6. Footsteps On The Landing
This will probably get buried, but ah well. New house, I was about 12 years old. Backstory: my dad is military, and usually carries wherever he goes.
My dad and I were in the basement den, just watching a John Wayne movie or something. My sister and mom were out getting groceries. While we’re watching the movie, the door at the top of the stairs opens. My dad calls out to Mom to ask if she needs help. No answer.
Steps slowly come down the stairs, pausing at the landing. At this point, my dad has his gun out and has motioned me to hide behind the couch. My dad calls again for whoever it was to identify themselves. Still no answer.
I’m hiding, but I can still see a little bit of the room, and I (idiotically) want to keep an eye on my dad. The noises hit what should be the second-to-last step. My dad crouches and spins into the stairwell with the gun aimed, but he looks confused. The next thing I know, the thing RUNS up the stairs and slams the door at the top.
My dad is very obviously shaken. He holsters the gun and tells me there wasn’t anybody there. We go out for ice cream.
7. A Walk Through The Night Market
My family moved across the Pacific when I was in high school and we weren’t able to go back to visit for years. One night I dreamed about my favorite grandmother (mom’s side). She came to visit me and take me to the night market. At the night market we met her older brother and the two of them apparently “live together” now, so she introduced her older brother. (Her older brother was not able to escape communist China and died before she was able to go home and visit. Her entire family died during the war, only her and her husband survived.)
We walked around the night market, she got me one of my favorite snacks (caramel coated tomatos on a stick) and we walked around some more. Then I noticed something wasn’t right. The food carts were not the normal modern day food carts. They were ancient looking with bamboo roofs. People were holding candle lamps and shops were lighted up by candle lamps too.
Then I realized the patrons were a bit weird. I was sure one guy was holding his head, and the father with his daughter sitting on his neck looked as dead as his daughter. Everyone looked moderately calm/happy/content, but they were soooo not alive.
I asked my grandmother if everyone here is dead and she said, “Of course they’re dead! why wouldn’t they be?” For some reason I didn’t question her at all and we hung out for some more. I remember we hung out for a few more hours before she dropped me off (can’t remember where) then I woke up.
Two weeks later my aunt called to ask my mom if my dad told her her mother died two weeks ago (the exact day I dreamed of her), and if we were going back to attend the funeral.
My dad didn’t call. He just didn’t care enough to tell us my grandmother died. My mother decided we were NOT going back to see her because we had school and it would be unthinkable to miss school over a funeral.
This was the only grandmother who recognized the abuse my parents placed on us and tried to stop it. (Mom yelled at her and told her to stop meddling, since mom was helping with her living expense she couldn’t do too much to help us.)
Before we left the country she spent 4 hours telling me how she escaped the Communists in China when she was 18 (with a child). I told her I’ll see her again. We’ll be back to visit. She sighed and said she’ll never see me again. She was right.
