Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are copyrighted to Amy Tan. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: This is a short story on The Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan. It was written as a summer assignment for my Pre-AP English class. I hope whoever reads it likes it. I know I did )
Chapter One: An Introduction
It was the time of year again when Ruth would spend seven days of her life silently, reveling only in her own thoughts and recollections. Every year, she would go to her mother's vacant house and sift through the vast amount of precious articles that she had thought of as junk not ten years before. It never ceased to amaze her how unearthing one small object could bring back a flood of memories that would keep her occupied for hours at a time. Once again she found herself standing in the long deserted living room of her old house. This year, however, was different.
Ruth's mother had recently passed away at the seemingly ripe age of eighty-eight. What most people didn't know, however, was the fact that as LuLing took her last breath, she was incapable of remembering even her own name. Though Ruth knew that her real mother had slowly faded into the past, there was something about this finality of her death that was almost too overpowering for her. As she stood and let her gaze wander around the house, memories of her childhood came rushing back to her. Ruth remembered this same feeling six years ago when her mother had first been diagnosed with dementia, or Alzheimer's disease. She recalled the feelings of fear and bewilderment that had just about consumed her life as crises had been hurled at her. She had not only had to deal with her mother becoming increasingly helpless by the week, but also with the internal battle that had started to arise every time she had thought of her and Art's relationship. A surge of relief coursed through her when she realized that at least the latter aspect of her life had finally been worked out.
Ruth stepped into the kitchen and sighed. She would never be able to watch her mother cook dinner again. She would never smell the delectable aromas of her favorite traditional food as her mother worked furiously to get it ready in time for the visitors they were expecting that evening. Never again would her mother scold her for being careless and spilling hua jiao- or prickly ash- on the counter. "Ai-ya! Why you so careless? This cost money! You think money grow on tree?" Ruth closed her eyes and sucked in a ragged breath. She had to get herself under control. This was not the time to be breaking down over something she had known was inevitable. Once she had successfully gotten her heart to beat at a steady rate, she decided to finally do what she was here for. The new tenants were arriving tomorrow and it was her job to make sure that all of her mother's belongings had been removed from the house.
Checking in all the cupboards and the refrigerator, Ruth made her way through the kitchen and stepped back out into the living room. Doing the same as before, she wove her way through the rest of the house, finally finding herself at the door to the last room: her bedroom. Slowly turning the knob on the door, Ruth walked into the room that had once housed her teenage self. Merely stepping into the room brought back a flood of both sweet and sour memories, and Ruth couldn't stop herself any longer. As tears welled in her eyes and overflowed down her thin, bony cheeks, she collapsed against the wall where her beloved bed used to rest. She lay on the floor next to the old wooden bureau- now being left for the new tenants- and let herself be overcome with the pain of her loss. Once her eyes slowly started to swell and the wet tears turned into nothing more than dry sobs, Ruth finally let herself stare out into the empty room. Or so she thought.
Wedged between the wall and the empty dresser was none other than her once again long-forgotten diary. How it happened to be there, Ruth hadn't the slightest idea. The last that she remembered, it had been flung onto the kitchen counter years ago. As she removed it from its resting place, she let her fingers caress the protruding designs and inhale the faint smell of nail polish still wafting off of the small hearts that it coated. Unclasping the old fashioned lock on the side, her fingers leafed through the pages, allowing the book to flop open to a random page towards the middle. Ruth straightened up and leaned against the wall while cradling the memento in her hands as she began to read the ramblings of her past. As she continued to gaze over her handiwork, the words began to fade and she was instead faced with a picture in front of her eyes. Ruth began to recall the incident about which she was reading with such clarity that it could have happened yesterday instead of thirty-five years ago.