The girl who saves werewolves

1. Ping Pong Girl

In middle school, I was called Chopstick. I was thin and I was Asian. In high school, my classmates matured and their minds evolved. So, of course, my nickname had to evolve too.

I remember how the evolution started. Alex Montgomery, truly a bright young man, sat next to me during lunch. I say bright because he demonstrated his cognitive brilliance many times during those high school years. He was one of those Africa is a country and Jesus was American type of top-notch thinkers. He sat next to me, for some reason. He noticed I wasn't thin anymore. Boobs had happened during the summer.

"Your mother is from Thailand, right?" he said. He had a funny habit of sucking the fork. I was too distracted by that to pay attention to what he was saying or why he was talking to me at all. I just gave him a short yeah, yep, or sure for a reply.

"Cool," he said.

"Ok," I said. I did not notice the gleam in his eye. Had I seen it, I might have asked why he was asking. Instead, I just turned my eyes back to my tray and continued eating my fries.

The next time I saw Alex Montgomery, I did notice the gleam. I also noticed the amused chuckles and darting eyes of the boys he called his homies. Homies. He and his homies did not move or give me any room to enter the classroom which door was right behind them.

I did not say anything, just stared at them holding my backpack's straps nonchalantly.

"Oh, you want to go in there," Alex said. He stepped aside. "Sorry Ping Pong."

They burst into laughter. I walked past them into the classroom shaking my head. Whatever that was, I did not have any interest in it. Brilliant minds work in mysterious ways. We, the common people, can never understand them.

The nickname was there to stay. After a couple of weeks, my curiosity overtook me. I had to google it.

"Well that's lovely," I said after finding out about the ping pong shows.

So, I went from Chopstick to Ping Pong. And from Ping Pong to its numerous variations. Ping Pong Lucy... Ping Pong Girl.

The funny thing about Alex Montgomery, in addition to his brilliant mind, was that though he entertained his friends with his racist and sexist jokes, his family loved Thai food. The only Thai restaurant in our town happened to be owned by my mother. Every weekend their family would order take out and send their young sir to pick up the red curry and chicken with basil and chili. Unfortunately, I had to help my mom every Friday night and Saturday. I was always the one handing him their order. It was unfortunate because I would have rather spent the weekends without seeing him. I bet he felt similar, because seeing me without his homies around, turned him into a colossal p*ssy. He avoided eye contact like his life depended upon it. If he accidently did look at me, his cheeks turned red. Like really red. Firetruck red. 

The more fool he acted picking up the food, the more inappropriate he acted at school.

Sometimes my mom asked about school. She had noticed I hardly ever talked about my classmates nor other kids. Before I go any further, I want to make clear, Alex Montgomery and others did not crush my spirit with their idiotic jokes and nicknames. No no. That was not the reason I hardly ever talked about them. I didn't talk about them, because they weren't important to me. I was not one of them. I didn't care to be one of them. But you don't tell that to your mother. You don't talk about how you feel like you don't belong anywhere and how you can't connect with anyone or any place no matter how hard you try. At least I didn't.

I don't think my mom would've understood. Though she's my mother, we are completely different. Not only do we think differently, but our situations are like day and night. She chose this life. This life just happened to me.

When I was a toddler, my single mom, Daw, fell in love with an American man. My mother always wants to make sure that it is known, that she was not one of those "Pattaya girls".  She worked in a resort, teaching tourist how to cook Thai food. That American man was her student. He was polite, gentle, and above all responsible. Unlike my biological father who had died in a motorcycle accident while driving home drunk. My mother packed her bags, hopped on a plane and started to create a life here. Her first step was to change her name to Dawn. The American man is the only father I have ever known. His name is Walter but I call him dad. Or daddy.

I have practically grown up here, still, I feel like I don't fully belong here. Like I'm an outsider. And when we visit Thailand every summer, I feel the same. I'm always an observer. On the outside and always looking in.

I had grown so accustomed to that disconnection that quite frankly it didn't even bother me. Especially after reading that many cross-cultural kids felt like that.

But let's get back to the evolution of my nickname. Right before graduation, it reached its final stage. Turned out it never was about me. I was just a distraction - a smokescreen.

Turned out I was not the only one feeling disconnected.

Turned out Alex Montgomery wasn't just an ignorant boy I would leave behind once high school was over.

He became a stain I could never wash away.

No matter how hard I try. I'm still trying.