Fictions from Christine H. Chen

Photo: Fran Jacquier

Osteonecrosis

Ah Ma’s incessant moaning drove Ba to his grave. I took his place bearing the avalanche of her rants. The price of an onion, the handyman tracking dirt inside the hallway, Ba’s ghost not helping her find her eyeglasses, a squirrel burying nuts in her potted tomato plant. Her tirades slowed over the years, then trickled between her teeth before hitting silence. “Something’s wrong, please help!” I begged her doctor. Scans and biopsy showed her jawbone had turned to black tar. After the surgery Ma’s garbled phrases expired on her lips. I squeezed her hand, wishing to hear her words.

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Father’s Eyes

Your head is hard as a rock, Ah Ma says, stubborn like your Ba. I shut my eyes, let my hand glide along wallpapers to guide my steps. Stop doing that, she yells. Behind eyelids dance grainy statics like an old TV with no reception, spider veins from chipped paint graze my palm, my ribs bump against the corner of the piano. A Coua outside mocks me with staccato barks. I trip on a cowhide, my hip slams against the shutter. I fall behind my father’s eyes to embrace the shadows of his world, feel his heart ache like mine.
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Christine H. Chen was born in Hong Kong and grew up in Madagascar before settling in Boston where she worked as a research chemist. Her fiction has been published in CRAFT Literary, Hobart, SmokeLong Quarterly, Vestal Review, Pithead Chapel, and other journals and anthologies. Her work appeared in Wigleaf Top 50 Very Short Fictions 2023, is forthcoming in Best Microfiction 2024 and has been nominated for Best of the Net, and Best American Food Writing, and Pushcart. Her story “Maid in America” won a Fractured Lit. Anthology III prize, 2023. She is a recipient of the 2022 Massachusetts Cultural Council Artist Fellowship. Read more at www.christinehchen.com