Tag Archives: Ned Chang

Dogged Ma; chapter seven, part one

Posted on by • 0 Comments

Dogged Ma: Chapter Seven, Part One

“Mom, I’m telling you the truth.  I was never engaged to Ned.”  It was Wednesday afternoon, and I had just arrived home from work.  My mother must have a sixth sense about these sort of things because she always managed to call me the minute I walked in the door.  Of course, she refused to call me on my cell phone because she didn’t want to distract me from driving.  Besides, she didn’t trust that my cell wouldn’t give me brain cancer.  As a result, I had to rush to get the phone the minute I entered my place.  As usual, I ended up wishing I had let the machine get it as my mother was venting her spleen about my supposed broken engagement.

“Mom, would I lie to you?  I mean, out and out lie?”  I infused my voice with as much indignation as I could muster, but it didn’t slow down that train.  She berated me at the top of her lungs for making her the shame of the entire Taiwanese community.  She told me she couldn’t even go to church on Sunday without everybody talking about her.  She knew they were talking about her because they would suddenly hush up whenever she was around.  And poor Pastor Wu!  Did I even think about what I’d put him through?  I had no idea what my supposed engagement had to do with her pastor, but I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.  It turned out that the ‘close friends’ of Mr. and Mrs. Chang couldn’t wait to spread the word about how abominably I’d acted Saturday night.  When they found out I broke off the engagement, well, they had a field day with that bit of information.

“Mom, I never was engaged to Ned,” I interrupted, feeling more frustrated by the minute.  If I told her the truth, I’d have to suffer through a diatribe about ‘homosexuals’, but I didn’t know if it’d be any worse than the tongue-lashing which I was currently receiving.  “It was a misunderstanding from the very start.  Believe you me, you’d be the very first person I’d tell if I ever did something as stupid as get engaged again.”  That made her switch tracks to how I would never keep myself a man with my negative attitude.  I was tempted to tell her about Ted, but I knew that’d be the kiss of death as far as any hopes of having a normal relationship with Ted was concerned.  Maybe I could mention that plenty of otherworldly beings seemed to want me.  No, that might give her a heart attack.  Just as I was about to make another snarky comment, my buzzer rang.

“Mom, someone’s at the door.  I have to buzz them up.”  It didn’t matter that I had no idea who was downstairs; I would rather face a burglar than my mother when she went into full wrath mode.  God could take a few lessons from her.  More squawking from the phone, and my buzzer rang again.  “I gotta go.  I’ll call you back.”  I hung up the phone and pressed my intercom lever.  “Hello?”  I wasn’t totally stupid.  I’d ascertain who it was before doing anything as rash as letting him/her up.  Now that I was off the phone, it didn’t really matter who was on the other side.

“Hello?  Sorry to bother, but I’m afraid I’ve been given a wrong address.”  The voice was definitely masculine, but it was diffident in tone.  British in pronunciation, and there was something very familiar about the voice.  Something about the way he pronounced ‘address’.  Suddenly, it hit me.

“You’re Alan Rickman.”  Instantly, my stomach went aflutter.  Alan Rickman was downstairs, talking to me.  I was glad I hadn’t changed out of my black skirt and blouse.  I scolded myself for thinking of such trivial thoughts when I had Alan Rickman on the other end of the intercom.

“Yes, I am.  If you could just give me directions to the Guthrie, I’d be ever so grateful.”

“Hold on.  I’ll be right down.”  I let go of the lever and grabbed my purse before flying out the door.  I could hear the phone ringing as I locked my door, but I ignored it.  I knew it would be my mother, and I had much more important things with which to deal.  When I reached the ground floor of my apartment, I saw Alan Rickman waiting patiently outside the door.  He was wearing black slacks and a white button-down, looking damn good.

“Hi, I’m Margaret Wang.”  I stuck out my hand, and he shook it with alacrity.  “You’re Alan Rickman.”  I was aware that I sounded like an idiot, but it wasn’t every day that I got to meet Alan Rickman in the flesh.  Speaking of the flesh, he looked much better in person than on camera, if that were even possible.

