A young woman sits on a couch reading the book Woman Warrior in a quiet cove on her college campus. Distracting her from reading is an Asian girl crying softly. Looking sternly around for the teary-eyed girl, intending to express a bit of confusion and annoyance, she meets the eyes of a young boy who was sitting next to her. He looks at her briefly and then drops his head; planting his forehead in his palm. Sitting next to him is the crying girl hiding her face under a broad baseball cap.
Disregarding the situation as none of her business, the young woman returns to reading about the Chinese warrior known as Maxine Kingston, who wrote a story about an aunt committing suicide, due to the cultural pressure at the time to conform to the idea of being a loyal wife, even if one’s husband has left for another country. The aunt became pregnant by a man other than her husband and on the day of her baby’s birth drowned herself and the baby in a well.
As time passed, the boy became increasingly uncomfortable. Laying his hand on her leg, he whispered “I am sorry.” The girl nodded her head but continued weeping, beginning to lose control as he tried to get close to her. When he stopped and turned around perplexed, it was easy to read his mind. The ultimate question every man asks himself after an argument is “What did I do wrong and how can I fix this?” and that question must have swirled within his brain at that moment.
In between changing songs on her ipod, her only current solace, she pulled the large baseball cap down further. The boy who was obviously confused and embarrassed, left and walked out. As the Asian girl continued to weep painfully to herself, the young woman finally put down her book, turned to her and asked,
“Are you okay?”
It was as if a large boulder was lifted off her shoulder. She began to breathe deeply in and out, then a new waterfall of tears gushed from her eyes. This was a freeing mourning, though, where she accepted the pain she was trying to bury.
Unsure if she did the right thing, the woman quickly said she would listen, but the girl didn’t have to say anything if she didn’t want to.
Determined to stop crying, the girl pulled out tissues from her bag and breathed deeper. Collecting herself, she turned to the woman and said, “Thank you” and then moved closer to her eager to talk.
“What happened?” the woman asked.
In a few quiet words, she told the woman that she had reason to doubt her boyfriend’s loyalty. Starting to heave, preparing to burst into tears again, she recounted the story of when she saw her boyfriend personally email his old girlfriend.
“I am sorry,” the woman said, only this time it was followed with an explanation. “Are you sure it wasn’t just a reminder to pick up a left behind belonging?”
The girl paused and considered the possibility and deciding it was a possibility that would hold her over until he came back, she decided to stick with it.
“Where are you from?” the woman asked.
“Hong Kong” the girl replied solemnly.
“Is the shopping any good?” The woman asked a bit relieved that they changed subjects.
“Yes and there is no sales tax.”
“That is wonderful.
They both pause for a second, laugh and sigh together. Then they continue their conversation about boys, not paying sales tax and how much they don’t like giving tips to undeserving waiters.
Deeply in touch with the other’s feelings, as women co inhabiting, dealing with life’s curveballs and hitting homeruns with great shopping deals, they lost track of time. The women notice the clock on the wall that told them it was time for class, where they would continue their endeavors in becoming strong women, backed with communal knowledge and the power to become independent.
