Donuts
Donuts~
As Mao’s aunt slammed the big refrigerator door shut, she almost squashed Mao’s fingers in the process. It didn’t help that she already didn’t like him. Right before that, an old man that came by the shop every day walked through the door. He had walked up to the counter to see no one there and angrily shouted for assistance. By Mao’s aunt’s reaction I knew that he had set a bad atmosphere.
I would’ve gotten up from the booth where I was sitting to help the man with his order of donuts, but I wasn’t there to work. I was accompanying Mao, who had been attempting to get rid of the summer heat by standing in front of the refrigerator with the open door, “Cindy, I am so hot!” But before I could say anything about the customer his aunt was already dragging him to the front of the shop while scolding him.
I don’t know much Chinese but I understood her pretty clearly when she said to him, “Shen jing bing!” What kind of aunt tells her own nephew, “You have a little mental problem?”
I met Mao two years ago online when I was trying to find someone to teach me Chinese. He was really happy to teach his native language to me, someone that was not Asian, and so we exchanged phone numbers and texted each other every day. As we learned more about each other during our online sessions we found out that we belonged to the same school district and so we decided to meet face to face.
“I’m a boring person,” he said to me when we met for the first time. He certainly was. All he liked to do was teach people Chinese and help others.
We became really good friends after that so Mao would call me crazy whenever I would do something silly like dye my hair three different colors at the same time. I would have called him crazy if it hadn’t been for his aunt who almost hurt his fingers.
As Mao sat across from me while waving goodbye to Arthur, I commented on how annoying it was to see Arthur complain about something every time he stopped by.
“You should always respect your elders,” was what he always said.
Sick of feeling the frustration he should have been feeling, I asked him, “Why don’t you just tell them that you don’t want to work here anymore and move to Washington?” I wanted him living with his family in Washington, the ones that wanted him to concentrate on school rather than with his family in San Diego, the ones that overworked him.
Every time we had this conversation, about him moving or standing up for himself, two things would happen. First, I would realize that if he moved to Washington, it would be a long time before we got to see each other again because he would be so far away. Secondly, Mao would give me one of his speeches on how he would never leave his family that was in need of him … even if they didn’t treat him well. Mao believed that going through hardships and learning from our mistakes was how one can grow up mentally. That was his only reason for moving from Taiwan to the U.S. one year prior to when I met him.
“How can I refuse?!” he looked at me and sighed deeply. “If I refuse, my aunt will tell my mom and everyone she knows how lazy and disrespectful I am. Imagine how bad your mom would feel if they told her something like that about her daughter. We Chinese people really care about our dignity, you know.”
Mao’s mom and sister were back in his home country so he stayed with his aunt and uncle. Working at the shop was his way of repaying everything that they were doing for him by letting him stay at their house for free, but they were clearly taking advantage of him.
“If I had dignity, I wouldn’t let someone make me work 12 hour shifts on the weekends, especially for free!” I don’t know if he smiled at me because he was amused at my outburst, but his reply only angered me, “Baobao, maybe we should talk about this later.” I knew that was going to be his next line. It always was. Mao had given me my Chinese nickname when I started learning Chinese because he said that I would eventually need one when we both went to Taiwan in the future. The thing was that I only used it when he was happy or too stressed over something.
At first when we were getting to know each other, it was sad when he would complain about having to clean the house when his cousins were the ones that made it all dirty, but I found it funny because that’s what little kids do. Making our lives miserable is the one thing they are good at. “And they talk back to me! If they were my own kids I would have slapped some sense into them by now.” I actually had to stop him once.
The year before that, during spring break, his little cousins got on his last nerve. He had told the little girl to pick up the broom that had fallen to the floor as she and her brother had been playing hide and seek. Instead of complying with his orders, she mimicked his request in an annoying voice and then ran off. I saw his face make an angry expression, one that I had never seen before. As his hand reached towards the direction she had gone I had to punch him on the side of his arm. “Dude, don’t,” I told him shaking my head.
After that, the only thing I wanted was to get him out of that place, but every time I tried to talk to him he used the same lame excuse. I was tired of him choosing his family or ethics over himself. Since he came to the U.S I was the only friend he had made. I listened to everything he had to say. All his other friends were in a far country and they couldn’t do anything for him. As I heard him use Baobao and saw him trying to avoid me, I was just too tired of going through the same situation countless times.