“Yes, I am,” Alan said, smiling affably.  “Look, I hate to be a bother, but I’ve got an appointment with the director of the Guthrie in—”  He checked his watch.  “Twenty minutes.  I would hate to be late.  The worst thing is that my driver took off before I could figure out where I was.  It must be a conspiracy to make me late for my meeting.”

“I can take you there if you’d like,” I said, holding my breath.  “It’s not very far.”

“That would be fantastic,” Alan said, looking relieved.  “I can’t figure out for the life of me how my agent screwed things up so badly.  Wait until I get a hold of her.”  He was smiling as he spoke, his demeanor belying his words.

Continue Reading

Dogged Ma; chapter six, part two

Posted on by • 0 Comments

Chapter Six, Part Two

“You know, that stuff is bad for you,” God said, leaning against my refrigerator.  I sighed as I turned to face Him.  He was in chartreuse this time, which was hard on the eyes.  Immediately, He muted it to a dusty rose.  I surmised He had chosen the chartreuse simply for effect.  How like Him.

“I hope You’re not planning on doing this after Gwen is born,” I said sharply, realizing the stupidity of my statement as soon as it escaped my mouth.  Of course, He wouldn’t stop visiting once His child was born.  If anything, He’d probably increase the frequency of His unplanned visits in order to meddle in Gwen’s affairs.  It pissed me off to no end that I no longer had a modicum of control over my life, and I voiced my displeasure to God.  “You know, You’re working my last nerve.  Couldn’t You at least have the decency to stick to a schedule so I don’t have to worry about You showing up unannounced?”  God didn’t answer, which ratcheted my irritation tenfold.

“This shit has got to stop,” I shouted, my hands on my hips.  I didn’t know if it was my hormones going in overdrive, but I’d had enough of the Almighty and His highhanded ways.  “Get the fuck out of my kitchen.  Now!”  God still didn’t speak, nor did He move.  Without thinking, I picked up a pan and hurled it at Him.  It hit Him in the pecs and bounced off harmlessly.  It fell to the floor with a loud thud, causing me to jump.  God slowly turned translucent as I hauled another pot His way.  This time, the pot went through Him, hit the fridge and slid to the floor.  Past caring, I hurled pot after pan after plate at Him, some smashing in bits when they hit the floor.  Some minutes later, I finally ran out of gas and sagged against the counter.  Eyeing the carnage with distaste, I grabbed the broom and the dustpan from the closet.

“You done with your little snit?”  God asked, having the audacity to sound amused.  He remained transparent, which greatly bothered me.  I didn’t like being able to see through God, but He didn’t give a damn about my feelings, or so it seemed.  “Or is there more you’d like to get off your chest?”

“I’m through,” I sulked, tossing the debris into the garbage can.  “What the fuck do You want?”  I knew my mouth was going to get me into trouble with God one of these days, but I couldn’t help myself.  Something about Him brought out the worst in me.

“I just wanted to tell you that you’ll be receiving a visit from My son shortly.  Ignore everything he says.”  God smiled suddenly, nearly knocking me over with the dazzle.  It was spooky looking at a pair of gleaming teeth set in—nothingness.  Just like that, He was gone.

“Shit,” I muttered, cradling my head in my hands.  When I had recovered from His visit, I picked up my cell phone to speed-dial Pie-A-Plenty, the nearest pizza shop.  As I was about to punch the button, a portal appeared in my kitchen.  Great.  It was Lucifer.  At least I was still in my work clothes, which meant a slim red skirt and a black blouse.  I chided myself for giving a damn and punched the button on the dial.  Lucifer was going to have to wait until I ordered my pizza before telling me whatever it was he wanted to say.  I was too damn disgruntled to deal with him on a partially-empty stomach.

