Gong GongBy Kathy Mak
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the cigarette stench waffles through the tiny room
he sits on a rusted two legged stool resting one arm on the counter by the water kettle and homely pottery cups a soft stream of light sifts through the hoard of piled goods on the top bunk he fishes out a puffy brown leather wallet worn in the middle edges cracked packed with hundred dollar bills hardship sweat melancholy he holds out three bills for me to take “Gong Gong …” my fingers close around the hidden values a small bowl of rice a small round tin plate of dried salt fish worth more than the triple digit denominations the computer hums a low steady tune meticulous taps fire against the keyboard my breath holds short in certain instances until the lump in my throat fades before I breathe in schoolwork has always been a priority must get it done must get it done my pinkie slams onto the backspace the ruby red lines disappear the kitchen phone rings off from faraway my eyes fixate on the tumbling script a muddled current of voices break through I don’t care I don’t care bile rises the silvery foam of saliva thickens the plain taste of chapped water footsteps plunge down the corridor “it’s worse than I thought mom doesn’t believe it they found him in his apartment –” clicks stop eyes on my sister the words cave in his plaque sits by the far left next to an empty slotted box against the petite vase decorated with simple plastic flowers forever resilient a pottery bird peeks from among “Chui Wa don’t worry about me look I can take care of myself a lui’s grown up all is well” he was my grandpa I love him Kathy Mak is an emerging writer who aspires to publish a novel one day. She has completed an online creative writing course called Lit Mag Love with Rachel Thompson, and an online fiction course with the University of Iowa. She lives in Vancouver, British Colombia.
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