Golden Week
by Rachel McKimmy-Warf NOW The car ride up the winding mountain road was sickening. Mei grimaced out the windshield at the passing pine trees, almost grateful for the car-sickness, as it distracted her at least partially from her memories. A sigh slipped out of her. Her mother glanced over at her, then returned her eyes to the road. “A few summers ago, you couldn’t stop talking about how much you wanted to go back to camp.” “Yeah, well, a lot’s changed since a few summers ago,” Mei muttered, still staring sulkily out the windshield. “Some camping trip won’t fix everything just because you want it to.” Almost instantly, she wished she could take her words back. “Don’t speak to me like that,” her mom said. She drew a deep breath, her dark eyes glossed with a tearful sheen. “I know you’re hurt, Mei. But please, don’t -- don’t take it out on me.” Voice trembling only slightly, Mei’s mom summoned a smile. “All I want is for you to be happy, 梅梅” Mei-mei. Her little plum blossom. “This will be fun.” Mei’s mom sounded as if she were trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince Mei. But neither of them was fooled. *** THEN It was Saturday, the Fourth of July weekend. “So you went to this camp when you were little, Mom?” Leaning forward eagerly from the back seat, a twelve-year-old Mei gawked out at the towering sugar pines of the Sierra Nevadas. “That’s right, after my parents graduated from Berkeley together.” Her mom beamed at her. Mei’s dad, sitting in the driver’s seat, smiled and patted his wife’s knee as they pulled into the long drive, up to the camp check-in.
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