten yuan and told him I wanted to buy a bottle of Coke. “Mei, that drink is not good for you. Too much sugar.” Father shook his head.
“But I’m sure I’ll feel good after drinking it. Please, just this one time.”
“This is all I have right now.” Father shook his head again, gave me five yuan, and dismissed me. As a surgeon for burn patients, he did not make a lot of money. However, this bargain continued weekly that fall. By the end of the semester, I had collected and hidden piles of romance novels under my bed with the Coke money. The author of the novels was a woman from Taiwan and her pen name was Three Hairs. A few years before then, she had died by suicide in a women’s bathroom while traveling in Thailand. According to rumors, she lost her Spanish lover and her will to live. The tragedy made her books more popular.
During History class one morning in early November, I gazed out the window as the voice of the gray-suited Chinese teacher droned on. Two orange-bellied robins chirped under the shadows of the golden plum trees. Dizzying sunrays filtered through the dusty window onto my face. I watched as the birds grew bigger and taller, until Tony and I emerged from their transformed bodies, dazzling and shining on the blanket of the fallen leaves. We walked side by side around the schoolyard. Tony held out his hands and started to caress my face, neck, breasts—the same moves the boy in the Three Hairs’ novel I had read the night before had made.
After school, I read more of Three Hairs’ novels. When that was not enough, I began to check out the books piled under the English Literature shelves in the school library. Most of these books were abridged junior versions in Mandarin. My favorite one was Jane Eyre.
During a reading discussion in Tony’s class, I raised my hand as soon as he asked, “Can anyone tell me what the story of Jane Eyre is about?”
I stood to answer. “It’s about Jane growing up in the orphanage and later falling in love with her master, Mr. Rochester. But she thinks she’s not pretty enough and is too poor so she keeps her feelings secret.” I could barely hear my own voice and my face blushed like prairie fire.
“Louder! Louder!” the class shouted and laughed. I wished the ground would swallow me. But again and again, I could not resist the urge to answer Tony’s questions, so I always raised my hand before anybody else in the class.
One day, after class, towards the end of that fall semester, as I was packing my books and getting ready to leave, Tony came up and patted my shoulder. “Mei, I’d like you to be the head of my class starting next semester. What do you think?”
I froze at my desk. I felt the weight of his hand on my shoulder. The blood rushed to my face and tiny drops of sweat accumulated on my forehead. I was too embarrassed to say anything.
“You can help me read the class instructions, hand out materials, and help your classmates with their assignments. You think you can do that?” He sat down next to me. I twisted my fingers under the desk, trying to convince myself that I was not dreaming.
That was the day I became Tony’s helper.
I also began to lose myself in the wild worlds created by the Brontë sisters.
One night, after reading Wuthering Heights, I could not sleep. The autumn rain pounded the roof and howling winds battered the window, driving me in and out of a delirious half-sleep. I woke at dawn, sweaty, and my heart agitated, as if the passion in the moorland of the Heights had seeped into my blood. These feverish dreams came true on Tuesdays and Thursdays, as those were the days I had class with Tony.
***
As fall passed and winter came, my short hair grew to my shoulders. I refused to get a cut no matter how much Mother nagged me. I hated her then. Sometimes, for no apparent reason, she would burst out crying while cooking, washing clothes, or sweeping the floor. Sometimes, I would not see her in the house for a few days and when she came back, she would smile for some days, cook, wash, talk, but then she would cry again and be gone once more. One time, when my uncle visited us from the old town, I overheard Father telling him that Mother was visiting a doctor. Frankly, I was relieved when she was gone so I could do whatever I wanted.
One day after school, I wandered around the city’s main street with my best friend Lulu.
“Mei, look. This market just opened last week. Let’s check it out,” she said. She pointed to an open alley by the side of the street and led me into the crowd. The fragrance of women’s makeup and perfume mixed with the smog in the air. The staccato clicks of high heels on the cement punctuated the chatter of the shoppers and vendors. Ancient folk ballads blended with Western pop tunes. At booth after booth, Lulu and I touched the silky fabrics of chic scarves, velvety brims of fashion hats, and shining buckles of leather handbags. When I saw a mannequin wearing a pair of blue jeans, I stopped. I stared at the half-naked figure and imagined what Tony’s reaction would be if I wore that pair of jeans.
“I got this from Hong Kong yesterday.” The shop owner was a stout man wearing a gold watch. “Brand new. Want to try it?” I said yes and excitement shot through my spine.
“Wow, you look taller in those jeans,” Lulu said when I emerged from behind a curtain.
