Wai Gong’s Funeral

Wai Gong was always dead.

He was no different

In the coffin

Than in the hospital bed

“He brought you to the beach,” Mommy said

But I didn’t remember

 

I knew him for sickness

For white sheets, for the sterile room

Where he used to lie

And I at the foot of his bed

Averting my gaze

Watching cartoons on the TV on the wall

(That merciful TV)

Before going back to the states

 

I knew him for money

For the stories, the legends

Of cats’ eyes, of towering ships, of vaults of gold

Money summoned from the world itself

Like a magic trick

“For your college,” Mommy said

 

I should have felt more

But the church was gloomy

And my throat was dry and I needed to pee

And I was in a strange land of strange people

Who looked like me

But weren’t like me at all

 

I stood on the stage

And felt fear, such fear

My heart kicking like a rabbit

I was the victim.

 

Pitilessly, the piano began

And stiffly, I sang

“I will always be there … you’ll have me there”

 

Panic!

 

I forgot to drop an octave

We had practiced, practiced so many times

But I forgot, I forgot

My hands were shaking

My voice wasn’t mine

 

“Other memories may fade,

But the ones that we made

Are eternal as a star …”

My thin voice lifted higher, higher

Strained like cracking glass

And finally shattered.

The song ended.

 

The crowd was impassive

Why didn’t they clap?

I lurched offstage

Past the gleaming sarcophagus

And melted into the mass

Humiliated, resentful, worn

 

But Mommy cried, and smiled

Smiled for the first time that day

Lillian Tsao is a junior studying Creative Writing with a minor in Computer Science. She is an aspiring journalist interested in music and film. To see more of her work, please visit thetsaoreport.wordpress.com.