Memories of her childhood years, translated…
Every time as the summer’s ended, I’d fallen asleep on the straw mattress growing colder by the day, I’d always gotten reminded of my mom’s oversized bed. It was made from the hardwood boards of the military factories, very sturdy, the straw mat on it was dark brown, with the smell of bamboo, there was a patch of blue cloth sewn on the upper right corner. There was, about thirty-centimeters’ space between the mattress and the headboards. My father nailed a wooden block onto it, made it into an open closet; as we’d played hide-and-seek, I’d often hidden myself in the pile of clothes, and if I’d not made a sound, I wouldn’t get found.
Since I could remember, I’d slept on this same bed with mom. Every time, I’d fallen asleep, to the lullaby sounds of her flipping through the newspapers; in the winters, as my mom lay down next to me, she’d always smiled and told me how I’d made the quilts so very warm for her, and, children have higher temperatures, like the ovens.
My third eldest brother is four years older, one day, he’d come to nap with us, he lain on the other side of the bed, started holding a conversation with mom. As I drifted off into dreams, I’d heard mom whispering to my third eldest brother, “don’t talk anymore, your younger sister’s asleep.” Normally, she’d called me by my name of nickname, rarely called me, “baby sister”; on that quiet afternoon, I’d heard my mom, gently reminded my third eldest brother to not wake me, my eyes were closed tightly, and I felt so very blessed.
picture from the papers…
Mom’s oversized bed was also our playground, my older brothers and sister would always lie on top of it and played.
In the second grade, I was selected as a model student representing my school, my dad took me shopping for new shoes and bus tickets so we can head to the Memorial Hall for the ceremonies. On the way home, dad asked me what I would like for a present? Back then, we just had a black-and-white television, I’d recalled those cute toy houses made up of blocks, and I’d asked dad for them.
Those blocks wrapped in yellow cardboard boxes weren’t cheap, there were, so many acrylic blocks that looked like bricks inside, the various sizes of windows, and the green cardboard with the shingles drawn on. My third eldest brother had gotten on the big bed, so focused, and built up the complex houses, schools and police stations, and earned the elders’ commends. Although I’d felt bad, but, it seemed, that my not-yet-developed little hands, can only build the simpler style houses, not so delicate like my third eldest brother’s.
On a certain weekend, my eldest sister poured all the blocks onto the big bed, and had us tallied up all the different colors and shapes of blocks and wrote it on the boxes, that way, it’s as if we can ensure, that no pieces ever goes missing. But, a few days later, a typhoon came, and, the water flooded into the house, and the cardboard boxes became the first victims, and the blocks were water damaged, everything was broken. Life is like a dream, everything changes in an instant, I’d understood this value of life after the typhoon a little.
photo from online…
The bed was also, where my mom recuperated for her falling ill. For a very long time, she’d missed her hometown in China and couldn’t sleep at all, and on these nights she couldn’t sleep, she’d played the games with us to pass the times, as we’d guessed, we’d all fallen asleep one by one. As the morning light slowly came in, I saw my dad, returning from the night shifts, lifting up the mosquito nets, asking my mom how she’d slept? Seeing how they were relating to one another so intimately, I’d felt so very sweetened on the inside.
But unfortunately, one day in my second year of middle school, I’d come home to find, the big bed messy, that nobody was in the house, I’d rushed to the hospitals, but, my mother, already gone. Not long thereafter, the big bed was dissembled, and the wooden boards disappeared one by one. But mom’s oversized bed forever exists in my dreams, in my heart, and I’m able to, curl up in it, recalling the love of my deceased parents.
family times shared…not my photo still…
So, this, is a wonderful memory, of a bed that belonged to your parents, and, a lot of the most important moments happened on the bed, the bed became your safe place, a place that you can go and hide out from all your worries, sorrows, and troubles too! And now, even after your parents are gone, you still have the memories of your times shared…
Life, the Obstacle Course 