My aunt handed me a rough, mustard-yellow dress made of coarse stiff polyester and told me I was wearing it to the Senior Heritage Gala.
The gala opening music began to play, a traditional Vietnamese folk melody, vibrant and full of life. It echoed through the community center, a stark contrast to the quiet tension in the side lobby.
Relatives and church elders, dressed in their finest, began to gather near the display table that showcased artifacts of Vietnamese heritage. They lingered, waiting for the processional to begin, their conversations hushed but expectant.
Kevin, Minh, Ms. Harrison, and I stood together, a small, resolute group in the corridor. Tiffany hovered nervously nearby, her eyes darting between her mother, who was still posing for photos near the main entrance, and our somber huddle.
Kevin took a deep breath. He scanned the faces of the elders, making eye contact with Mrs. Dao and Mr. Le, two prominent figures in the community.
“Aunt Coi,” Kevin called out, his voice clear and carrying, though not overtly loud. He needed her to hear him, but not to cause a full-blown scene just yet. “Could you step over for a brief family moment before Chloe walks on stage?”
Aunt Coi, caught off guard mid-conversation with a group of friends, paused. Her smile faltered for a second, then snapped back into place. She must have thought I was finally going to offer a public apology for my perceived rebelliousness, a humble thank-you for the “traditional” dress.
She nodded graciously to her friends and, with a confident air, began to walk towards us. Her crimson gown rustled with each step, a vibrant flash in the muted corridor. Her eyes, bright and triumphant, fixed on me.
She approached us, an expectant smirk playing on her lips. She stopped a few feet away, surveying our small group. Minh’s face was still etched with sorrow, Ms. Harrison’s with quiet resolve. I stood perfectly still, my heart a drum in my chest.
The music swelled, a cue for the processional to start. Aunt Coi gestured towards the main hall.
“Come along, children,” she said, her voice falsely cheerful. “Don’t want to be late for your big moment, do we, Chloe?”
Her gaze was dismissive, already turning to lead Tiffany towards the stage entrance. She had no idea what was about to unfold.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours