I return to an empty home. I take out the trash. I wash the dishes and dry them. I put the dried clothes into the hamper so I can deal with it another time.
After showering and changing into an oversized shirt, I nestle into my pillow, wondering how things used to be so bright and happy in these same, peeling wallpapers.
I see my mom, lying on the hospital bed, her hand clutching mine.
"Your name is Sun Wei, after your grandparents. Your granny was called Sun Ying, and your grandpa was called Wei Sheng. Your English name is Sunny because you are our sunshine. You are my sunshine. Keep shining. Never let that light go out."
"A sun burns for millions of years, mom," I say with tears streaming down my eyes. I'm trying so hard to stay strong but I can feel myself breaking at the sight of my mother on her death bed. "Couldn't if I tried."
"Smarty pants," She laughs as her eyes close. "You take that after your dad..."
She falls asleep, and I realize it's the last lie I'll ever tell her, because I feel all burned out. My mother might think that I'm her sunlight, but she was mine. She was starlight in my eyes.
And so, when she died, I stopped shining.
I shake my head at the vivid memory. I try to focus on happy memories, but sometimes, on some days like these, the bad stuff catches up, and they just play repeatedly, on a loop, in my head.
I think that's why I have depression. But, I don't really like thinking or talking about my depression.
I'm not an invalid. I'm not really depressed. I'm fine on most days. I can get up and do everything like a normal person. I'm just diagnosed with sadness sometimes. Everyone does.
I close my eyes wanting to go to sleep. Sometimes I want to sleep like my mom did and never wake up again.
I think that's why I have depression.
I don't like thinking about it.
But maybe that's why I have depression.
Don't. Think. About it.
Sleep... sleep...
I don't sleep a wink for the whole night.
I wake up groggily and stumble to the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth and reach into the medicine cabinet for my pills only to realize—
The bottle's empty.
I shake it for good measure, and then close and reopen the cabinet for a few more times just to make sure.
It's still empty.
I groan loudly, banging my head against the cabinet, which makes me groan again. I sigh. Dang it.
It's Sunday, which means it's dad's off day, which really just means I don't see him for yet another day. But I put on the coffee for him, and set the newspaper on the kitchen table. I open the fridge, looking for something to eat, but realize that we're running out of grocery. Well.
I reach for my wallet. I've gone over my credit card limit, and I'm running low on cash. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I hesitate. I'll have to ask dad for money. I don't really want to do that, so instead, I go back upstairs and take out some of my college fund money I've been saving up.
I'll ask him for it another day.
That's what I said last month....
I get the bus to the pharmacy. The bus ride takes about an hour, since I live far from the city area. It gets inconvenient sometimes, but I love living in the reclusive area.
And mom did too. She loved it a lot.
There's a line of people queuing up for the prescribed meds, so I sigh under my breath and get in line.
I'm waiting impatiently when someone taps me on my shoulder. I turn around and gasp in surprise.
It's Not-James.
"Hi. Um... Sun, right?" He recalls with a uncomfortable smile. I return one right back. "I want to say sorry for yesterday."
"Oh, don't be," I just say tersely. "I was being... unnecessarily rude. I shouldn't have interrupted your evening."
"Still," Not-James says. "I want to thank you for paying for us. You didn't have to." He reaches for the wallet in his pocket.
"No, please, don't," I insist. Before he can offer the money to me, there's a holler from the other side of the pharmacy and I look up at the terribly familiar voice.
Someone crows. "Aw man, look, it's the prude!"
Shit.
A group of students from school are pointing and snickering. My shoulders slump, knowing what's going to come. I see Not-James looking confused and I wince. Crap. He'll have to see this.
"What are you getting? Some antipsychotics like your momma? Cos, you know, you're both psychos!"
A roar of laughter. What? That's not even funny.
"Hey, you should be getting this," A bottle of lube comes rolling over. I cringe. "Cos you obviously can't get wet anyway."
"Hey," A muscular voice says beside me that quiets down the laughter into curious mumbles. I look up at Not-James. "Watch what you say." He kicks the bottle back to them and my eyes widen. He's... standing up for me? "I think the issue is that you can't get anyone wet."
Silence. Sputtering.
"What's going on?" A feminine voice sounds and Kate appears with John in tow. "Are you guys making fun of Sun again?" She says disapprovingly. "I'm sorry, Sun. These boys are immature and a bunch of douches. Don't care about them."
I give her an awkward set of thumb-ups and look over to John, who seems coolly disinterested, holding a box of condoms.
A box of condoms.
I look away immediately, breath caught in my throat. I'm overthinking so much that I don't realize it's my turn. "Hi there, Sunny," Mary-Jane smiles at me from behind the counter. "Your usual?"
"Yes," I tug out my prescription even though I don't need to anyway. Mary-Jane has been working here for years, and I've been taking these pills for years too. She gives me the bottle and I breathe slightly better.
"Hey, Sunny." She stops me when I'm about to turn and leave. "The pretty blonde is right. Don't care about 'em dicks."
I chuckle. "Thanks, Mary-Jane. I'll keep that in mind," I say, sighing. I'm too embarrassed to spare a glance at Not-James when I dash out, head down.
As I sit and wait for a bus, I take out a book from my bag and read, hoping the kids from before won't find me here. I don't notice the figure that's rounding the bus stop until he sits beside me and I jolt.
"Sun," He says, uncharacteristically quiet and gentle.
"Hmm?"
"Are you," He starts, "Are you being bullied at school?"
I blink in surprise before I digest his words and look away, grumbling. "'M not bullied. They just make fun of me. They don't hit me or anything."
Not-James says nothing for a moment. "That's still verbal abuse, Sun."
I grit my teeth. "No, it's not. It's just witty things they say that they think it's funny."
"They're bullies." He says firmly. "You need to tell someone."
"No," I exclaim. I purse my lips. "I'm not going to do that. They're... I don't mind it."
"Sun, it's wrong."
"Doesn't matter."
He must have realized that nothing he says was going to change me and so sighs before reaching out a hand. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Dylan Harrison."
I shake it. Dylan. That's a better name than Not-James, although that has sort of grew on me. "I'm Lee Sun Wei. Well, American culture would make it Sun Wei Lee.. but.. um. You can just call me Sun."
"Soon Wei, huh? Why do people call you Sun, if it's not how it's pronounced?"
"Mom gave me the nickname. And people reading my name just typically pronounce it as 'Sun' instead of 'Soon'. So, there's that." I shrug and wanting to divert the topic away from bullying, I comment, "You know, when I first pronounced the name, I read it as Die-lan. Like, dynamite."
Dylan laughs. "Dynamite." He repeats, grinning. "Pretty awesome superhero name, don't you think?"
"And I'll be what, Soonshine?" I laugh gingerly.
"Sounds like a shoe polish brand." Dylan contemplates, smiling. "Hey, where are you headed?"
"Oh, um, the outskirts of the city. It's like, an hour's bus ride," I realize I sound like I'm complaining. I correct myself, "Not that I'm complaining. View's great, and the bus is usually empty, so, I just get some alone time."
"An hour's ride?" He sounds incredulous. "Let me drive you!"
I hesitate. He picks up on it. "It's that or let me pay you back, so..."
"Okay," I decide. "Okay, I'll go with you."
"Great." He beams.
"Great." I chorus.
Oh, God. What am I doing?
"I'm sorry about last night," I say as we drive down the road. The cars are lessening and the roads are getting rockier. "I hope your girlfriend doesn't mind."
"Uh," Dylan starts. "Well, actually, we kind of broke up."
My mind spins and dread fills me. "Why? It' s me, isn't it? Jesus, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean for it. You must hate me!" I feel sick to my stomach. I just ruined a relationship!
"No, no, please." Dylan shakes his head vehemently, hands tightening around the steering wheel. "Our relationship has been shaky for a while. She's... Things are rough. Were rough. We're on a break away from each other.
"Oh," The guilt doesn't dissipate. It can't possibly just be coincidence that they break up after what I've done. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He says. "I really needed to be alone, anyway. Just clear my head and spend some time just by myself."
I pause and sort of awkwardly try to meld with my seat. "Oh."
He realizes his mistake. "Not that I mind driving you. Christ, no. Not like that. I just mean being single. Not dating anyone. Emotionally alone. Unattached."
