My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 14th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate in posting a story per day.
My husband and I have both been going to Silver Palace since we were little kids. It was the place our parents took us for birthdays, or getting straight A’s on a report card (well, that was me anyway, not my husband, lol).
Silver Palace is the place where we take grandparents out to dinner, or host a graduation party.
The owners of the restaurant recognize us whenever we stop in. They ask about our extended family by name, and they let us order our favorite things that haven’t been on the menu for years - like the dim sum with oyster sauce.
Yesterday was the last day of the kids’ winter vacation, so to celebrate we decided to get take-out from Silver Palace.
To be clear, this wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. This was planned days ago. We all looked forward to it for days. When will it be Silver Palace night, Mom? Soon, sweetheart… soon. Yum.
But when we opened up the containers last night, we immediately knew something wasn’t right. The lo mein was a darker brown than usual. The crispy pork was very obviously over-cooked. The ginger chicken didn’t smell right. And worst of all, the dim sum with oyster sauce came coated with some other sauce.
Being optimistic people, we all gave it a try anyway, and tried to see the positive. I kind of like the new sauce, Mom! The lo mein is different—but still good, right Dad? But we all knew it wasn’t very good. In fact, if I’m being honest, it was nasty. (Sorry Silver Palace owners, but it’s true!)
By the time we got to the fortune cookies our spirit was broken. The pandemic had taken away many things, too many to count, and now this.
So when I opened my fortune cookie and read:
THE GREATEST MEDICINE IS THE EMPTINESS OF EVERYTHING.
I burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. What the f*ck? Seriously? The EMPTINESS OF EVERYTHING? What kind of fortune was this?
“Your fortune is saying that the best medicine is to just… die?!” Jackson cried hysterically, laughing. He’s seven years old, and even he understood the dark humor, the irony of it all.
The fortune feels about right, honestly. On the anniversary of our world getting turned upside down, after twelve months of just awful, awful events, it makes sense that our family’s favorite restaurant would deliver this cryptic, but (possibly prophetic?) message.
Perhaps the emptiness of everything doesn’t mean death, necessarily. But just an emptiness of my mind. Maybe all I need to do is just forget about what’s wrong (burnt crispy pork, ruined dim sum), clear my head, and focus on what’s right.