OL: Memoir

By: Summer Zhang '28

​Sitting in the car, watching unfamiliar landscapes pass by, I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. Everything feels off. With the lingering smell of disinfectant in the seats and my heart pounding against my chest, I try to calm myself.

“Sunshine, Sunflower, and Sun-rays groups! Come pick up your child!” the teacher calls out. Five-year-old me, in the Sunflower group, stands enthusiastically, waiting for my mom.
It’s the home day at my boarding school. I say "school," but our little place wasn’t really a “school” school. It was more of a boarding-fun-small-playground-extracurricular-kindergarten-childcare-center.

When the teacher calls my name, I run out the door—only to see my uncle waiting, not my mom.
“Where is Mommy?”
“Oh, she’s traveling in another city. Her flight is tomorrow morning, so I came to pick you up.”
“Why you?”
“No one wants to pick you up.”
I frown.
“Just kidding,” he says.

My uncle is always joking, though no one ever laughs. He’s not as strict as my grandpa. He’s more like my mom—unpredictable. Sometimes things get out of hand. I remember once when he broke my cousin’s finger playing catch. It was chaos.

I climb into his car, which always smells like new leather—though I doubt it’s real because of the strange smell. “We’re heading back to your house first,” he says, turning around. “Put your seatbelt on.”

He rarely drives me. Usually, it’s my cousin or my mom who picks me up. The drive is about an hour and a half. I like looking out the window and knowing the route well. So when we suddenly take a different turn, my stomach drops.

He didn’t take the exit. The last exit before the toll!

In my city, tolls have people and booths—you can pay with cash, a card, or an e-pass. As a kid, I considered the toll the “Door to the Other Side.” Once you pass it, you’re out of the city. I panic. That exit was our last chance. How will we get back home now?

“We passed the exit! What are we gonna do now?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“Calm down. You’re not going to die or stop breathing. It’s not a big deal,” he replies.
“But it is! That was the only way home!”

“Maybe it’s a fun trip to the other side of the door. Another city? Who knows—you might get kidnapped and travel around the country! Ha ha!”

I freeze.

Another city? Being kidnapped? Never coming back? My mind spirals. My uncle is taking me away. No one would suspect him—he’s my mom’s brother. It would take days for her to figure it out. By then, I’d be gone.

“Turn back! Slow down! Please!” I cry.
“Why should I? Maybe we’ll go to another city today. Besides, there’s another exit—we just have to pay.”

If I had heard the last sentence, I might’ve realized it was a joke. But I was too scared. I thought he was serious. My brain raced. Where would I end up? What would Mom do when she came home and didn’t see me?

Then, suddenly, an idea hit me.
“No… you can’t go to another city.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’ll cost too much money for gas. You wouldn’t want to waste money.”
He paused. The car slowed for a moment of silence… then he burst out laughing.
“Alright, alright, I’ll bring you home. I told you—there’s another exit,” he said, turning the car.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah, but we’ll pass my house first.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. My heart still pounded, and the fear stayed with me. I imagined what might’ve happened if I hadn’t spoken up. Being kidnapped, taken by traffickers… Mom would never find me. I didn’t want to think about it.

After two hours, we got home.
“That was a fun ride, wasn’t it?” he said.
“The ride was not fun,” I replied.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… not fun,” he said, laughing so hard he had to say it half-seriously.
​
Even now, when I think or write about it, I can still feel that fear. Though I now know he was just joking and did plan to take the other exit, for years I believed I’d saved myself by bringing up the cost of fuel. I think my uncle is kidnapping me because he is taking me away from our house. That’s why, in my mind, he didn’t kidnap me after all.