I gazed at myself, transfixed with my own image. My face flushed when I saw Tony standing behind me in the mirror. He nodded and reached out to touch the new jeans on my legs.
“I’ll give you 30% off. You can wear them now. They look good on you.” The booth man pulled a calculator from his pocket and showed me the final price.
When I got home, Mother cried out, “Where did you go after school? What are you wearing?”
“I– Lulu and I went–”
“Take the jeans off before your father comes home!”
“Why are you home, Mother? You should be at your shock doctor!” I ran to my room and slammed the door.
At dinner, I didn’t talk. My baby brother, Jian, who was still in third grade, lowered his head. He must have sensed something was wrong. Father and Mother were equally quiet. They didn’t talk to each other like they used to when we lived in the old town. Back then things were simpler. Mother taught in the village school and Father worked at a small clinic in the town center with my uncle. Father would come home earlier after work and take Jian and me for a walk and we would talk about everything—my favorite subjects in school, his work, the gossip and rumors going around the neighborhood.
Back then, Father never missed dinner, and he and Mother would talk about the food, money problems, and the plans and dreams to move to a bigger city. After we moved, there were no more walks, and some evenings, only Mother and us children ate in silence.
Thinking about this, tears collected in the corner of my eyes. To fight them back, I bent over my rice bowl at our new, shining dinner table. I thought of the summer breeze and the twittering of the song birds in the wooded hills by the farmland in my old town. I heard Father, Mother and my uncle greeting, chatting and laughing at our old dinner table, a wooden table with rough edges and uneven legs. I thought of the chicken coop our family used to have in the backyard in our old home and how I had loved to pick up the fresh, warm eggs in the morning. I heard Mother humming along with the country crooners in our old kitchen without gas, only a mud stove illuminated by the crackling coals. Then I heard a strange, stony voice from far-away, creeping louder and closer to my ears: “Mei, you hear me? You cannot wear those jeans. You must return them tomorrow. Finish your dinner now.”
I looked up and saw my Father staring at me across the table. “I’m not hungry!” I pushed away my bowl. “You don’t allow me to do anything I want!” I stood up.
“Sit down. Finish your dinner,” Father said.
I sat back down and stared at my bowl. Mother sighed and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later, I heard Mother sobbing. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up, kicked the chair to the table, and ran out to Lulu’s house across the street.
***
When spring arrived, I stayed late as often as I could after school. One rainy afternoon, after finishing my homework at my desk, I wandered to the school library and sat in a corner with some books. I flipped through the pages, reciting the lines in my head: I live upstream and you live downstream… Unlike the stream you’re not in view, though both we drink from River Blue. When I looked up, I saw Tony and some other teachers standing in the far corner of the reference section. I watched until they left. After that, I stared at the books in front of me until the library light flashed, telling me it was time to go home.
The next afternoon when I finished my duties as the head of the English lesson, I went up to Tony and handed him the quiz sheets I had gathered from the class. “I wrote something yesterday,” I blurted out.
“You did?” he asked. “That’s great. How about you read it in class on Thursday?”
“Can I read it now?”
“Now?” he looked at me with a hint of surprise on his face.
I did not answer.
“It’s late, Mei.” He looked at the clock on the wall.
“It’s short, very short, a short poem,” I said.
“I didn’t know you were writing poems. I mean, in English. Great, let’s hear it then.”
I sat down next to him. The noise from the hallway and schoolyard receded and the fluorescent ceiling lights hummed. My heart thumped wildly. I held my breath as I spread the paper on the table and read, “The sun shines through my window, my heart feels sad while looking at the city…”
I felt Tony’s breath brush the side of my face as he leaned closer to see the scrawls on the page. Under the desk, I felt his leg touching mine. Above, his arms wrapping around my chest, his head moving to my face, his lips landing on my trembling dry mouth.
“Mei, I think it’s a good start.” His voice woke me. “I suggest you start a journal too. You know, a diary, to write down your feelings.”
I raised my head and looked at him. The ceiling light hummed louder and louder. “Will you read it?” I asked.
“Well, a diary is supposed to be private, so nobody should read it but you.”
I lowered my head and stared down at the paper, feeling a sharp sting in my stomach.
“But if you write stories, I’ll be glad to.” He stood up, took his bag, and said, “Keep up the good work. See you Thursday.”
I sat at my desk for a long while after he left. The noise from the hallway and the schoolyard came back. I packed my bag and headed to the library.
***
In the summer, I turned thirteen. The school break had never seemed this drawn out, with gray, humid air almost every day. Everywhere, the city smoked and roared with street vendors on their motorbikes, their boom boxes blaring western pop songs like “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?”
