Special: The Superhero in Mom's Arms
One
When I was very little, my mom liked to roll me on the ground. I can't say why she had this hobby. That year my mom was twenty-nine, and this magical woman would come to the playground every afternoon, lay her two-year-old son flat on the ground, give him a push, and watch him roll away.
Then she'd shout: Run, Leo, run!
Her son rolled about two feet, came to a stop, and gazed at this woman with profound resignation.
My mom liked rolling me on the ground, and it was partly my fault. I had a condition that made me unable to walk.
When I was little, the doctor told my mom: He won't die from it, but he needs plenty of exercise, or he'll grow mushrooms.
My mom said cheerfully: Son, you endure a bit more, and we can have mushroom soup every day.
That was a joke, of course. My mom did follow the doctor's orders. It was the year 2000. My mom couldn't afford expensive exercise equipment, so she would often hoist me up in both hands and run from one end of the living room to the other.
She'd shout: Keep going, kiddo, almost done with the eight hundred meters!
As a result, my mom got in better and better shape those years. The other moms at her workplace, recently postpartum, were generally plumping up. They asked for her secret. My mom waved them off: "I practice by using my son as a shot put."
So those moms became wildly devoted to me. They'd hoist me up and sprint around the office too, panting, never forgetting to cheer me on: Keep going, another eight hundred meters done today!
I was four by then. I stretched out my arms and babbled like Superman. The sky felt high sometimes and low other times, and the days seemed near sometimes and far other times. Though I would spend my whole life as a paraplegic, in those years, I firmly believed I was a superhero.
A superhero, cradled in someone's arms.
Two
This year is my twenty-fifth birthday.
My condition has steadily worsened. The doctor says it's bone cancer. If my neck can move again, there's still a sliver of hope.
In my teenage years, I could still move somewhat. I went to school in a wheelchair and got through nine years of compulsory education like everyone else. Every day after school, my mom would carry my backpack, singing all the way, pushing me home full of energy.
When she saw my teacher, she'd call out: Hello, Teacher! When she saw the handsome boy in my class, she'd chirp: Hey handsome, off school?
My teacher and classmates gave her puzzled looks.
I said: Mom, what's for dinner tonight?
She looked down and said, very seriously: Call me big sister.
Dear mom—no, dear big sister—she patted my head and said gently: You can do it.
She let go. I sat in my wheelchair, screaming bloody murder as I flew down the slope. She ran behind me, shouting: Run, Leo, run!
Later, I came to a stop on the flat ground, staring blankly at the sky—not because the sky was beautiful, but because I was completely terrified.
My mom ran up, panting, and asked: How was it? Adrenaline pumping?
I stared at the sky like an idiot and said: Mom, I'm so done. Can you go to the orphanage and swap me for a different son?
Three
After college, the cancer spread to my chest.
I'd only been at my new job for two days when my mom brought me home.
I lay on the train, looking sideways out the window at the scenery, mourning my short-lived career and my scary boss who glared at me like I owed her money.
My mom peeled an apple and asked: Want a bite?
I opened my mouth.
She stuffed the apple into her own mouth.
I gasped so hard I nearly died on the spot.
She chewed the apple, stroking my hair.
She said: Son, that's nice.
I said: What's nice?
She said: Getting annual leave after just two days at work. That's nice.
I said: Hmm.
I suddenly laughed.
She said: What?
I said: I just thought of something. From now on, whenever coworkers mention me, they can say: That year, Leo gave his all, burned himself out, and heroically died during his probation period.
I couldn't stop laughing after saying that.
My mom slapped my hand: Shut up, don't say stuff like that.
After a moment, she laughed too. She propped her chin on her hand, looking at me, and said: That's nice.
I said: Hmm? Nice again?
She said: You're home. That's nice.
Four
These past six months, my condition has worsened. I can only lie in bed, entirely dependent on that lovable woman holding my head and spoon-feeding me liquid food.
That woman is as lovable as ever, though fine wrinkles have crept onto her face. She still wields the broom with boundless energy, but somewhere along the way, her bent back has become harder to straighten. After all, she's nearly fifty. A paralyzed superhero can't be hoisted forever so he can spread his wings and fly—it's enough to make anyone feel powerless.
One day, I said to her: Give up on me.
She patted my cheek and said: There's an old American saying—life is like a box of chocolates.
I said: You've been watching this terrible movie for twenty years. Isn't it over yet?
She said: I've never watched the ending.
I said: The ending is...
She said: No spoilers. Spoilers get struck by lightning.
I said: Mom, come on...
She said: No spoilers. Spoiler-getters have no you-know-what.
I said: Mom, don't be like that...
She insisted: No spoilers. No spoilers.
I said: Fine, we won't spoil it.
She wiped her eyes and said: Let's not talk about that. I'll tell you a story.
So she told me a story, that very old tale of Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf Grandmother.
Her voice was so gentle. May's breeze drifted through the apartment balcony, rustling the curtains, brushing her still-lovable face.
I slowly closed my eyes. That afternoon, I died, just like that, in perfect stillness.
How many days had my body been cold? Had worms started growing yet?
I'd lost count. My bones ached terribly, but I couldn't make a sound.
So this is what being dead felt like? Like being trapped in a closet, unable to move.
Later, the world around me gradually gained color. I saw a forest, saw lazy animals napping on the ground.
I figured I must have been successfully reincarnated.
And in this lifetime, I could finally run. I wept with joy, racing from one end of the mountain to the other, whooping with abandon. Then I wept even harder when I realized I'd been sprinting on all fours.
Mom, I got reincarnated as a beast.
The forest animals told me I was a wolf.
They said that at the edge of the forest lived Little Red Riding Hood, her stepmother, and the magic mirror. And Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother. As for me, they said I'd fallen from the sky—the legendary angel who'd face-planted on impact.
Five
It was a sunny afternoon. Little Red Riding Hood's stepmother was getting dressed up at home.
She asked the magic mirror: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?
The mirror said: Which fat broad dares run her mouth here?
The stepmother raised a hammer: I'll smash you into a quartic equation.
The mirror quickly said: Hold on, hold on. The fairest used to be you, but now it's Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother.
The stepmother was furious. She ordered Little Red Riding Hood to deliver a giant basket of high-calorie, high-fat cakes to her grandmother.
So Little Red Riding Hood set off with the cakes, wandering through the forest in a daze.
She passed a tree and spotted a big gray wolf lying underneath, flat on his back, snoring with drool pooling in his mouth.
She crouched down and popped his snot bubble.
The wolf mumbled and rolled over.
She shook the big gray wolf: Wake up, wake up, stop sleeping, the hunter's coming.
I opened my eyes and saw the little girl in the red hood.
She said: Why are you sleeping here? Aren't you going to catch little bunnies to eat?
I didn't speak, just shook my head.
She said: Escort me to my grandmother's house. I'll share my cake with you.
I got up and stretched. Fine, she'd found the right escort. In my reincarnated life, I'd lived in this forest for a long time. I still wasn't great with the layout, but for sweets, I could fake it.
Along the way, Little Red Riding Hood told me the forest had been dangerous lately. Hunters were shooting animals for food. Even her pet bunny had been caught by a hunter.
I scared off cobras, foxes, jackals, and other predatory animals that got too bold.
She patted my head and praised me: You're really brave.
I wagged my tail enthusiastically.
She said: Don't get too cocky. You'll be in trouble if you run into a hunter.
I bared my fangs at her.
She stuffed a piece of cake into my mouth.
She patted her chest: Goodness, those teeth are impressive. You scared me.
I ate the cake feeling wronged.