Free The Reeducation of Cherry Truong by Aimee Phan

waving to them. Now, Hoa’s eyes traveled upward: the palm trees arching over the knotted green hills; the gray and brown roofs of the buildings; the vivid, clean sky.
    Hoa felt fine on the boat. It was the bus that made her sick. The curving Malay roads, the potholes and dips, the freezing blasts from the air conditioner, the bursts of static booming from the bus radio. Hoa curled herself into the vinyl seat, resting her head on the cool window. She vomited in her paper bag several times, and then had to use Hung’s bag.
    During the six-hour layover at the airport, Hoa spread herself out on the carpeted floor to rest, though the lounge chairs—gray, soft, and new-looking—seemed luxurious. But she was afraid if she sat upright any longer, she’d grow sick again. There was nothing else in her stomach to throw up.
    Ngoan regularly returned to Hoa’s side with a fresh damp paper towel to press against her forehead. Phung urged her to drink water and rehydrate. The children offered to sing some songs for her, but she asked them to go play elsewhere and not make too much noise.
    After a long nap, Hoa awoke to Hung sitting on the floor next to her. She slowly sat up, her hair brushing over her cheeks. Her bun had undone itself while she slept.
    â€œAre we leaving soon?” she asked.
    Hung nodded, offering her more water.
    â€œSanh was here,” he said.
    Her head swung in both directions. “Where?”
    â€œHe’s gone now,” he said. “He was only here for a minute. They were passing through to their gate. He didn’t want to wake you since you were so sick.”
    â€œYou should have woken me,” Hoa muttered. The tension crept back inside her body. It wasn’t something to get upset over. He simply walked by, no time to stop and chat. She’d already said her good-byes to Sanh and Lum. Still, everyone but she had the opportunity for another hug, another kiss.
    Hoa slumped to the floor, wanting to sleep, wanting to wake in Paris, when all of this would be over; no more waiting, thinking, regretting.
    â€œHe won’t survive there,” Hung said. “He will realize his mistake.”
    Hoa concentrated on slow, steady breaths, in, out, as Hung’s words drifted over her head, lulling her back to sleep.

 
    1980
    Kim-Ly Vo
Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
    â€¦ Sanh was very angry with me. The whole family was. Mother Truong refused to kiss me good-bye. Only Trinh was kind, she cried about how she’d miss me. If I was ever tempted to go to France, it was because of her. But I remembered you, our family, and I knew we were making the correct choice.
    After we left his relatives at the airport, my husband was so angry. He wouldn’t even watch Lum so I could use the restroom. I had to take him with me. When I returned, Sanh was still glaring at me.
    â€œI hope you’re happy now,” he said. “Now we’ve left my family, too. Now we are all alone.”
    I am making him sound bad. He isn’t, believe me. I felt sorry for him. I truly did. Because now he knew how I felt, when he asked me to make the same sacrifice with you.…
    Tuyet Truong
    Tustin, California, USA

 
    Chapter Two
    CHERRY
    L ITTLE S AIGON , C ALIFORNIA , 1988
    Improve: her mother’s favorite word when they were growing up, because in America, when you improve, you get anything you want. So the only problem her mother could see was that Cherry didn’t want it enough.
    What was it ? Anything worthwhile, anything her smarty-pants cousin Dat had. Certainly not what she did ask for (a Nintendo, a trip to Disneyland, a golden retriever puppy). It could be a stellar report card, a tidier bedroom, better manners.… Once the complaining started, Cherry had long since learned to stop listening. But what Cherry could hear, because it was so rare, was the occasional compliment, the surprise interruptions in her lectures. Her mother could not deny her