The following passage is adapted from the short story “Rose Colored” by M. Evelina Galang (© 1996 M. Evelina Galang). Here the Filipino-American narrator describes a visit to Chicago.
- I’m standing at the corner of
- Washington and LaSalle,
- trying to keep my feet still
- upon the sidewalk, but people
- rushing past sway me right,
- then left. Bump me. Push me.
- Toss me dirty looks. I’m waiting
- for the light to change.
- Next to me stands a woman,
- gathering glances from all
- around her. She stands
- oblivious to her admirers. I
- wonder how she can’t see them.
- People who stare make me
- nervous. When I sense someone
- watching, I look to my shoes,
- click my heels, make myself
- disappear. But she doesn’t seem
- to care. She’s nearly six feet tall
- and has long brown hair tinged
- with red, straight and free as
- a hula skirt. Her cheek bones
- are high, square and smooth.
- And her eyes are black almonds.
- She looks more Asian than
- white, though her skin is still
- paler than the brown of my
- own. She stands up against the
- wind, the current of people
- and the sun’s glare as it
- bounces from a sea of chrome
- bumpers. When a cab slows
- down next to the curb, she is
- the only one who waves it
- away. Other people scramble
- to the cab like rats to a sewer
- hole. I wonder how she came
- to be so strong, my beautiful
- cousin Mina.
- “Let’s grab the El. It’s a few
- blocks away,” she tells. “Come
- on, Rose.”
- I follow her, as I have always
- followed her. When we were
- small, I would spend summers
- at Mina’s house in Connecticut.
- There, I’d follow her around the
- neighborhood, through fields and
- creeks. Mina always knew where
- the boys kept their secret
- hideouts. And the boys would
- always pretend to hate her,
- but I could see then what I see
- now, Mina is beautiful. Nobody
- hates Mina.
- “Wait for me!” I shout. I feel
- the curls in my hair sagging with
- the heat. I look up. She’s floating
- across traffic, gliding between
- cars and I’m stuck at the median.
- “Wait!” I call out again. I drag
- my suitcase on wheels and it
- slips between my legs. “I
- can’t go that fast.” But she is
- already on the other side of the
- street, waving past taxis,
- distracting pedestrians. And I
- feel so short and ugly.
- We take the elevated train to
- Mina’s neighborhood. On the
- way there, we pass forgotten
- chimneys, weathered back
- porches, clotheslines weeping
- with socks and shirts. In the
- distance there is a curtain of
- haze behind which lies the
- Chicago skyline. This is what
- Mina shows me. She points:
- “See over there? The John
- Hancock Building and the
- Sears Tower.” What I see are
- the factories, paint chipping
- from its brick and yet brightly
- decorated by gang graffiti.
- Each time the train grinds to
- a stop, heat rises from under
- the tracks, suffocating breath
- and sound. Unbearable.
- But all I say to Mina, “Wow,
- that’s amazing.” I’m not sure
- what I’m looking for. Maybe
- mountains and snow caps,
- maybe evergreen trees.
- A businessman stands next to
- our seat, carrying a leather
- attaché. His body is encased in
- a starched white shirt and suit.
- “Excuse me,” he says. I turn my
- face up to him, push the sleeve
- from my wrist, ready to give
- him the time of day when he
- says, “Are you women from
- China?” Mina ignores him.
- “Miss,” he repeats, “do you
- speak English?”
- Mina slowly turns to the man,
- her hair falling away from her
- shoulders, eyes widening as
- she examines him. “No,” she
- says, “sorry to say, I don’t.
- Do you Rose?”
- I smile at the man in
- embarrassment. “Mina—”
- “Are you from China?” he asks.
- “Does it matter?” she wants to
- know. Mina clenches her jaw,
- her face drawn and irritated
- red.
- “Vietnam?” he persists. “I’m
- sorry, it’s just that you’re
- both so beautiful. You remind
- me of a Chinese woman I
- used to love.”
- “Oh please!” Mina laughs.
- The train lurches forward. She
- grabs my arm.
- “Come on, Ling-Rose-Lee, this
- is our stop.”