Not realizing that it was going to be the last time I spoke with him in a while, I waved at him and said, “Fine,” as I walked out of the shop. The next time I walked by the shop, the sign that read “Closed” was up. After that, every weekend I walked by the shop, it still hadn’t reopened. I didn’t know where he lived so I tried calling him, but there was never any answer. The messages I sent to him online were never answered because he stopped longing in. Eventually I stopped showing up at the shop as well.
A month later when graduation day came he didn’t show up. Our schools were in the same school district so we were supposed to graduate together at the same time and place. I wondered where he had been, but knowing him I figured he was babysitting his cousins for one of his relatives … I remember thinking; He wouldn’t have gone back to Taiwan without telling me, right?
As I waited for the metro to come, two months after our high school graduation, I ran into him. “Baobao,” he shouted with enthusiasm and hugged me tightly, his head landing over mine, as he was significantly taller than me. By hugging him back and saying, “Hi Mao, how’ve you been?” I hoped that he could see the happiness I felt from seeing him again.
What I came to find out that day was not pleasant news. “The lady [his aunt- in- law] was in a car accident when she was coming back from Washington. A drunk driver got on the freeway going the wrong way.”
After the accident, with his aunt at home recuperating, his responsibilities at the house had only doubled. His family also had some financial problem so his cell phone had to get disconnected. “I’ve missed you so much. I haven’t had time to talk to anyone,” he said as he messed with my hair. “Why don’t you come by the shop?” he suggested as the metro came to a halt in front of us. “We’re reopening it today.”
As we walked in he followed after me. I grabbed onto one of the poles in the metro and avoided eye contact with him. “I don’t want to go,” I replied looking down at my shoes as tears rolled down the side of my cheeks leaving a warm sensation. I think that at that moment I was afraid of entering the never ending cycle again.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to come,” he said placing his right hand over my back patting me lightly. “Just please don’t cry,” he whispered to me. At that moment I couldn’t look at his face’s expression, but I can now picture it in my mind as he occasionally reminds me that that has been the only moment in his life when he felt fear thinking that he was going to lose his only friend.
He hugged me like he had done earlier and nestled his chin on my neck, “You know, I really do want to see you. I will ask if I can take the day off on the weekend, okay?” It felt selfish wanting to accept the offer knowing that that time he had a real excuse for being at the shop. His family needed him, therefore I had to decline. Although I have to say it finally felt good to know that Mao considered friends as important people in his life. He was even willing to put his needy family on hold so that he wouldn’t lose me.
I would’ve gotten up from the booth where I was sitting to help the man with his order of donuts, but I wasn’t there to work. I was accompanying Mao, who had been attempting to get rid of the summer heat by standing in front of the refrigerator with the open door, “Cindy, I am so hot!” But before I could say anything about the customer his aunt was already dragging him to the front of the shop while scolding him.
I don’t know much Chinese but I understood her pretty clearly when she said to him, “Shen jing bing!” What kind of aunt tells her own nephew, “You have a little mental problem?”
I met Mao two years ago online when I was trying to find someone to teach me Chinese. He was really happy to teach his native language to me, someone that was not Asian, and so we exchanged phone numbers and texted each other every day. As we learned more about each other during our online sessions we found out that we belonged to the same school district and so we decided to meet face to face.
“I’m a boring person,” he said to me when we met for the first time. He certainly was. All he liked to do was teach people Chinese and help others.
We became really good friends after that so Mao would call me crazy whenever I would do something silly like dye my hair three different colors at the same time. I would have called him crazy if it hadn’t been for his aunt who almost hurt his fingers.
As Mao sat across from me while waving goodbye to Arthur, I commented on how annoying it was to see Arthur complain about something every time he stopped by.
“You should always respect your elders,” was what he always said.
Sick of feeling the frustration he should have been feeling, I asked him, “Why don’t you just tell them that you don’t want to work here anymore and move to Washington?” I wanted him living with his family in Washington, the ones that wanted him to concentrate on school rather than with his family in San Diego, the ones that overworked him.
Every time we had this conversation, about him moving or standing up for himself, two things would happen. First, I would realize that if he moved to Washington, it would be a long time before we got to see each other again because he would be so far away. Secondly, Mao would give me one of his speeches on how he would never leave his family that was in need of him … even if they didn’t treat him well. Mao believed that going through hardships and learning from our mistakes was how one can grow up mentally. That was his only reason for moving from Taiwan to the U.S. one year prior to when I met him.