Lulu and I decided to go swimming one afternoon. There was a popular spot near our school where many boys went.
“Mei, can I tell you a secret?” she asked while we were sitting on the side of the pool. “That’s my boyfriend, there, in the middle of the pool.” She pointed at a tanned boy wearing a pair of oversized swimming goggles who waved toward her. I kicked my feet in the water, making swelling splashes, feeling jealous.
“Mei, do you have a boyfriend?”
“Yes, I do.” I stopped kicking. “But he’s not here.” I looked up at the clouds, thinking of the story I wanted to tell Tony.
“Who? Tell me, tell me!”
“I can’t.” A sense of sadness enveloped me as the clouds floated above us. A storm was coming.
“I promise I won’t tell anybody.” Then, she added, “I understand. You don’t have to tell me. I’m happy. I want you to be happy too.” She looked at the pool. “Tai and I, we watch movies together. What do you guys do?”
“Well, I read my stories to him, but don’t tell my parents, they’ll kill me.”
“It’s a secret. Let’s swear.” She held out both her pinkies and crossed mine.
Lulu and I went swimming a lot that summer. She told me stories about Tai and other boys. She also told me that her parents had bought her a violin and signed her up for lessons even though she hated to practice because her neck was sore all day. I told her I had wanted to be a pianist when I was in kindergarten but my father wouldn’t allow me to go to music school. I added how I was secretly saving my chore money to buy a keyboard one day. I told her the stories I wrote in my diary except for one. That story was the secret of all secrets. It was about how I felt sometimes when I was swimming. When the bell rang, warning swimmers that the allotted one-hour time was up, I would kick my legs fast to enjoy the last couple of minutes of being in the water. A sharp sensation would erupt like a volcano from my lower body, between my thighs. I would kick my legs faster until I had to hold the side of the pool to steady myself, to let the violent and pleasant feeling vibrate through every fiber of my body. Afterwards, I would float in the cooling water until the pool guard urged me to get out. I was always perplexed at what had happened. It was too embarrassing to tell Lulu, so I kept my entries about this experience to myself.
When school started again, I gained a nickname, “the little ambitious bird” as I was the first to come in and the last to leave. One sunny afternoon, Tony caught me scribbling in a notebook when the classroom was empty. It was midday break and everybody had gone home for lunch and a nap. I began to read my entry to him as he sat down next to me. The story was written in Mandarin. I couldn’t find enough English words to describe the events in my protagonist Linda’s home:
“At night, in the new city of Chengdu, Linda can hear her mother crying in the kitchen for her lost brother, Linda’s uncle. A week ago, he hung himself in the village clinic where he worked. The clinic was out of business and he lost his farmland too. Linda’s father isn’t home yet. He hasn’t come home for two days. The hospital where he works is full of burn patients from a fire in a factory in the city. If he does come home, he doesn’t say a word and goes straight to his study. He doesn’t have the strength to have dinner with Linda and her mother and her brother. As time goes by, Linda sees her father less and less. He works from early morning to late at night, too exhausted to take care of Linda’s sick mother. One morning, he wakes Linda and gives her some money for a Coke. He also gives her an English dictionary and tells her, ‘You will need this in school.’ Linda has not seen her father since that morning. She wonders what has happened to him.”
At this point, tears rained down my face.
Tony extended his arms, hugged me, and I put my head on his chest. The tears I had saved up for the whole year poured out and wet his shirt. After a few minutes of this purge, a tremendous sense of comfort swelled in me, like a stray cat that had finally found a home and a person who would indulge her. My sobbing subsided. Tony sat me down and gave me another hug. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his beating heart, his breath, and the faint scent of shaving cream on his face. I was beyond relieved by that hug, beyond the pleasure I had experienced in the swimming pool in the summer. Looking back, that was the first time I felt understood and accepted. I thought this must’ve been how Jane Eyre felt when Mr. Rochester kissed her. The noonday sun shone blindingly, blanching all the dark and gray spots in the classroom.
That school year passed like a long, murky dream. Only Tony and Lulu held me from falling off the edge of a slippery cliff. I stayed over at Lulu’s house a couple nights a week. Mother was too drowned in pain to care and her treatments became more frequent. Lulu’s father was a businessman who traveled around the country to sell medical equipment for a German company and did not come home during the weekdays. He bought Lulu a TV for her birthday, and at night we were glued to the black box. Our favorite programs were MTV Unplugged, American Movie Channel, and Animal World. I remember watching slimy seals humping each other on the seashore and realizing this was how the baby seals were born, how I came into this world, and how all babies were born. Disgusted, Lulu and I swore that we would never do such a thing.
