Chimera

The third graders started learning Chinese because one of the mothers in the PTA read in a well-reputed publication that it would be a good educational investment. They asked the only Chinese woman they knew in town, a mother who had no teaching experience but was happy to volunteer her time and native language. Every Tuesday afternoon, she came into class with a sheet of new vocabulary and a plate of homemade snacks. For thirty minutes a week, the third graders imitated the foreign sounds and script on the chalkboard in earnest, their mistakes seldom corrected as they enjoyed the Chinese teacher's egg tarts and fried spring rolls. Both the Chinese teacher and the students were content with this spirit of cultural exposure, with the exception of Tiantian, who had just moved from China at the beginning of that school year.

Tiantian took a decided disliking to the Chinese teacher. She already knew the language and could write the words for toilet and butt in her own notebook, which she did, and showed her neighbors during class.

"I can teach you," she whispered illicitly into the others' ears. Not wanting any trouble, the other students avoided her. They came to associate her misbehavior with her accent. Her emphasis on certain words over others felt haughty, her punctuation jabbed them like a finger. Regardless of whether her acting out was a symptom of her foreignness or vice versa, they didn't want to get caught up in it.

When the class celebrated Chinese New Year with dumplings and paper crafts, Tiantian announced that she was celebrating her Chinese New Year at home, "tiger with my mom," she said.

"Tiger?" one student giggled incredulously.

"You mean 'together,'" another corrected.

Tiantian reddened "No. I have tiger," she stated, her chin jutted out, mouth as small and firm as a rock. "I can prove it, if you come."

None of the students would take Tiantian up on this invitation, except the Chinese teacher's daughter whose name was Grace. Not only were tigers Grace's favorite animal, but Grace herself had an interest in Tiantian. Everyone else in class seemed to think it was natural the two would be friends.

________

Tiantian lived in a condominium occupied mostly by empty-nesters seeking to downsize. Fifteen minutes before Grace was due to arrive, Tiantian put on her coat and waited outside. Grace's mother pulled up to the curb in a minivan, and both she and Grace climbed out.

"Where's your mom?" Grace's mother asked. "Can I meet her?"

"No. She's in bathroom," Tiantian said.

"That is okay. I can wait."

"She has bad stomachache."

"Okay," Grace's mother said, maintaining her wide smile. Tiantian held her stare and felt a rush of satisfaction when, after minutes of silence with no promise of movement from the building, she handed Tiantian the plate of sticky rice cake she'd been holding.

"Maybe next time I can meet her," she said. "Here, I make it this morning. Tell your mom to put in fridge, okay?"

Once the minivan turned out of the street, Tiantian led Grace through the front door.

In their previous life, Tiantian's mother was a doctor who worked regular hours at her own clinic. Here, however, she was the oldest student at her residency program, and their home was in a constant state of disarray. Grace arrived to a living room crowded with laundry. A black ant scuttled by their toes straight into a tiny, hut-shaped trap. Tiantian's mother, recovering from a night shift, slept on the couch. Her blanketed mass groaned from a deep and far place of exhaustion. She was impossible to wake during these naps. It was as though the invisible and essential part of her went somewhere else and left behind her groaning bones. This no longer scared Tiantian as it used to; she knew that this exhaustion was her mother, too. Her blanketed mass fused with the furniture, rising and falling like a large, pulsing heart at the center of their home.

"Wan lunch?" Tiantian asked the girl.

Grace nodded politely. Her...