A Bunch of Carnations    方寧葳  Ning Wei Fong

(Ⅰ)

It was another melancholy rainy day. 5:30 in the evening. In my family, it was dinnertime which was a little bit earlier than other families. In my imagination, dinnertime was the time that family members shared interesting things that happened to us during the day, such as somebody’s falling down and somebody’s stupid mistakes. And the family also talked about the news. It should be full of hubble-bubbles and chuckles. But just now in my family, I could clearly hear the sounds of the rain hitting on the roof, of the TV program, of the bowls hitting with each other, even of my chewing!

We didn’t talk very much. I meant my mother, my brother, and me. My father, who worked in China, came back every three or four months. By the time we had dinner, I just focused on the dishes. Generally speaking, I was not a picky person, i.e. I ate almost everything except something I thought it was harmful to me such as carrot because I heard that it would darken skin. I would pick out all the carrot in the dishes before eating them or I wouldn’t eat that dish.

Tonight we had stir-fried rice noodles with thousands of carrot. I patiently picked out all the carrot. My mom kept staring at my strange behavior. Suddenly, she burst out a question. “Why do you pick out all the carrot?” I just told her that I don’t want my skin darken. Then it was a while of silence. I could still hear all the sounds clearly except the sound of talking. She tried to persuade me into eating the carrot but in vain. Maybe she was too angry to say anything else. She just told me that if I still wasted food in that way, my future mother-in-law would scold me down and keep nagging at me. “Then you must be that kind of mother-in-law,” I said. Then we stopped talking, and the rain stopped, too. It was horribly quiet.

I didn’t say that on purpose.

We still kept in silence. All of a sudden, the telephone rang. It was my friend. We talked about the plan for the trip on the weekend. “Hello? What are you doing?” “Supper. What’s up?” “Nothing. I’m just asking if you have any idea about the plan for the weekend. Since you’re occupied, I’ll call you later.” “Wait! Wait! I’m fine. You are not interrupting. Keep going.” “But how about your family?” “Oh~ It’s OK. They won’t mind.” “I’d better call you later.” “All right then. Do you want to join us? We’re having a feast now.” “Nope~ I’m fine. Okay~bye~”

After dinner, I was thinking about the surprise I wanted to give one of my friends whose twentieth was coming next Thursday. When I was thinking intently, my brother rushed into my room, holding a cake. I was just about to ask why he had a cake. “Today’s Mom’s birthday.” “Oh~ I totally forgot.” We celebrated my mom’s birthday with our neighbor’s. “Happy birthday, Mom,” said my younger brother, giving another red envelope with three thousand dollars at the same time. I was the photographer, saying nothing, pretending to be a cool girl. “It’s not cool at all,” I wondered myself.

Actually, I did not forget all the things. Just about a week ago, I had planned on celebrating my mother’s birthday. However, as things came up one by one, I forgot it.

I admit that I’m not a considerate daughter but I still have to say that I love my mother. I’ve thought about this question for a long time. Sometimes I talked back unwittingly. I didn’t do it purposely. I always feel regret for my back talk. I always planed to express my appreciation appropriately but not kind of flatteringly. But these were all empty talk. None of them were taken into reality. They were just like a daydream of a little girl. It’s my brother who plays the role of a daughter, chatting with my mom, sharing things with her, buying her presents. On the contrary, I acted more like a boy who’s inconsiderate and always silent at home. No! It shouldn’t be like that.

From now on I want to make a breakthrough.

(Ⅱ)

It was still the melancholy rainy season. But rain or shine my mom would pick me up after school. Mother’s Day was just in five days. On the street were carnations everywhere. On TV was the news about how the price of carnations soared. On the Internet were tips to VIP mothers. In my family, I could not smell any atmosphere of Mother’s Day. I still silently passed through my mother like a spirit. Conversations between us within a week were far more less than I talked to my friend within a day. But I was trying, trying to improve this situation.

The day was just Mother’s Day. I as usual went to school for cramming. My mother would still pick me up after school. It still drizzled melancholy. The class dismissed earlier without notion. Before my mom’s coming, I could just fool around the street to kill the time. Then I walked into a flower shop unconsciously, buying a bunch of carnation with my scarcely fifty dollars.

No sooner had I walked out of the shop, in the mist, I saw a red March coming along lingering. No car would be slower than that. That’s my mom. I didn’t hide my flower intentionally. I just gave my mom the flowers saying nothing, as if I was giving her vegetable that we would cook tonight. And she received it with a calmly smile, not staring at it for a second, placing them in the trunk. It was just like nothing special happened.

On the way home, I did not look at my mom’s face once, staring out of the window. In fact, I dared not to look at her. I was afraid that once we looked at each other, she would burst into tears and so would I or that once I saw her indifferent appearance, I would suspect that if she appreciated it or not. Or maybe I chose a wrong one? I meant, for a housekeeper, flowers were not edible, couldn’t make money or other practical uses. I was a little selfish, actually very selfish. I just bought her a bunch of carnations yet yearned for her great appreciation.

It was still raining. I could clearly hear the raindrops falling on the top of the car and the rumble of the engine. Suddenly, I heard teardrops falling and someone’s sniveling. I knew my mother was crying. But I did not turn my face to look at her. I did not know what to do. I just kept silent.

It was time for supper and it was still raining. I could hear not only the sound of the rain dropping on the roof but also my mom’s mind.