- 7.
Olivia had always hated my mother and me.
When we were in school, my mother worked as
a housekeeper for Ethan’s family. Olivia, visiting
with her parents, met us for the first time.
Ethan’s parents introduced me, praising my
obedience, diligence, and intelligence. Olivia,
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feigning friendliness, suggested we become
friends. Behind our backs, she sneered: “So
what if she’s smart? She’ll slave away at some
fancy college, then end up working for people
like us.” “And her mother? Always smiling.
What’s a housekeeper got to be so happy
about? A poor woman raising a poor kid.
Disgusting.” When my mother picked me up
from school and saw Olivia, Olivia would call
her names in a language my mother didn’t
understand, grinning sweetly. My mother,
oblivious, would praise Olivia’s beauty, offering
her homemade sweet potato snacks. Olivia
would toss them in the trash, mocking, “They
stink. Even a dog wouldn’t eat them.” My
mother, humiliated, would blush crimson, the
object of cruel laughter. I’d drop my bag and fly
at Olivia, pulling her hair. My mother, seeing me
attacked, would shield me, only to be kicked to
the ground by Olivia’s friends. That day, my
mother began bleeding heavily. She was
diagnosed with uterine cancer. The insidious
cells had taken root, silently stealing my mother
く
away. The jade pendant was my mother’s last
gift, a desperate plea to the Buddha at the top
of Spirit Mountain, a place where prayers were said to be answered. She told me it was a
secret, couldn’t tell me why she went. But I knew. Years ago, when I was gravely ill, she’d climbed that mountain, begging for my life. She offered half her lifespan in exchange for my health. I recovered. The benevolent Buddha
took my mother instead. When Olivia found out, she’d scoffed, “Typical poor people, clinging to superstitions. What good is a useless trinket? Should’ve sold a kidney, at least her daughter would have some money.”