Continue Reading

Dogged Ma; chapter six, part one

Posted on by • 0 Comments

   Chapter Six, Part One

“Margaret, may I talk to you?”  Susanne Timmons, my supervisor at work, poked her head into my office during my prep hour Monday morning.  Fortunately, I was prepared for the day so I didn’t have to panic about chatting with Susanne.  I nodded and motioned her in.  Susanne was a middle-aged woman with salt-n-pepper hair who didn’t wear any makeup.  She had a homey look to her which the kids loved.  She was like the grandmother many of them never had, but she was much stricter than your average grandma.  She cared about them, but held them accountable; it’s what made her so good with our population.  I was learning by emulating her, but empathy was something that didn’t come naturally to me.

“What’s up, Susanne?”  I asked, setting some papers aside.  I had asked my kids to write an essay on what they would tell President Bush if they ever met him, and as usual, they’d surprised me with their insight and passion.

“Margaret,” Susanne hesitated, fiddling with her pen.  “I’ve noticed that you’ve seemed preoccupied the last couple of weeks.  The other teachers have commented on it as well.  You’re more forgetful, and you’ve been late to two meetings.  That’s not like you.  Is there something you want to tell me?”

Caught, I didn’t know what to say.  I still hadn’t figured out a cover story for my impending pregnancy as I didn’t want to use the ‘one-night stand’ tale with my coworkers.  However, I couldn’t say that I had a partner, either, because they knew better than that.  I supposed I could say it was Gary’s, but even pretending that lech was the father upset my stomach.  Come to think of it, I couldn’t even say I was pregnant because I wouldn’t know yet if it were a normal pregnancy.  Damn.  Could I get away with family issues?  Maybe.  Or generic dating issues?  I hated lying, mostly because I wasn’t very good at it.

“Susanne, it’s not something I feel comfortable discussing at work,” I said carefully, not wanting to offend my boss.  “However, I sincerely apologize that my personal problems have spilled over into my work performance.  I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“It’s your fault for being so superlative the rest of the time,” Susanne smiled, standing up.  “If it were anybody else, I wouldn’t even have noticed.  I’m here if you need to talk to me.”  I nodded as she left, dropping my smile the minute she was out the door.  I knew I’d have to be more careful, and I knew I’d have to come up with something soon.

My college friends couldn’t understand how I could be a teacher, for at-risk youth, no less, when I didn’t want children.  It’s a common misconception that all women who didn’t want kids didn’t like them or weren’t good with them.  Not true.  I liked kids a great deal, and they liked me in return because I treated them like adults—no matter the age.  I didn’t pat little kids on the head or talk down to them, nor did I lord my authority over my students.  That didn’t mean I didn’t set boundaries because I did.  I just didn’t automatically assume I was better because I was older as so many adults did.  So why didn’t I want to have children?  There were many reasons, but the number one reason was because I didn’t want them.  Period.  I didn’t see why that wasn’t enough of an answer, but most people needed something more.

While I was in my first serious relationship at age eighteen, I came upon the realization that I didn’t want children.  Not only that, I realized that I didn’t have to have them.  There was no law saying to a woman, ‘Thou shalt bear children’ except for the social stricture, but I was adept at ignoring those.  People had varying reactions to my statement of not wanting children ranging from condescension—‘oh, you’ll change your mind later’—to anger—‘you must think I’m an idiot for wanting them’.  Most of all, however, people just didn’t understand how a woman could be so sure she didn’t want children.  I’d been ask time and time again how did I know I didn’t want children.  I was always tempted to ask how they knew they wanted them, but I never stooped to their level.

Continue Reading

Dogged Ma: Chapter one

Posted on by • 0 Comments

Chapter One

“Shit,” I exclaimed, hastily stubbing out my cigarette in the overflowing ashtray by my bed.  I didn’t smoke very often, but when I did, I usually finished half a pack to a pack in a few hours.  I glanced at my bed, disgruntled to find my girl toy for the night still slumbering there.  I needed to get rid of her as my very-Christian, old-country mother was coming over this afternoon for another chance to lecture me about being unmarried at age thirty-two.  I got up and stretched, pleasurably aware of the ache in my body.  The girl toy had been a hellcat in bed, which pleasantly surprised me because she was one of those hippie-dippy types.  If I hadn’t been drunk out of my mind and horny as hell, I would never have taken her home.  It’s a good thing to be desperate once in a while, I guess, but I didn’t want to make a habit of it.