“How can I refuse?!” he looked at me and sighed deeply. “If I refuse, my aunt will tell my mom and everyone she knows how lazy and disrespectful I am. Imagine how bad your mom would feel if they told her something like that about her daughter. We Chinese people really care about our dignity, you know.”
Mao’s mom and sister were back in his home country so he stayed with his aunt and uncle. Working at the shop was his way of repaying everything that they were doing for him by letting him stay at their house for free, but they were clearly taking advantage of him.
“If I had dignity, I wouldn’t let someone make me work 12 hour shifts on the weekends, especially for free!” I don’t know if he smiled at me because he was amused at my outburst, but his reply only angered me, “Baobao, maybe we should talk about this later.” I knew that was going to be his next line. It always was. Mao had given me my Chinese nickname when I started learning Chinese because he said that I would eventually need one when we both went to Taiwan in the future. The thing was that I only used it when he was happy or too stressed over something.
At first when we were getting to know each other, it was sad when he would complain about having to clean the house when his cousins were the ones that made it all dirty, but I found it funny because that’s what little kids do. Making our lives miserable is the one thing they are good at. “And they talk back to me! If they were my own kids I would have slapped some sense into them by now.” I actually had to stop him once.
The year before that, during spring break, his little cousins got on his last nerve. He had told the little girl to pick up the broom that had fallen to the floor as she and her brother had been playing hide and seek. Instead of complying with his orders, she mimicked his request in an annoying voice and then ran off. I saw his face make an angry expression, one that I had never seen before. As his hand reached towards the direction she had gone I had to punch him on the side of his arm. “Dude, don’t,” I told him shaking my head.
After that, the only thing I wanted was to get him out of that place, but every time I tried to talk to him he used the same lame excuse. I was tired of him choosing his family or ethics over himself. Since he came to the U.S I was the only friend he had made. I listened to everything he had to say. All his other friends were in a far country and they couldn’t do anything for him. As I heard him use Baobao and saw him trying to avoid me, I was just too tired of going through the same situation countless times.
Not realizing that it was going to be the last time I spoke with him in a while, I waved at him and said, “Fine,” as I walked out of the shop. The next time I walked by the shop, the sign that read “Closed” was up. After that, every weekend I walked by the shop, it still hadn’t reopened. I didn’t know where he lived so I tried calling him, but there was never any answer. The messages I sent to him online were never answered because he stopped longing in. Eventually I stopped showing up at the shop as well.
A month later when graduation day came he didn’t show up. Our schools were in the same school district so we were supposed to graduate together at the same time and place. I wondered where he had been, but knowing him I figured he was babysitting his cousins for one of his relatives … I remember thinking; He wouldn’t have gone back to Taiwan without telling me, right?
As I waited for the metro to come, two months after our high school graduation, I ran into him. “Baobao,” he shouted with enthusiasm and hugged me tightly, his head landing over mine, as he was significantly taller than me. By hugging him back and saying, “Hi Mao, how’ve you been?” I hoped that he could see the happiness I felt from seeing him again.
What I came to find out that day was not pleasant news. “The lady [his aunt- in- law] was in a car accident when she was coming back from Washington. A drunk driver got on the freeway going the wrong way.”
After the accident, with his aunt at home recuperating, his responsibilities at the house had only doubled. His family also had some financial problem so his cell phone had to get disconnected. “I’ve missed you so much. I haven’t had time to talk to anyone,” he said as he messed with my hair. “Why don’t you come by the shop?” he suggested as the metro came to a halt in front of us. “We’re reopening it today.”
As we walked in he followed after me. I grabbed onto one of the poles in the metro and avoided eye contact with him. “I don’t want to go,” I replied looking down at my shoes as tears rolled down the side of my cheeks leaving a warm sensation. I think that at that moment I was afraid of entering the never ending cycle again.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to come,” he said placing his right hand over my back patting me lightly. “Just please don’t cry,” he whispered to me. At that moment I couldn’t look at his face’s expression, but I can now picture it in my mind as he occasionally reminds me that that has been the only moment in his life when he felt fear thinking that he was going to lose his only friend.
He hugged me like he had done earlier and nestled his chin on my neck, “You know, I really do want to see you. I will ask if I can take the day off on the weekend, okay?” It felt selfish wanting to accept the offer knowing that that time he had a real excuse for being at the shop. His family needed him, therefore I had to decline. Although I have to say it finally felt good to know that Mao considered friends as important people in his life. He was even willing to put his needy family on hold so that he wouldn’t lose me.