My name was Jerry Wong

My name was Jerry Wang

As soon as he finished the call, Wang wheezed once more. He looked around the room – and felt a depressive wave covering him up. It wasn’t the solitary nature of his. Wang was used to it. It wasn’t the lack of proper furniture. Wang was also used to it. It was how his life lacked any joy. It had already been a week. A jobless week. Wang realised how much he enjoyed working, and how much he enjoyed thinking of his future. But that phone call changed everything.

Thoughts swam across his mind, and he instinctively sat on his brown sofa bed. His hands wrapped around his head, gripping his irregular hair. Soon his mind stopped, and he could only bask on the reality of his room. The grim grey room. His mind then started to wrap around his throat, with how absolutely lonely he was for the entirety of his life. He was not welcome in this country. He was not welcome in this city. He was not welcome at his work. The sudden realisation gripped him, and he realised that he was not welcome to himself. He quietly sobbed, feeling tears rolling down his cheeks. Soon another thought stroked him. His wretched thoughts reminded himself of how others might find solace from those closest to them. There was not a single soul he could find consolation from. He was surrounded by no one, and no one will ever be here to remind him that he matters. No one will hear his weak and quiet sob. His heart started trembling, his breath quickening. His hands gripped his hair stronger. The grey room did not respond to him. Nothing else responded to him. He was, as always, utterly alone, in this city.

Once Wang gathered himself after a while, he thought of the number to the workplace and used the old phone to call Mrs. Lee. Wang took several intentional coughs before dialling the number. He hoped this would elevate him from further coughs, but that was not the case. As soon as the phone started ringing, he could not stop coughing, until Mrs. Lee picked it up. Wang stopped his breathing and heard Mrs. Lee answer in her calm customer voice.

“Chao and Cao’s Chinese food. What can we do for you?”

Wang took quick breaths and answered,

“Ma’am, it’s Wang. Jerry.”

Wang thought he was managing his hacks rather better than what he had expected.

“Oh yes, did you get your results back?”

Mrs. Lee asked in her cold, judging mandarin.

“Yes…it’s positive.”

Wang answered. Mrs. Lee took a shortened sigh, a sign that she did not seem to have expected this. A silence persisted for a short moment.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Jerry.”

Mrs. Lee answered.

“Ma’am, I…”

Before Wang could answer, Mrs. Lee said,

“I’ll be sending the rest of your pay to your bank account. That’s…”

Wang could hear Mrs. Lee repositioning herself to account log, her flipping the page to where his name was, and tapping onto her small calculator. Wang held his breathing for the duration of it.

“822 dollars, correct?”

Mrs. Lee asked.

“I’m sure you’re right, ma’am. Thank you.”

After answering Mrs. Lee, Wang covered the phone to make small coughs. However, covering the phone seemed to not work at all.

“Are you alright, Jerry?”

At first understanding it, Wang had mistaken her tone for actual care. But he soon realised it was another guilt trip that Mrs. Lee deployed to accuse her employees. All those many times he was abused, duped and abandoned. A rage swam across his mind of hours of work that he had wasted for her. The irregularities in her promises. The insolence in her accusatory Mandarin when he finished his delivery a few minutes late. The patronising tone of hers when Wang talked to her about possibly studying at a night college. This time, Wang was able to mutter what seemed like a proper response.

“Are you alright, Yan?”

A silence. Wang could almost hear a cough behind the phone. Then, she abruptly hung up. Wang was struck with loneliness again, but this time he managed it better. He looked around his small, cramped room. From where he was sitting on the sofa-bed, to his back was the small window that he could glimpse people’s shoes as they walked by. To his left was the bathroom and the front entrance. To his right, a closet with small drawers and a small table. On the table was the phone. Beside it was a stack of instant noodles and a rubbish bin. This, by all accounts, looked pathetic. He was, after all, a jobless pathetic man. His future now seemed so distant, so hollow. A wheeze burst out of his lungs and Wang covered his mouth. This, as much as he wanted to deny it, was very much real.

