Gerald

Today was one of those Saturdays. Gerald sat with the old lady in the flower hat for her 30-minute session of tai chi at the Chinatown community center. (Ironically, the elderly didn’t have patience for an hour of slow movement.) The old lady usually smiled when Gerald, even in his chopstick legs and noodle arms, lowered himself next to her. She always looped her arm into Gerald’s, pressing the moisture of autumn into his skin. For protection, she would mutter when he began to pull away. He stuck to her after she said that. 

As Gerald, in one swift step, pulled himself into the bus, he felt eyes upon him. Not again, he thought. Today, veins wrapped around her hands of drought like ivy, blood forging into her knuckles as she dug into the sides of her purse. Gerald felt her glare moving from his worn-out Air Forces to his skinny black jeans then to his black Champion hoodie.

“你为什么穿怎么黑?” 

Why are you wearing so much black? Gerald translated in his head as he moved down the aisle. It was only 4:45 PM. 

After 50 minutes and 26 seconds of sweat accumulating in his right elbow crease, Gerald’s bus arrived at the community center. Hmph! The warmth of his exhale comforted the interior of his cheeks. Gerald extended his arm and slouched over, massaging his elbow. Seeing this, the old lady took it up to herself to loop her hand through his arm once again. This time, Gerald felt an all-too-familiar slap on the back. He straightened his posture, still dragging his feet, as the pair made their way to the community center. 

“You can leave now,” the old lady instructed. He picked up the pace towards The House of Dragons. 

On Mondays through Fridays (and on select Saturdays like today), Gerald would change into costume in the hallway behind the kitchen. So when Gerald arrived at approximately 5:37 PM, he would confront the jungle, ducking and dodging the flaming woks and airborne food. Sometimes a piece of stirfry string bean flew in his direction - and sometimes he caught it in his mouth. Other times, the oil of the string bean slapped him in the face and dropped dead like a bird flying headfirst in a window. Those beans were omens - when the grains of salt and hint of garlic grazed the tip of his tongue, he knew his performance was going to be flawless. The opposite was true most of the time.

At exactly 5:36 PM, one minute before his usual arrival, Gerald pushed open the portal into the kitchen. The usual allegro was more of a moderato today. He cast his eyes on the kitchen tiles and started his dance around the chefs. Stepping forward, back, stop, then around and again and again and again… An uncharted breeze whistled past his face, and instinctively, Gerald opened his mouth wide. He grinned, leaning on the back door. 

Gerald’s red cloak hung on the rack, a lion’s face resting in the middle of the fabric. 

Hello lion, Gerald said. Gerald tore off his hoodie, revealing the dragon across his chest his parents didn’t know about. He shivered at the thought of his parents and his fingers traced the outline of the legendary beast. 龙, he thought, covering the dragon with the lion. 

Gerald fastened the red and gold cape around his neck. The cape would have choked him, but the coolness of gold and heaviness of the thick red cloth sent ephemeral shocks of immortality through him. And the robust exterior of the headpiece, ornate with gold beads and red poofs, only made him feel formidable. 

I am Chinese, he whispered to himself as he looked straight into the reflection’s beaded black eyes if only they saw that too. 

It was 6:29 PM when Gerald wedged his way through the front door. The people scooted their chairs. They oohed and aahed and clicked on their phones. 

The music blasted through the cheap speakers at 6:30 PM, playing the sound of static and some foreign language. Gerald, from his frozen mantis pose, kicked into action. The rhythm and pitches of the sound accompanied the melody playing in his heart. The adrenaline of his movements only pushed him further. Bursts of gold, of monkey kings, of gongs, of sun, of serpentine dragons, of lion roars...exploded. Gerald pounded his chest, switched masks, looted small coins, switched masks, snaked around tables, switched masks, crept up on waiters, switched masks, and for a second, just one, Gerald was flying. Behind his mask changes, his smile widened. 

At 6:45, Gerald was back in his hallway, taking off the lion robe. 

“龙,” a voice said. Gerald turned around, his eyes widened at the figure pointing at his dragon tattoo. Gerald snatched his hoodie and hugged it in front of his chest. “I like it,” the old lady continued, “I like the mask-changing as well. Very traditional.” Gerald’s eyes creased at the sides as he sluggishly grinned, pink blooming at his cheeks. He let his hoodie droop to the side, dragon flying across his chest. 

“You teach me some time okay?”

“Okay,” Gerald said to the old lady.