Chinese Food

On a drive up through the heart of America, heading toward the Boundary Waters in Minnesota, my brother and I encounter a major thunderstorm coming across Illinois. It’s a flat but beautiful country of farms and windmills. Green wheat, corn, and soybeans stretch for miles in every direction, and Interstate 36 plows right through the middle of it.

To the north, straight in front of us, we can see the storm off in the distance. It’s dark, very dark, and as we close in bolts of lightning tear toward the ground. It stretches from one corner of the horizon to the other, over the broad farmland. We have some sandwiches packed, and had planned to stop and eat lunch at the next rest area, but by the time we reach it the rain is blowing sideways in sheets. We sit silently and eat in the car instead, as it drums away on the roof and windshield.

Pretty well used up from a long day of driving, we check into a hotel that evening and order Chinese from a nearby restaurant. I volunteer to go pick it up and get there near closing. A mop bucket stands near the kitchen entrance and I walk in just in time to see a young Asian woman disappear into the back. At the counter a small boy, not more than ten, is standing, almost formally, at the register. Barely tall enough to see over the counter top, he asks me, in a polite tone, what I have ordered. 

“Moo goo guy pan with brown sauce, and beef with broccoli.”

“That will be $23.45, please.”

He takes my card, hands me the receipt. I see the top of another small head peek out from underneath.

“Is there someone else back there?” I ask, leaning forward over the counter.

His sister pops up with a large smile, blushing, and runs to the back.

I sign the receipt and ask the young man.

“Will your mom split this tip with you?”

He shakes his head no with a look of disbelief at my ignorant question, then steps into the kitchen, where his mother is cooking my order. I’ve been in a few restaurant kitchens, and know she has waited to start my order until she is sure I will show up. This time of night you never know. After a minute he returns.  

“It’s almost ready,” he says. “Can I get you a free tea?”

“Absolutely.” I reply. “I’d love a free tea. Thank you.” 

He disappears again and reappears with a white teapot and cup. I sit down at a table and look over the restaurant. The dining room is empty except for one couple, deep in conversation. It’s clean and bright with asian prints on the wall and strings of lanterns.

The tea is jasmine, nice and hot. I sip it and wait, completely content at the familiarity of it all. Five minutes later his mom comes out of the kitchen, carrying my order. It is heavy, and I am hungry so that’s a good sign. 

“Could I get some duck sauce, spicy mustard, extra napkins and plasticware?” I ask. 

The young man has it gathered and in my bag almost before I finish the sentence. Gives me the first hint of a smile. I sit back down and linger a minute with my tea. The woman has begun to clean up, mopping the back. The younger sister is playing in a booth with two dolls, which she has talking to each other. 

“The tea is really good,” I offer. “Thanks again.”

“It is our pleasure,” He responds. “Please come back and see us.”

I step outside into the empty parking lot. It has begun to rain again and I put the food on the back floorboard and get into the driver’s seat as the rain begins to soak the parking lot and street, washing it all clean. It’s a two minute drive back to the hotel and I arrive with the hot food where my brother is watching the end of Shawshank Redemption. Where Red is on the bus to find his friend Andy, somewhere on the coast of Mexico. 

“I’m excited in the way only a free man can feel,” Red narrates. “A free man at the start of a long journey.” 

I understand that, began my own journey a while ago, and hope that young man back at the restaurant is half as expectant. For a fine good life of his own, and the days and years ahead.