Umbrella Walk.................................Lucas Dinh

May and the Big

Brown Box

nonfction by Ben Zhou

“She must’ve missed me,” I thought as she lay in the big brown box.

Before we moved from Beijing to Canada, my parents and I visited May almost every holiday. She greeted us in front of her house with her brightest smile––the kind that made me feel safe and loved. We hugged before she rushed us to the table, and then May brought out the best homemade dumplings in all of Beijing. Tere was always laughter at May’s place. Everyone loved her, even my sister, who didn’t understand a single word of her accent.

In the summer of 2010, May was not there to greet us. She was not there to invite us in and give us hugs. Mom clung to Dad’s arm. Something felt of, but as a simple-minded kid, shooting elastic bands seemed more worthwhile than fguring out the complications of adulthood. Ten we were in the car, and I fell asleep to the rhythmic sound of our wheels bumping against the road.

I am not sure how long I slept, but when I woke up, we were no longer in the city. Dad hurried me out of the car. A large group of people quietly entered a dimly lit tunnel. We followed the crowd closely behind. It was beautiful. Small, white candles stood uniformly along the walls, and between them were paintings of May in black and white.

“Tere!” I shouted, pointing at a picture of us with her.

Mom shushed me. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

We entered a spacious, round room with a glass roof. In the center lay a big brown box. Flowers were neatly placed around it one by one. I jumped up to see inside; it was May. Her eyes were shut. She looked peaceful with a soft smile. I wanted to get a better look, but the adults were bigger, and they pushed me aside.

Two big men placed their hands on my shoulders as the funeral procession began. A man be-

34 Te Talon 2022

Deceptive Fog | Avery Shuford | Galapagos Islands, Ecuador | digital photography

gan playing the erhu, a spike fddle. His arm moved slowly, bringing the bow down with each stroke. Cold, stretched notes flled the room. My family started singing as tears rolled down their cheeks. Mom was crying, too, which only made me feel embarrassed. I moved closer to May right there in the middle. I wanted to talk with her. I wanted to have her dumplings again.

When the music fnally stopped, I waited for the adults to pass by so I could go up and hug her. “She must’ve missed me,” I thought, “because I have missed her.” Mom quietly called me from the other side of the room, but I pretended not to hear her. My eyes were fxed on May. Her hair looked a shade whiter than before.

Te last person walked by. Just as I was about to touch May, a strong pull lifted me of the ground and into Dad’s arms. It was futile to try and get out of his frm hold. I watched as May grew smaller and smaller until we turned a corner, and she was gone.

I always assumed Aunt May would last forever, but it wasn’t long before I discovered the truth. May still occasionally visits my dreams. Sometimes she’s in that big brown box, and at other times she’s telling me how big I have grown. v

Woodberry Forest School 35