Chapter 7
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Chapter 7
The window was fogged up, but it couldn’t hide the howling snow outside.
Dad spoke with a mix of emotion and pride.
“We’ve raised her, fed her, sheltered her with the house back home. That should be enough.”
Mom leaned on Dad’s shouer, smiling slightly.
“Exactly, that house back home is so much nicer than the one we live in. What other parents do as much as we do? We’ve done our part.”
They didn’t realize that a house is only alive with people. A village home can stand a century with residents but collapses in a year if left
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empty.
In the two years after Grandma passed, the house died too, falling into disrepair–unable to keep out the elements.
Their conversation grew more animated as they criticized me.
It seemed the more they complained, the more
it eased their restless hearts.
They said I was difficult, oversensitive, and had stopped confiding in them after I turned six, asking what good I was.
They claimed I was worth less than a dog, as a dog at least wags its tail after a meal.
Tears of laughter welled in my eyes as I watched
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them.
When I died, I was skin and bones, long forgetting what it felt like to be full.
My brother, roused by their voices, stormed into the living room, furious.
“Enough already! I stayed up late. Can’t you two keep it down?”
Mom and Dad fell silent instantly.
My brother yawned, nonchalant.
“Oh, and give me six thousand. I owe some classmates money.”
They sat there, looking uneasy, the comforting words from moments ago losing their power,
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their eyes drifting to that lone hundred–dollar
bill.
Dad hesitantly asked my brother, “Haven’t I treated you and your sister fairly?”
My brother immediately retorted, “Unfair!”
“Sis gets to roam the countryside every year, no one bothers her. I’m stuck with all these classes
and music lessons. You two are biased! You let her off easy.”
Maybe my brother truly felt shortchanged, but Mom and Dad’s faces really flushed with
embarrassment.
Are Mom and Dad fair?
That day, when Mom and Dad walked out of the
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courtroom, they didn’t actually get divorced.
Dad hesitated before pulling a bill from his wallet, speaking to me earnestly.
“It’s not like we don’t want you. After all, you’re our child. If you ever run into trouble…”
Mom elbowed Dad, cutting him off.
Dad coughed. “We’ll see.”
Then all three of them left without looking back.
I wandered through countless hotels, asking about rooms. The cheapest was at least sixty a
night.
My best option was to find a job.
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But after days of roaming the streets, I couldn’t find anything suitable.
Smart as I was, I slipped into an internet café at night. It was warm there, and if I were shameless enough, I could sleep in a chair.
When I got hungry, I’d buy a pack of instant noodles for a dollar fifty and borrow some hot water from the manager. I’d seal the package and wait for the aroma to waft out.
Just as I was about to eat, I realized a problem.
No fork. Was I supposed to use my hands?
As I stood there hesitating, the manager, without even looking up from his keyboard, magically fished out a disposable fork from his drawer, leftovers from his takeout meals.
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I nodded and thanked him profusely.
Only then did he glance at me, look at the security camera above, and sneakily hand me a
sausage.
“On the house.”
It was a corn sausage, and it smelled delicious.
I didn’t waste a crumb around the edges, licking
it clean.
Back then, I thought instant noodles with sausage were beyond delicious. If only I could have it every day.
But I felt embarrassed about my situation and vowed not to spend my life in an internet café.
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Things got better after that. I started picking up
cardboard and bottles on the streets.
I looked for jobs during the day while collecting
trash on the side.
I crushed cans with style, and carrying a sack felt like I was a wandering hero.
Free and unrestrained, drifting along the way.
One day, a woman in her ties or fifties called
out to me.
“Hey girl, interested in a high–paying job?”
She said just making calls in an office could earn eight thousand a month, with free room and
board.
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My eyes lit up, and the thought of bottles didn’t seem as appealing.
Just as I was about to go with her, the convenience store owner next door stormed
out, shouting angrily at us.
“You scammer! Try doing that in front of my store again, and I’ll call the police right now!”
The woman bolted, faster than an Olympic sprinter.
The store owner, undeterred, turned to me and started scolding.
“Are you stupid? Believing someone like that, they’ll kidnap you to some remote village and marry you off to an old bachelor! Idiot.”
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Looking up at the big, bright convenience store sign, I clung to the owner’s leg and asked if he’d hire me to work in the store.