“Hey,” the girl toy smiled, licking her lips.  Apparently, she’d awakened while I’d been ruminating about how to throw her out.  “Ready for round two?”  She reached her arms to me, allowing the sheets to slip from her full breasts.  I felt a jump in my stomach that told me I was, indeed, ready to go again.  However, I make it a policy never to fuck a toy two days in a row.  In fact, I preferred they didn’t spend the night, but I’d pretty much passed out after we’d fucked, so I hadn’t been able to kick her out last night.  I really should have, however, as the girls tended to cling if they thought there was any hope for a relationship.  As I had just ended a long-term relationship with my boyfriend of five years, I didn’t need complications.

“Sorry.  You gotta go.”  I wrapped my robe around my body, firmly tying the sash to underline my point.  “It’s been nice and all, but….”  I looked pointedly at the clock on the nightstand, hoping it would be enough to get her ass out of my bed.  Instead, she snuggled against my goose feather-filled pillows and simply smiled.  She didn’t bother covering her breasts which was how I knew she was still in the mood to play.  My desire for her was waning as I didn’t like coyness.  If I said I didn’t want more sex, then that was that.  I didn’t want some minx trying to cajole me or change my mind; she was starting to irritate me.

“Come on, Margaret,” she pouted, pushing out her lower lip.  What the fuck was she doing?  She was supposed to be the Earth Mother type, not the flirting coquette.  I really must stop picking up toys after a night of heavy drinking.  “I want to play some more.”  She threw the covers off her so I could see her admittedly lush naked body.  She had the figure of a Reuben woman, with the wide hips people liked to call ‘birthing hips’.  What was her name? Cammie?  Candy?  Something like that.

“Look, sweets,” I say, flexing my biceps ever so slightly.  I work out religiously, not wanting to be mistaken for a punk.  I also stretch daily to increase my flexibility.  “It’s time for you to go.  Don’t make a scene, OK?”

“I want to stay,” she said, her lower lip trembling slightly.  Ah, hell.  That’s what I get for going after the young ones.  This one was over twenty-one, but just barely.  I gotta toss the chickens back to the dogs, for sure.  What the hell was her name?  “I thought you liked me.  You’re the first woman I’ve been with.”  Well, shit.  If I had known she was a dyke virgin, I would never have brought her home.  I didn’t do newbies out of self-protection.  They either turn out clingy like this one or they freak out at doing something immoral.  I kinda wished this girl would be one of the latter so she’d flee on her own.  Carrie!  That’s her name.

“Carrie, baby,” I said, purposely sweetening my voice.  “You were great.  Really, but you just started swimming in the queer pool.  This is no time for you to latch on to one woman.  I mean, you didn’t go steady with the first boy you kissed, did you?”  I prayed she hadn’t.  “You need to know what’s out there before you settle down.”  I thought that was a pretty good rah-rah speech if I did say so myself, but it only succeeded in making the girl toy cry.

“My name is Carlie,” she wailed, her eyes scrunching shut.  “You can’t even remember my name!  I meant nothing to you.”  Shit, shit, shit.  My New Year’s Resolution was going to be that I never got drunk again.  Of course, it was only March which meant I had a quite a few months before I had to make the resolution, but good intentions counted for something, didn’t they?

“Carlie, see, that’s why I’m no good for you.  You need to find a woman who deserves you.”  I was developing a migraine, which I could ill-afford in facing my mother.  She was a human shark who scented any weakness and attacked with zest.  I vowed again never to get drunk and pick up a trick.  I never could handle my liquor, though it had nothing to do with being Asian.  I didn’t get the red cheeks; I just lost any inhibitions I had, which were few to begin with.  Before I could argue some more with Carrie, my cell phone rang.

“Yeah, what?”  I growled, not wanting to deal with whomever was on the other side of the wires.  However, I was constitutionally unable to not answer a ringing phone, so I was stuck.

Continue Reading