“For the first time in our lives, its us against everyone else.”
Theres no time to take a breath.
No time to stop moving.
Simply Recipes / Eva Feuchter
My mother and I are swept among the crowd, two American tourists in our birth country.
Its been nearly two decades since weve returned.
This time, were with my grandparents, who remain sleeping back at the hotel.
Simply Recipes / Eva Feuchter
I have no memories of Ho Chi Minh City.
Ive just graduated college, and my grandparents gifted us this trip of a lifetime to Viet Nam.
Outside, the city teems with sounds that creep into our eager ears.
Tonight, weve made our escape, sneaking out the moment we hear my grandparents snores.
In a rare act of rebellion, my mother had taken me aside after dinner.
She whispered, Dont put on your pajamas.
Well sneak out when the oldies are sleeping.
For the first time in our lives, were going on an adventure together.
For the first time in our lives, its us against everyone else.
We did it, I say.
After a moment, she says, Che.
Dessert pudding, a national pastime in Viet Nam.
Sweet and innocent as childhood.
Family is like that too.
Mom gets the same.
she asks.Good, huh?Worth sneaking out for?
Mom is hard-working and brilliant.
A recipe, a garment, any Pinterest craft you could find.
I like this version of my mother.
We finish the che and pay an outrageous tourists price, but we agree that its worth every ong.
While sneaking back into the hotel room, we think were being slick.
Her hair is wild, her scowl magnificently untempered.
You could have been killed!
Im impressed by this litany of criminal activity.
My grandfather, next to her, shifts slightly and goes back to snoring.
But Ba Ngoai isnt done.
Sneaking out like teenagers.
Who knows what could have happened?
We are not city people.
We dont know this place!
Maybe we had been a little reckless.
But before I can apologize, I glance at Mom to see how shes taking this tirade.
Shes flattened her lips.
No, theres a twitch in her expression, as if its being tugged along by a hook.
My mom finally releases her joy too, in gulping guffaws broken up by inelegant snorts that feedmylaughter.
A conflagration of joy.
She could shame Ho Chi Minh himself.
But its too late.
Were in hysterics and nothing can bring us back.
Youre supposed to be the mother, Ba Ngoai says to Mom in mild disgust.
She flops back down and immediately begins snoring, as if shed never been awake at all.
Mom shrugs, finally cowed, though a smirk lingers on her face.
Soon, Moms snores join the rumbling chorus, and shes lost to the waking world.
But I cant sleep yet.
I retrace our steps from the night.
Into a dessert shop that promises a few moments of stolen freedom.
Mom with her elbows on the sticky tabletop, a sparkling glee in her eyes.
