The Perfect Piece of Sushi
Cadence fidgeted with her collar. I really wish I was more fluent in Chinese, a little voice squeaked inside her head.
“Wait, so what’s your favorite – what was it called – Shou si?” she mumbled in awkward Mandarin. A faint crimson tinted her cheeks.
“I like eating spicy tuna rolls!” Aubade dipped a piece of salmon in the soy sauce with a little too much wasabi. “I love its flavor and texture. And you?”
“Um… I’m not so sure. I like all of them!” she again mumbled in her clumsy Mandarin.
He replied with a hesitant smile. It was seven o’clock in the evening, and the sushi restaurant was packed with people. Conversation and laughter filled the dining place, yet a dreadful silence fell upon their dimly lit corner.
Aubade switched to his inarticulate English. “It’s okay, we can speak English. My English is, uh, articulate enough. What are you going to major in college?” His grammar and wording were perfect, yet his mouth stretched and turned in weird ways to pronounce these tongue-twisting syllables with a typical Chinese accent, almost as if the wasabi was a little too spicy. Drops of spit flew out between his teeth.
“I’m glad you asked!” Her facial muscles relaxed from the previous tight coil. “I’m planning to double major in music and a subject in STEM. I’m thinking about going to USC! What about you?”
Pause.
Silence.
His eyes radiated with confusion and the inability to comprehend what she just said, still warming up to the language of letters and spaces. Cadence could hear the gears turning inside his head.
“I’m sorry… shen me?” he muttered.
“I am – ”, she hesitated, “going to be a music major. What are your plans?”
“I don’t really know, to be honest.” A hint of anxiety danced across his eyes. “Everyone around me already planned out their life. Except me. The only thing I’m passionate about is drawing. I wanted to be a drawer – I meant an artist – but my parents already shut me down on that idea. They said there’s no way I’m going to make a living off of it, that I’ll end up, what was it, ‘zai mai dang lao fan han bao bao’”.
For a moment, the sound of crickets chirping once again engulfed their little corner. Cadence was tentative about what to respond with. She wanted to comfort him and let him know that he was going to be okay. But at the same time, she didn’t want to sound cheesy and cliché.
Maybe I should give him a hug and pat him on the head. I want to peck him on the cheek. Actually, no. We’re just friends. There’s no way my parents would let me date before college…
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. You don’t have to have everything figured out in life before going to –”
“Yeah, but I’m nervous. I’m an only child. I don’t want to, uh, fail my parents. My dad spent so much money and energy so I can study hard in an American high school, and here I am with no idea what to do with life. My mom quit her job just to raise me. I would literally be failing, um, three people by failing to get a good career.”
“I understand –”
“Maybe I should just be an engineering major. I’m pretty good at math. I’m already taking – what do the Americans call it – Calculus BC as an eleventh grader. I might be able to get into UCLA. I’ll take a bunch of physics courses and math courses and find a job at…”
Cadence suddenly grabbed his hand from across the table. She forced back a giggle as the hue of his cheeks traversed across the color spectrum.
“Fifty years later, when your grandchildren are cuddling around you in front of a warm bonfire, asking you what you regret doing in life, would this be one of them? Would you regret picking the wrench instead of the brush?”
Aubade stared at her hands. There were calluses on the tips of her fingers from hours of Liszt, Chopin, and Debussy. He pictured a future where he became a successful engineer. He can see his parents’ smiles. He can see the nice apartment building he would buy. He can see the comfortable lifestyle he would enjoy. Yet something was missing. It was as if the world was a painting, and it was missing something to make it come alive.
He stared at his hands. There were calluses on his fingers, too. It was on his thumb and index fingers, from all these days and nights he spent painting, all these years he spent…
A burst of colors exploded in front of his eyes, and he saw a different future. He saw his parents’ tightly knit eyebrows, their pursed lips. He saw his art being rejected, again and again. He saw himself crying in a corner, wondering if there was any hope in his life.
But at least it was colorful.
Taking a deep breath, he smiled and stared into the bottom of Cadence’s eyes. They were coffee brown under the sparkling candle, like the color of owls, fresh acorns, and wet soil. He saw crowds of people gathering around his artwork, marveling at its beauty and intricacy. He saw the colors splash on the canvas and felt the hard wooden texture of the paintbrush. Sure, he’ll face obstacles. Sure, he’ll face rejection. Sure, he might fail. Completely.
But at least he can smile knowing that he tried.
“Hey, Cadence, what’s your favorite piece of sushi?”