Van Kruzan
Asian on Saint Patrick’s Day goes to spend time with their sister at a bar. Sister gets
harassed by bouncer for her homemade mask in a bar filled with unmasked white men at the
same time as bouncer is flirting with her. Sister is told that busty Asians are his favorite. Sister is
told that she can meet bouncer in the alleyway for something special. Sister is told to leave; her
ID looks fake. The eyes are too angled. Sister takes it with a smile, grabs her sibling’s hand and
leaves with an outstretched middle finger waving behind.
Asian on Saint Patrick’s Day goes to a taco restaurant up the street instead with their
sister. They both eat tacos on St. Patrick’s Day, chalking up the lettuce and the avocado as just
enough green to be festive. It isn’t enough, but, hey, tacos can be our new tradition instead,
right? Another tradition that their family exchanged for peace over the years.
Asian on Saint Patrick’s Day finally gets the courage to drive back to campus in the rain.
Asian has to park in the farthest lot because of the late hour of midnight. Asian feels so terrified
to walk back to their dorm that they just sit there, the anxiety of being queer and Asian and
femme presenting all wrapped into one being enough to keep them there. In the car, rock music
pumping from the speakers tries to vibrate all of the nerves free. They clutch their keys like
claws in one hand, the other clasped shakily around a pocketknife that their father sent them
freshman year as they climb out of their car. A mile to walk had been nothing back in small-
town-middle-of-nowhere Florida, but STL is a different, dangerous, and looming monster.
Asian on Saint Patrick’s Day can’t breathe as a passerby tells them they look ‘kawai’
when they take their mask down to take a sip of a drink. They take out the hand still clasped
harshly around the pocketknife to pull their mask back up while staring straight into their eyes.
Perhaps this is enough of a middle finger to emulate their sister’s courage.
Asian on Saint Patrick’s day shuts the door to scroll through the news. Asian’s nerves
don’t calm as they usually do behind closed doors. SHOOTING IN ATLANTA, GEORGIA:
SIX OF EIGHT VICTIMS ARE MURDERED IN SPAS BY WHITE ASSAILANT, WATCH
VIDEO FOOTAGE NOW. They watch the videos, desperately hoping that this is something
made up to abuse Asians further. Oh, what a horrible decision to make. They sit there in the dark,
thinking about how their grandmother used to own a salon near Atlanta a few years prior. Asian
feels guilty for being glad that this happened now rather than when their grandmother would’ve
been in harm’s way. Grandmother could have died just as pointlessly as the victims had. Asian
feels so desperately homesick for the first time since arriving to college as newscasters
pronounce eight nameless dead. Asian cries as they pray for the families, something that they
hadn’t done for years. Asian feels so small as they crawl into their bed and wrap the covers
around them. Each story builds on top of Asian’s shrinking body as they crawl into the covers.
They cry out of guilt and sadness and anger until sleep finally takes pity on them.
Asian wakes up in the morning to more information. More names. More opinions that
hurt their heart more than they ever thought possible. Mistakes in the news made countlessly as
the misinformed pronounce the victims’ names incorrectly. Calls from friends wondering how
they took the news. They try to busy themself with the tasks of the day: finishing up an essay,
going to class, filling out paperwork for study abroad. The study abroad paperwork has questions
that they can’t answer. They call their dad. Nothing. They call again.
Asian learns that their father had his own Saint Patrick’s day.
Asian learns that their father went drinking like everyone else. Like people have the right
to. Different city, different state, but- same issues, it seemed. He took his mask off like everyone
in the bar, shared drinks with friends. Went to the bathroom, got stopped by a white man. Father
got into a small argument about masks. Father turns around to go to the restroom. Father is
grabbed by the shirt collar and pulled back to the ground. White man beats navy veteran Asian
dad into the ground, slamming his head into the ground. Slamming his body into the ground.
White man says go back to China. White man breaks Father’s hip, and the bouncer is ignorant of
it all until Father’s friends come to pull white man away. Bouncer pulls friends away as white
man continues beating. Breaking. Hitting. Bouncer says that Father isn’t worth getting hit for.
That Father isn’t worth the time. Father goes to hospital, and white man goes home. Cops and
bouncer go home too.
Father has a shattered hip and a concussion. White man has a racist story to tell his lofty
friends the next day.
Asian calls Father while he’s in surgery. They have class in three minutes, but their
stepmother picks up. Tells Asian what she can manage through tears and frustrated words
exchanged with doctors in the background. Asian can’t focus. Asian can’t do anything but sit in
silence until they can feel their muscles again. It takes longer than it took white man to break
their Father.
Asian reads news report after news report until they become completely numb to it all.
The tears dry, the whispering to say the names of the dead correctly stops. But- Asian holds their
knife a little closer to their chest now. Asian buys sharper keychains to resemble Wolverine for
midnight walks. For mid-day walks. For five-minute outings to the pharmacy.
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