"Okay." I nod my head. I can understand that.
"Have you come to accept that those people are bullies?" He changes the subject suddenly.
I scowl. "They're not," I insist. I finally admit, "There are people out there who get beat up in school by bullies. I'm not. I'm lucky. I have to be grateful that I have it better. It would be wrong if I said they were bullies, when there are so many worse cases out there."
"Sun," Dylan begins. "You shouldn't think like that. Just because there is worse doesn't mean this isn't bad. It isn't right at all, what they're doing."
"I know," I mumble. "But if it's not me, it's someone else."
"It shouldn't have to be." He argues.
"Many things shouldn't."
We relapse into an uncomfortable silence.
"Oh, wait," I say I notice the sign that says 24-Hour Mart. "I need to get some groceries."
Dylan turns into it and parks his car. "Can I come with you?"
I shrug. "If you want."
He apparently does. He locks his car and follows me into the mart.
I grab a basket and grab some essentials. Eggs. Bacon. Pop-tarts. Dad doesn't eat at home much, so I generally eat cheap, unhealthy things. When I start showing signs of a struggle with the basket, a hand brushes over my hand and I shake in surprise. I forgot Dylan was tailing me. He was keeping like 8 feet away from me.
"You're so fidgety." He comments, but not rudely.
I swallow. It's because I haven't taken my pills, but I don't mention that and allow him to help me take the basket. "Thank you," I say in a low murmur.
"You usually do the shopping for your family?" Dylan asks casually as I scan the cans.
"Uh, yeah." I reply vaguely.
"You're in high school?" He asks again.
"Yes. Senior year." I say. "Can't wait to graduate."
"With what you're going through, I can get that." Dylan mutters.
"Can we... not talk about that?" I request in a small voice. He looks up at me and I'm sure he can see the exhaustion worn on my face. "I would prefer not to be reminded about it over the weekend."
Dylan nods, looking a little apologetic and uncomfortable.
"You know, bitter gourd is really good for your body," Dylan says as we walk down the vegetable isle as he lifts up a wrinkly vegetable. "You should try it."
"No." I say. "I don't eat things I don't know. Or has bitter in the name. I grew up on Chinese medicine."
"Why not?" He whines. "Doesn't it just look absolutely delicious?" He blinks down at it. I stare at it.
"Yeah, no, I don't think so," I give an apprehensive look and he laughs.
"You're funnier than I pegged you to be, you know." Dylan hums.
I can't help blushing at the statement. Funny. That's something I haven't heard in a while. "That wasn't even funny." I mumble.
"It's all about the intonation, the expression," Dylan says. "Oh, look. An okra!"
I look at the abnormal vegetable he holds up. "What?" I trail off, eyebrows furrowed. "How... how do you even know about all these vegetables?"
This time, he is the one who blushes. He says something too quickly for me to catch and I tilt my head.
"What?" I ask.
"Horticulture club," He says louder. He looks embarrassed. "I was the president of the horticulture club in high school. I... was into it."
I laugh aloud. "That's... that's really cool." My eyes crinkle with mirth. He was just so... non-horticulture looking. "I didn't peg you to be into agriculture."
He rolls his eyes and feign annoyance. "Yeah, yeah..."
"And... what are these?" I pull out some weird onion looking thing from the next basket.
"Jicama. Mexican turnips." He says immediately and I let out a full laugh. "I fell into that one, didn't I?" He mumbles.
I just shake my head and laugh softly and after a moment he grins back. And during that moment as we both mirror each other's joy, eyes peering shyly at each other, I forget that we are strangers, that we aren't friends.
The reminder hurt a little more than it should.
A/N: This is sort of funny because here, where I live, bitter gourd and okra (we call it lady's fingers, as some of you may know) is common, but apparently, in America, it is not?
I hope you guys enjoy this story. It's a short story, probably only going to span over 6 chapters. I have 5 chapters done and the 6th and final will be an epilogue of sorts. I hope you guys like it so far. I like chapters 3, 4 and 5 more, to be honest, because everything is more set? Yeah. Okay. Leave a vote and a comment! Thanks!
love,
kky_claud