Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 265

“So will you tell him to come later?” I asked Cora again, “make sure he doesn’t forget.”
Cora just waved me away with her hand with an exasperated sigh.
I bounced out of my apartment on my way to school, sometimes in my head I make paintings, right now we’re
learning about Old Shanghai in History class. Old Shanghai was famous for its city wall to protect the town from
Japanese pirates, 10 meters tall with a moat and a lot of guards. In my painting I have the whole wall up, guards
galore with me and Cora right outside the walls and right in the middle of the walled city is dad.
I try my best not to complain about dad never being there, especially after mom but I always feel like even
before she died he had this wall around him and no-one could ever break down.
“The wall was demolished in 1912 not 1910 and it’s the Opium War that happened in 1842 not World War II!”
Wren slapped shoved Peter out of the way. “I gave you all of the information, how hard is it to copy it down?”
I stayed after school to help with our project on Old Shanghai, Wren had been constantly nagging at us to get it
done for weeks.
I didn’t have to do anything but design the poster but Peter had an old trick that he used every time to get out of
doing any work and that was playing dumb. I caught his eye behind Wren’s shoulder as he said, “I got some of
the stuff you wrote down wet so I just made some stuff up.” It was clear Wren thought him a moron as she
roughly grabbed the poster and began writing it herself while Peter’s eyes filled with mirth.
By 6:00 pm I made my way towards Mr. Chan’s classroom where he told me the meeting with my father would
be held but as I walked in I immediately noticed that my dad was not present.
In his seat was instead Cora.
“Where is he?” I questioned her wordlessly with my eyebrows.
“Work.” She mouthed. I could tell she knew that I was not happy, she nodded at me to sit down next to her
while I realized I was still at the door way.
I hadn’t heard a word of what Mr. Chan said, by the way Cora was gushing I think I did something good, I
don’t know. I just wished it was dad who was saying it instead.
“I’m sorry dad couldn’t make it.” Cora said again once the meeting was over, “I know you’re really bummed
out over it.”
“No,” I was still looking at the ground as I said this. “No of course I’m not bummed out.”
I remembered when I was young, every time I wanted to do something with my dad and he’d say he was too
busy my mom would never implore him to change his mind, she never pulled that whole “bond with your son”
thing, it had always been “give your dad some space” I had learned never to complain, especially because mom
always said that he’s doing it for us. Whatever that means.
I’m in my room drawing the Small Swords Society, the rebel group that captured Old Shanghai City in 1853. in
this drawing Cora and I have joined the Small Swords Society and we’ve broken into the city and I’ve taken dad
hostage.
I’m having dinner in my room again, the smell of microwaved popcorn fills the room. Usually I never wait up
for dad because he gets home really late so we eat separately in our own place. I hear the door open around 11
and I know dad is home.
Cora’s always awake to greet dad when he gets home, I stopped doing that after he took up an extra project at
work and tonight I was still a little resentful that he couldn’t turn up at the meeting.
I’m drawing a jail cell to throw dad into when there’s a knock at my door.