When the final year of junior high arrived, I had grown an inch taller, my hair reached my shoulders, and my breasts had started to show. It became a routine to walk aimlessly on the dusty streets where tall buildings shot up like bamboo shoots, along the river banks that ran through the city center, and on the far south side where train tracks extended from the main station beyond the horizon. On a breezy Friday afternoon, I heard a familiar voice from behind.
“Hey, Mei. Where are you going?”
I turned around and saw Tony. He was on his bike with a woman sitting sideways on the backseat. “What a nice day. Walking home? By the way, this is Kay.” He stopped his bike and pulled it closer to me.
“Kay, this is Mei, the brightest student in my class.” Kay came down from her seat and said hello. She wore a pink blouse and a long navy blue skirt. Her face beamed with happiness and her wavy dark hair draped around her slender shoulders. A tsunami of envy and bitterness swept inside me. I bit my lips and turned my head away. I could not bear to look at them anymore.
“Mei, have a great weekend. See you next week in class.” When I turned back to look at him again, Tony waved goodbye and biked away with Kay’s arms wrapped around his waist.
I watched them disappear into the hordes of bikers. Then, I walked home. It was as if I were walking in a void, no sound, no moving people, or cars.
When I woke up the next morning, I felt detached from my body. The rain from the dark sky drummed water on the roof. I decided to take a walk. I put on my raincoat and walked through the crowds and traffic until I got to the train tracks. I wandered a half hour more along one track, away from the station. I stopped when I heard a string of whistles, shrieking whistles of the departing trains like the low whistles of the boys in my first class with Tony. I looked up, the rain running down my face, and no one could see my tears.
That morning, the rain kept pouring and did not let up. I decided to take the bus home. I sat next to an old woman in the back. She held a beat-up Walkman cassette player in her hands and was listening to some traditional ballads. “Tears are the essence of life.” The singer wailed the same words in an endless loop, and the violin and erhu accompanied her lonely voice. The old woman tapped her thumbs in time with the rhythm. I had never liked this type of music before; it was so slow and heavy that it sounded like dragging a dead horse along a field. Songs from MTV Unplugged were much happier and more upbeat. But on that morning, that tune and those words were stuck in my head like sticky rice balls and to let them go, I had to write them in my journal when I got home. When I finished, I walked to the kitchen. Dirty plates were piled in the sink. Why had I not noticed them before? I washed and stacked them on the overhung shelf.
After that weekend, I noticed things that had been invisible to me before: dirty laundry, mail and papers lying on the floor, dust flying in the sunlit air, Mother sitting alone staring at the living room wall for hours.
I took over the household chores and sat with Mother. I even went with her for her treatment and waited for her in the hospital hallway, where I noticed all kinds of sick people and their families. A sour smell always permeated the air. Mother told me on our bus ride home that the hospital used vinegar to wash and disinfect the hospital floor. She talked more and more on those bus rides and at home. She told me about her childhood in the countryside; how her father had been persecuted and held in the town square with a sideboard plaque saying “dirty and disgraceful intellectual” hung on his neck for public humiliation during the Cultural Revolution; how she had met Father while he was in the medical school; how Father could not afford a pair of shoes and had worn straw shoes to his classes. She opened her eyes wide when she talked about me and my brother, how we used to run around like wild animals in the hills in her hometown. I started to hold her hands when she talked.
One afternoon, after we came back from her treatment, I walked to the kitchen and found a pair of scissors. I went into the bedroom and stood in front of the mirror. Slowly, I ran my fingers from the root of my hair to its tip, now long past my shoulders. Trembling at first, I raised the scissors to my ears and then began to cut, one strand after another. When I was done, I looked at the new person in the mirror, stunned by her bobbed hair, bigger face and longer neck. Staring into the mirror, I sensed that something else had claimed me. I had lost something. Something I could not name and did not want to lose. But I had no choice.
“Mei, you alright? Dinner is ready.” Mother knocked and pushed open a crack in the door. I smelled the fragrance of jasmine rice and spring vegetable soup. I quickly swept the strands of hair on the floor and joined my family in the kitchen.
Laura Zhang is a Chicago-based writer. She received her MFA in fiction from SNHU’s Mountainview MFA in January 2025. She has also studied fiction writing at Northwestern University’s MFA in Prose and Poetry and StoryStudio in Chicago. An excerpt of her recently finished novel “Prodigal Daughter” was published in Revolt Lit Mag. She also performs in Chicago’s storefront theaters.
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