The Wangs vs. the World (37 page)

When it felt like he was far away enough, she raised her head again. It was hard to stop looking at the wreck. All her life, that car, her mom’s old car, had been parked in their garage, pretty and powder blue, driven only by Ama. It used to look totally old-fashioned to Grace, but lately it had started to seem cool and vintage. But now here it was, smashed up and done.

Oh my god. Smashed up and done. That could have been them. Death with no choice. Smeared across southern blacktop.
Dead, dead, dead.

How were they not dead?

They weren’t dead.

They weren’t dead and they didn’t want to be!

She felt tired and exhilarated all at once. A bright fizz ran through her, a soda-pop high. She thrust her arms up, dropping the blanket behind her, and then let herself plop down on top of it.
Phew.
The stars weren’t out yet, but the sky glowed a fading rose gold and the ground was dewy and cold. The sorry grass that covered the median pricked her legs, but it was kind of a miracle that it managed to grow at all, surrounded by six speeding lanes of freeway, choked by gas fumes and battered by empty soda cans and Krystal burger bags.

She looked up at her father. No one looked that attractive from below; that’s why short people should never be allowed to be photographers. His head was tilted back so that she could see up his nose and his eyes were closed. He was getting older. His chin wobbled and new patches of gray hair glinted in the moonlight. He was old, but he was alive, and in the unflattering angle there was something unashamed about him. He looked almost beautiful there, standing so straight and still. Beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with being pretty, the way Grace knew she was, thank god. Maybe she should start taking pictures of adults instead of kids. In English class this year they had to memorize a poem, a Tennyson poem about a king. She liked memorizing things. She whispered it to herself now.
Though we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in something . . . um . . . To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Was she going crazy? Did the crash make her crazy?

Everyone got old. It seemed impossible, but she would get old. If she didn’t die first. Her mother would never get old; she would be forever the beautiful thirty-two-year-old with the dimple, about to step into a helicopter. Her father probably never thought that he would get old, but he did.

He’d gotten old, but he wasn’t dead. And neither was she.

I almost died I almost died I almost died we almost died we almost died we almost died we almost died we almost died.

No other life could be as sweet and complete as this one. Not in the whole wide beautiful world.

The whole wide world. She whispered the words, letting them roll slowly through her lips. The world was wholer and more wide than she’d ever understood. Even broken, it was whole. The starry sky above was vast and perfect, each bright pinprick a brave echo of light. If they were on the side of the freeway in L.A., there wouldn’t be any stars like this to look up to.

The whole wide world was so beautiful that she could hardly stand it.

Grace could feel tears pooling in her eyes, rising up even though she was lying down. A liquid puddle of them, balancing on the curve of her eye, blurring her vision so that even the streetlights looked like stars. What if everything was beautiful? It made as much sense that this would be true as it did that it wouldn’t. Really, what if everything
was
beautiful? That could be a whole philosophy. Maybe she could be a guru. She’d wear amazing white silk gowns and complicated braids with gold chains woven in them, and people would feel blessed just being around her. The tears spilled down her cheeks now, drop piling on drop, and she felt like she might never need to blink again, that her eyes would just always be hydrated because she’d never stop crying.

It had happened before, the crying. When Grace was nine, their dog Lady died. Lady was actually a boy, a scrappy thing, gray, with four neat white paws and wiry hair that always looked matted no matter how much she brushed it. He died, and for a whole day afterwards, Grace had been numb. So numb, in fact, that she was almost blind, like the world had stopped existing. The next morning, getting out of bed, she’d stepped on Lady’s favorite fire-hydrant-shaped chew toy, slipped, and banged her knee hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Once they came, they didn’t go away, and she’d sobbed for nearly two weeks, running into the bathroom at school, crawling into Andrew’s bed at night and snuggling against her brother the way Lady had snuggled against her. She’d felt perpetually wrung dry in those weeks, miserable and lonely, unable to believe that Lady had really died and sure that she could have saved him if only she’d known that the problem was real, that not eating was a serious thing for a dog.

She’d looked up once, in the midst of one of those crying jags, to find her father standing over her, looking distraught.

“Please, Gracie, please.
Bao bei.
Bu yao ne me shang xing la.
Ku go le.
”

Barbra had appeared in the doorway, shaking her head. “She love too hard for a girl. Too, too hard.”

Barbra had said that, and she was wrong. So wrong that she couldn’t be any wronger. Loving too hard was the only option. Grace was glad that she’d loved Lady too hard. And Greg Inouye. The boy who got her sent away. They didn’t talk anymore, but she still loved him, and she probably always would. She would never forget the first time they’d spoken. They went to some of the same parties, but he was a grade above her and spent most of those nights in a tight circle with his friends, passing a joint around. Still, they’d smiled at each other once or twice. Then one day she was standing in line at the sandwich station, a tray in her hands, wearing her mother’s cashmere sweater. She’d pushed the sleeves up but they’d drooped down again, the right one about to puddle into her salad. And Greg Inouye had walked up to her and rolled each one up, gently and deliberately. “There,” he’d said, with a smile.

She should call him. If they ever got off this highway, she would call him.

Her father and Barbra were holding hands now, looking at each other over Grace’s head. Did they love each other too hard? Something panged in Grace’s heart and she scrambled up, leaving the blanket on the ground. How long had it been since she and Barbra had really talked to each other? Grace charged at her now, wrapping her stepmother in a hug, holding on until Barbra squeezed back. And then her father gathered them both up.

“Wei she me?”

“I just needed to. Why don’t we hug more often?”

Grace buried her face in Barbra’s neck, feeling the tendons move as she nodded. “We should,” said Barbra. “We should.”

