Tracy walks along the perimeter of the tables set up on the verdant grass, glancing at the knick-knacks on the tables. Souvenir buttons, children’s spoons, Happy Meal toys. Trashy harlequin novels.
In other words: yard sale.
She stifles a yawn as she moves from booth to booth, staring at the items displayed with a mixture of boredom and contempt. She glances at her mother talking excitedly with an elder Asian-looking woman in the background, probably exchanging recipes or children’s stories, no doubt. More often likely she’ll walk away empty handed. Either that or come home bearing loads of useless junk that will take up space in the attic until Dad intervenes and takes matters into his own hands.
Tracy could never understand why her mother had to go through this elaborate ritual of chumminess and false camaraderie all for a handful of dinged Christmas ornaments and Jacqueline Susann books she’ll never read. Whenever she asked, Mom would always raise her eyebrow. ‘What’s wrong with getting out of the house every once and awhile?’ she’d say in a tone that only underscored her disapproval of Tracy’s sulky, introspective attitude, overlooking the many solo journeys her daughter made into the woods to listen to the hum of insects, sit by the babbling brook, or be alone.
Bargain hunters cluster around her, whispering and haggling with the elder’s sons for a dollar or two sliced off the going rate. The crush of people frustrates and infuriates her. Why people would be careless as not to give a stranger a little bit of space she cannot fathom. She could only look on with regret and not a little consternation.
Seventeen years old, and already she’s turning into one of those people that yell at kids to get off their lawn.
“Excuse me.” a woman brushes against her.
Tracy growls.
“My, my, looks like someone hasn’t gotten their coffee this morning.”
Tracy ignores her. The woman walks off, melting into the crowd of people on the other side of the yard.
Truth is she’d rather be anywhere else. But she promised her mom she’d go. It’s not like they’ve seen much of each other in the past month or so, and anyway it wouldn’t be a bad idea to show her mother how much she appreciates her. Especially considering the outstanding loan on the lemon she calls a vehicle.
One hour stretches into two, and as the crowd of bargain hunters thins out, the temperature rises. Her legs are already growing tired. She stretches for a couple minutes, glancing at the watch on left hand every so often in the hope that the mundane weekend ritual would come to a close so that she could hurry back to her room and shut the door. She wipes the sweat from her brow.
As she straightens back up, she notices a strange object glistening in the sunlight, giving off a muted, green glow. She squints, blocking the sun out with her hand for a better view. It certainly seems small—smaller than anything she’s seen the entire morning. Jewelry perhaps or some trinket picked up from the Chinese mainland. Regardless of its origins, it’s definitely not anything she’s used to seeing. Not in the mall. Not anywhere.
Correction--two objects. She picks the earrings off the table and rolls them around in her palm, getting a feel for their texture. The elaborate carvings suggest they’re homemade, probably the work of a local villager. Upon closer inspection, she notices the outline of a graceful young woman, swaddled in silk and finery.
A slender hand rests gently on her shoulder, but Tracy doesn’t startle.
“You like?” The elder woman asks.
“They’re nice.”
“Older sister had it. Name’s Ling. Used to be very ugly. No man wanted to be with her. Even tried to commit suicide, then she found them on roadside in Chongqing. One day she wakes up, beautiful and gracious. Men fell like lapdogs around her, but Ling only sleeps with one.”
“That’s a wonderful story. What happened to her?”
“’Shacked up with one of Chiang’s propaganda officers after the War. She Arrived in America not long after that, when the Communists took over. I arrived a year after that. It’s a long story.”
“Is she still alive?”
Ms. Lu shakes her head.
“She died fifteen years ago. Married forty-five years, her son’s in charge of this booth, you know.”
Despite the streaks of gray hair, Tracy can’t help looking at the woman in awe. Hardly any wrinkles on her at all, as though she’d been preserved like this forever. The wonders of genetics, right?
The proprietor flashes a smile.
“I know what you thinking.” She points at the heirlooms in Tracy’s palm. It’s all natural.”
Tracy scratches her head.
“Why do you want to sell this? Why not keep it in the family, for your grandchildren or whatever?”
“Money.” She points towards the foreclosure sign in the yard. “Anyway, kids think it only just metal. I don’t know, have no opinion either way. Frankly, we can use all the money we can get.”
“That seems so wrong.”
“Live awhile, you’ll learn what to let go, what to keep.”
Tracy gazes at the jewelry in her hand.
“What do you want for it? Don’t I have to pay you?”
The homeowner clasps her hand.
“Take it. You need it more. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I don’t know what to say…” Tracy stammers.
“Say nothing. I only ask you treat it with kindness and respect. Never let it out of you sight. In the wrong hands, it could be very bad.”
“Yes ma’am.” Tracy bows. “I promise.”
“You two hit it off?” Her mom walks over, carrying a cardboard box full of junk.
“You could say that.”
“Her great-niece goes to your school. Did she tell you?”
Tracy shrugs.
“Forgive my daughter, Miss. Lu.” Mom hefts the items as the wind blows through streaks of gray hair. “You know how teenagers can be. If you’re ever in the area, give us a ring. Bob and I wouldn’t mind taking you out for a little afternoon tea.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Ms. Lu smiles. “See you soon!”
As the sedan speeds through the winding road leading from the subdivision, Tracy tosses the earrings end over end in her palms, looking on with the gaze of a child on Christmas morning. Could this be the answer to her prayers? She can only hope.
“What you got there?” Her mother asks.
“Oh nothing, just some jewelry I bought at the old lady’s house.” For the next day they rest on the table by her bed, illuminated by the yellow haze of artificial light while she wrestles with the decision to wear them or not. It seems so silly, to put faith in such a talisman. Surely she’s mistaken if she thinks earrings the solution to her problems. Yet stranger things have happened…much stranger. As Sunday morning turns into Sunday night, Tracy hurries rushes through her homework and packs her bag, getting ready for the rough week ahead of her. She sighs at the glut of flyers taking up the bulletin board on her wall, reminders of SAT prep courses and upcoming tests. The life of an overachiever is not a fun one.
She pins the earrings on and twirls in front of the mirror, imagining herself as a full figured, luscious woman, men hanging on both arms as she turns heads. A fantasy, to be sure, but as of late, she can use all the fantasy her imagination could muster. It’s the only thing keeping her sane.
She collapses on the bed, exhausted and stressed, but full of hope. For the first time in a long time, everything she wanted seems in her reach. Her chest swells with a thousand possibilities. It never occurs to her to take the jewelry off.