Memoirs of Visiting Grandparents

By Stefanie Huang, 26'

Photo by Man Lai Esther Yu

The air was hot. Sweltering and stagnant and Chloe couldn’t stand it. This air, that even when wind blew would be excruciating. This air, coated thick with humidity, had pooled beads of sweat above her brow.

This air, foreign compared to the cool beach breezes she had grown accustomed to in the almost decade that had lasted between her last trip to Shenzhen and now. She did not strive well in hot weather, and a pang of regret struck and churned in her stomach as she thought of the lack of someone to bear this heat with her.

Strolling across her second crosswalk since getting off the subway, Chloe quickly grew irritated at the nonstop honking from the cars.

“A little patience would do some people a lot of good,” she muttered under her breath. She walked, careful to swing the peacemaking contents inside her grocery bag, passing a street vendor’s booth selling a variety of seafood delicacies. For all the hatred Chloe felt for the heat, the steaming food lured her, eventually coming to the conclusion that she would have to return the next day. Finally reaching her grandparents’ apartment building, she welcomed the thought of escaping the heat, if not for the five flights of stairs she had to climb.

“This day just keeps getting better,” Chloe said, dreading her ascent.

She dredged her sweat-misted body up the steps; one foot in front of the other, up the steps, turn at each floor for the next flight. Letting out a sigh of relief at reaching apartment 602, Chloe wiped the sweat on her face with the back of her hand. Her fist pounded on the grayish brown door with a notable amount of force.

Opening the door stood her 奶奶, thrilled to welcome Chloe in and grabbing the bag with a single, ripe cantaloupe.

“梅梅，快点儿进来，外面热死了 (Meimei, come in quickly, it’s terribly hot out),” her grandmother said. Chloe tried to utter a friendly greeting to her grandparents she had seen only briefly in Saturday evening video calls when her mind suddenly short circuited.

Chloe’s mouth let out a small sound, hit with a sudden wave of panic. As the realization settled in, she became stuck in a state of red-faced embarrassment. Time seemed to stand still.

Scouring her brain for memories as a toddler, one that would currently put her language skills to shame with how fluently she used to be able to speak Mandarin. The thought of years and years of three hours of Chinese school every weekend, of vocabulary quizzes and cultural presentations, of infinite struggles and diligence, all washed out into the ocean, consumed by the waves in this moment.

She thought of her last visit in this very building, accompanied by her mother and brother. It had all seemed so spontaneous: impromptu conversation and mother as her safety net. Still, it seemed a bit ridiculous that Chloe could not remember a simple greeting or “I missed you” or “I brought you some cantaloupe, do you still love me?” or “Please love me.” Anything would suffice.

Peeping into the apartment, Chloe saw her 爷爷, her grandfather, cooking over the stove. An aroma of familiar garlic diffused in the air, nostalgic of long summer visits and home. Oh, that’s right.

“爷爷，我好久没吃你做的饭了 (Grandpa, it’s been so long since I’ve had your cooking).” Steam rose into his face as he let out a hearty laugh, which Chloe just realized she missed.

“你先坐吧，马上给你尝尝 (Why don’t you sit first, I’ll give you a taste soon),” he said. Chloe settled into one of the cushioned chairs at the table, her mind no longer on the intolerable heat waiting for her outside, but on the warmth that embraced her. Here was where she wished to stay.