Typical American by Gish Jen

high school, trying to learn to be up front.
    Helen handed her a dish. "So many family members, I already lost them all," she answered.
    No elaboration. It was just before sunset, a time of day when the sun stared blithely across the kitchen, instead of studying the floor. Callie drew the curtains with a soapy hand, but even so the light washed everything out.

    "It's not funny," said Theresa. Mona stopped.
    "Was in the Chinese newspaper." Helen shook her head. "Really sad."
    "Sometimes I think maybe he come to look for me, but cannot find me." Ralph's voice was sodden. "Nice person, Little Lou. Good heart."
    "Sad," said Callie.
    "Oh, so sad" Mona sighed heavily.
    Theresa glared, but went on. "Anyway, so finally I call one place, and someone says yes, there's a Chinese man here named Ralph. She thinks she saw him go out for a walk."
    "So happen," Ralph explained, "time I move there, I so tired, I forgot to ask them if someone call, please not to say anything."
    "We were just lucky like that," said Theresa.
    "Just lucky?" asked Mona, with an innocent look.
    Theresa glared at her again, but before she could say anything, Ralph had already taken his cue.
    "Not lucky, miracle!" he said.
    And, of course, next came the black coat — and then, Older Sister!
    First there was Theresa's ankle to take care of. Ralph tried to hail a cab, which he'd never done before. He put a tentative arm up; instantly one pulled over, in a rolling wave of black slush. Magic! Ralph marvelled at his own command. The driver leaned his head back. "Hospital?" said Ralph; and even before all the syllables were out of his mouth, the car lurched ahead, so responsive that Ralph was thrown against the seat. He straightened himself dazedly. At the hospital, Theresa was whisked into a perfectly white room; he was ushered in after her. She emerged on crutches, looking like a veteran.
    Though it was after hours in Theresa's building — a women's residence — under the circumstances, Ralph was allowed in. He waved his thanks to the lady at the desk. Clatt! — the elevator doors. Clatt! They opened again, like the shutter of a slide projector; and in front of Ralph shone private splendor. Flocked

    wallpaper, moss green with gold, in a pattern of sinewy trellises; a matching moss-green carpet; and on the walls, electric torches. Flame-shaped bulbs spiralled up from gold-tone leaves. Ralph entered the hall reverently. Theresa stopped in front of door 9D. "Push that," she instructed, and he did, with such a respectful press that he had to ring again, with more punch, to produce the noise that would make the door open. Still nothing. No matter — Theresa handed him her pocketbook. She had keys. But just as he fathomed the bag's knot-shaped clasp, the apartment door swung suddenly, wondrously, wide. Ralph stared, handbag agape. He'd readied himself for a comb, a mirror, a change purse, maybe some paper clips. Here instead stood a woman.
    And around her, China. Ralph took in the scrolls, the shoes by the door, the calendar, the lidded cups of tea, as if they were part of her person, an extension of her clothes; he found them so familiar — found her so familiar — that even a half second later he could hardly have said what he'd recognized. Then she spoke (a soft, breathy sound) and he realized he didn't know her after all. That's why they were being introduced. Belatedly he began to register some specifics. Delicate feet. Sturdy calves. Slight figure overall. A contained way of moving; she seemed instinctively careful not to take up too much space. Shoulder-length black, curly hair (a permanent). A heart-shaped face that, with its large forehead, and small mouth, and slightly receding chin, seemed to tilt forward. She had large eyes, but mosdy, it seemed, for his beat-up shoes. Shy, Ralph concluded hopefully. The considering type. Not a talker.
    But Helen was not a listener either, so much as something else. Attentive. She sensed when a guest needed more tea before