The Spanking Machine
“You don’t want to ever go near the Spanking Machine. You don’t ever want to see it.” Scotty said. Then he noticed me, the tallest girl in third grade. “Margaret where have you been all my life?” No one had ever called me that before because it wasn’t my name. His real name was Agamamnon Perez Jr. But he shortened it to Scotty because he thought Agamemnon sounded too Cuban.
College was where I first started having mood swings. I couldn’t pick a major. I dropped in and out of school. I didn’t know what to do. So I went to the Student Counseling Center and took a vocational preference test called “The Kuder.” The graduate student came out to give me my results. “Oh wow, according to this there is absolutely nothing that you would enjoy doing.”
If it’s 7:30 in the living room, what time is it in the kitchen?
Eight year old Scott pretended to be asleep as he stretched across the backseat of his grandfather’s 1969 Oldsmobile. For the last hundred miles, he had been eavesdropping as his grandparents talked about Carol.
“Do you think she’ll even remember us?” his grandmother asked, “After all, we only met her the one time, and she doesn’t know we're coming to see her.”
“Yeah,” his grandfather said, “but, we’re memorable people. She’ll remember.”
Then he turned off the engine, flicked his cigarette out the window, and reached into the backseat to touch his grandson.
“Wake up, Scotty; it’s 2 a.m. We’re here.”
We are tired. We are hungry. We are Chinese.
Susie is happily laying in bed when she hears a voice. Not the usual chatter in her mind, but a voice from outside of herself, a voice from beyond. It has a message for her – one no doubt, full of depth and truth. It tells her to dig in the trash. What she finds makes her confront her views on love, honesty, and just how Chinese she really is.