8
I don’t remember if I died from the pain or
from blood loss. I only remember the wind
that night, howling across my raw, exposed
<
face. They say you remember good things
before you die. My mind drifted back to
before I turned five.
Mom had sent me to live with Grandma in the
countryside while she was pregnant with
Zach. Grandma was the only person in the
world who was truly kind to me, the only
source of warmth in my life. She’d pick the
tenderest spring shoots from the trees,
blanch them, and scramble them with eggs
just for me. Mom called once, saying Chloe
wanted spring shoots, but couldn’t find any at
the market. Grandma said, “Oh dear, not
enough rain this year, the shoots haven’t
come out yet.” After hanging up, the
mischievous old woman winked at me and
L
smiled. I still remember the taste of those
spring shoots.
But when I was five, Grandma died. Zach was
only eighteen months old, and Mom had to
bring me home. She resented me for it. She
whispered to Dad, “Is there something wrong
with this child? Even her own grandmother
died.”
I stared at her blankly. A five–year–old
doesn’t really understand death. I only knew
that no one in the world would ever choose
me again. I was the unloved child, forever.
The second after my breathing stopped, my
spirit was pulled from my body by the wind. I
saw the man take an axe from his trunk and
hack at my limbs. I saw a train speeding
through silent fields under the starry sky. I
saw a little girl bolt awake from a nightmare
in a high–rise apartment, her cries
immediately met by her parents rushing in to
comfort her.
And finally, I saw Chloe yawning awake,
getting ready in her wedding dress under
Mom’s watchful eye.
I was back. Even in death, I returned to this
family. I attended Chloe’s wedding.