They finally let go and Grace saw that the paramedic was staring at them. Even though it was gross because he was totally unattractive and probably kind of had a fetish and she was only sixteen, despite all those things maybe he just wanted to find a way to talk to a girl and that was the only way he knew how. Of course, it might have been better if he’d asked if she was hurt, or scared, or where they were headed, but in the end, he’d done the only thing he knew how to do; he’d reached his hand out and tried to make a connection, and even though she didn’t want to come anywhere near touching that hand, even that was beautiful.

三十八
US 29 North

BEEP
.

“You have one voicemail, sent at 10:42 a.m.”

Hi, Greg. I know this is, like, really crazy out of nowheresville, but I just think it’s dumb that we don’t talk anymore and so I wanted to call and say hi. I just think . . . I just think that we should still
know
each other, you know? Okay. It’s Grace, by the way. Oh, um, I might not have this number for much longer, so I’ll call you again, or just email me. Okay. Bye.

Beep.

“First voicemail, sent at 10:43 a.m.”

So, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I was so mad, Andrew, and that I didn’t even say goodbye. If you really love her, then that’s really important, even if Daddy hates it. (Pause.) And, Andrew, don’t freak out, but we crashed the car. We’re all okay, me and Dad and Babs, but Mom’s car is kind of totaled. But, well, I guess I’ll talk to you soon. I miss you. I hope you’re having fun in New Orleans.

Beep.

“Voicemail, sent at 10:45 a.m.”

Hi, Saina. I know this is the millionth time I’m calling, but I’m not flipping out anymore. I’m okay now. Sorry about all those other messages. I guess I just really wanted to talk to you. I still do, but maybe you’re never even going to pick up, and that’s okay, too. I guess we’ll see you eventually. So, I’ve been wondering about something. Do you think that Mom knows what’s happening in our lives? Like, do you think she watches us? She might, right? That would be a nice thing. Um, also. Saina. There is something you do need to know. We’re going to be a little slower than we thought because we got into a car accident, but don’t worry, we’re all fine, no one’s hurt, and we’ll be there soon. Or, not that soon, but we’ll be there. I . . . love you.

Facebook message:

To: Kathy Berroa

From: Grace Wang

Hi, Kathy—Thank you very much for being a nice host while we were in Twentynine Palms. I hope that Nico and Naia are doing well. I’ve realized that I do not have a phone number for Ama, and I am hoping that you will let her know that I would like to be in touch with her? I love her. Maybe she can get on Facebook and message me?

Thank you,

Grace

After everything, they’d rented a purple PT Cruiser. It looked like something a hick in a cartoon would drive, with a billiard ball for a gearshift, but it was the only car available at the rental place where the cops took them. When they reached the car, Grace held her hand out for the keys and her father handed them over without even thinking to protest.

The first thing she’d done was roll the windows all the way down. She didn’t want to spend another moment separated from the world around her.

And then she drove—stopping only for gas and bathroom breaks, not even bothering to plug her phone in when it died. Drove through five states: North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York. Her father and stepmother fell asleep around Virginia and passed unseeingly through Maryland, which seemed more like a rumor than a state, oblivious to the butterfly that splattered against their dusty windshield, its gorgeous patterned wings feathering off in opposite directions. They didn’t see the rows of crops that unfolded in different triangulating patterns, creating a moiré effect through the tinted windows; the electrical towers that marched across the plains; the antiabortion billboards; the pro-prayer billboards; the shredded plastic bags caught in cow fences. They didn’t see the chaotic, swirling flight of swallows as they left their nests under the highway overpass en masse, darkening the sky above their car. She drove for so long that eighty miles per hour started to feel like they were barely moving, like they were just floating along, a leaf in a stream. When she ran into traffic and had to slow down to sixty, it was like being mired in asphalt.

She drove and drove and felt like she was shrinking in her seat, shrinking until she was a tiny thing with fur, paws on the steering wheel, heading straight north. She saw herself on a hand-drawn map, one creature in a world of billions, a tiny light heading slowly north as the world spun below her. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, as the sun set and no moon rose to take its place, Grace knew with a calm certainty that her life was going to ripple ever outward until it encompassed the entire world.

三十九
Helios, NY

3,561 Miles

SAINA HAD JUST given up on flaking the filet of smoked whitefish neatly with a fork and had begun to wiggle her finger under its cold flesh, working along the delicate spine, when she heard a car horn blaring in the driveway. She dropped the fish, half torn, into a bowl that already held a pile of capers, chopped egg, and finely diced onion, and ran for the door. Halfway there, briny hands up in the air so that they wouldn’t drip, she stopped and turned back, guilty. Leo was still in the kitchen, searching her cupboards for the rye crackers that he liked. For a minute, she’d forgotten him entirely.

From outside, car doors slammed, and a second later Grace was banging on the front door.

Saina looked at her boyfriend. “Are you ready?”

“You know what? I’m actually a little nervous.”

She felt a flash of love for him—why do people’s vulnerabilities stab at our hearts?—but before she could say anything, Grace was in the front hall, shouting Saina’s name.

“You go have a family hello first,” he said. “I’ll open a bottle of something.” So she turned again and ran, and found that she couldn’t wait to throw her still-damp hands around her little sister.

They hugged, and then they hugged again. And then her father came in and slung an arm across her shoulders and surprised her by resting his cheek against hers, sighing. “It was a long trip. America is very wide.” Barbra, next to him, held his hand. Her left wrist was bandaged and a thin red scar snaked up her arm. She looked sweet and forlorn, and Saina gave in to the urge to embrace her, too.

“Oh, look at you guys! You’re all banged up! Dad, let me see your eye.”

He waved her off. “No problem! I have ice pack. Don’t worry.”

“Are you guys really okay?”

Charles, Barbra, and Grace crowded close to each other in the vestibule. They all nodded. “We are alive, so we are okay,” said her father.