Issue Seven

buffet of multicoloured pills fraternizing in my hand. I drank the soup, black and bitter, sadomasochist’s coffee. I found myself remembering for days afterward the taste of Dr. Wong and my mother, mingling in my throat.

--“Mei, promise me this one thing.”

She looked at me quizzically. The day had arrived. It was just me and her at the airport, no friends, no family. We were standing slightly too far apart. The only accompaniment to our last words was the sound of bags unloading and the departing footsteps of crumpled businessmen.

“Promise me that you won’t turn into some foulmouthed, SPG skank.

And promise me that you will never buy anything in electric green.”

“What on earth are you talking about? I hate partying and you know I only swore that one time. But you asked me for two promises. What if electric green becomes the new black?”

She allowed me to see her smile, quickly and quietly.

“You have to promise me something, too.”

She paused. I suddenly saw the small girl, neat pigtails guarding her soft oval face, tears streaming one by one down her cheeks, mouth clamped shut in the disavowal of her own presence.

“Never stop believing, David. Especially not because of me.”

It seemed like the airport had turned to glass. I felt like I could see