Wang then pondered. It was 1986 when he first came to this country and this city. His father believed that the United States had the future. At least in films, the United States was a magical place. The place of dream, the place where one can live their life with absolute certainty of success. So, Wang left for the United States, with hopes of his family behind his back. Wang could remember the face of his mother by the port. Her distorted face to a point when she looked away in sadness. This was a new chapter in his life. Wang was, for the first time of his life, independent.

Arriving at San Francisco, Wang gave himself two months to travel the continent. His small plastic camera captured a few moments – but it was a lonesome trip. Wang had no friends in the entire continent but traveling across this vast nation was one of the few best moments of his life.

Wang started to look for a picture of his family. It was deeply hidden inside the right drawer. Under the batteries, his old passports, his Green Card, Wang found the faded picture of his family. His now aged mother was grabbing onto his shoulder. His father, smiling right beside her. Their eyes spoke proud, their hands spoke warmth. Wang, in his teen years, probably did not realise this. He had the stern face of anger. Annoyed at this moment.

Wang then looked through the other drawer and found the small album. He flipped through the pages to find the Colorado mountains. He did not quite remember which mountain range he was looking at, but it was a marvellous one. This, perhaps, was his favourite picture that he had ever taken.

Wang then remembered the time he arrived in New York city. The city was grand, but it stank of filth and piss. Rats and beggars everywhere. Even the driver of the famous Yellow Cab seemed to belong to them. This, unlike his imagination, was the actual New York. Grand, just like any other monuments of America, but within it grubby, uncaring, bustling scavengers. Some with suits, some with barely anything. This significantly disappointed him. Wang didn’t hesitate much to explore New York city. He first led his way to his Taiwanese compound, where dozens of other immigrants shared their room with him. The room had 10 bunk beds in a cramped space. Wang could barely find any private spaces, other than the plastic bag that was neatly placed atop the bed. Wang ignored the plastic bag but used the suitcase he brought with him. However small it was, it was a first space that he owned in this country.

Wang still kept the now worn-out leathery suitcase beneath the sofa bed. He took it out, trying to find joy in them. Only faded memories came rushing back.

There, he was ‘introduced’ to a job. Wang’s High School education, sophisticated to a degree of which he was proud of, was of no help. People shoved him to places, shouting, screaming. Berating for wart in his face, berating for his lack of college education. Those who accused him of these probably knew anyone educated in college wouldn’t work in such conditions. But Wang allowed himself to be accused. He had to find a job – a ‘root’ so that he could make a living in this foreign place.

Months flew by, as he was crunched into hours with a pay he did not understand. He was paid in small amounts of cash. He kept them at his suitcase for a while, until one night, all of his pay through months of hard work simply disappeared. Then, he went through much trouble to create a bank account, depositing cash whenever possible. These lonely moments were suspended when he was able to call his parents. The static voices through tens of thousands of miles, only replying after long awkward pauses. He could not possibly complain of his life. To them, he was a pioneering businessman. But here, he was just a faceless man amongst the millions. The grubby nature of this city, these ‘scavengers’ he loathed so much was no worse than his entire existence.

Soon, Wang realised these memories went way too fast. Before he realised, few years had gone past. He found no company yet to share his time with. Then, ten, twenty years. The compound was moved several times, Wang always being introduced to new jobs. Wang had learned a few words in English by then, and Wang was able to converse basic needs with an American. There, Wang started to look for a proper ‘root’. A symbolic victory to which he could claim that he had lived a life that’s worth living for. Perhaps then and there, he may find a long awaited pause, a joy in his life.

With a few more coughs thwarting his memories, Wang found himself desperately needing water. He made his way to the toilet. Before pouring himself a cup of water, he looked himself in the mirror. His cheeks were of old age. His eyes were pale, ever more depressing. His wart still dangling on the side of his nose. He had lost his youth for this room. For this room.

He coughed. Once more, his lungs being perplexed with pain, his throat bulging with spit. He coughed several more times, until he gathered himself.

He returned to his sofa bed, took a deeper breath and laid down. He checked his watch – noted that it was only 10 AM. Normally, he would have been busy delivering foods, speeding through the traffic with his scooter, hurriedly walking along the pavements. But now, there was nothing for him to do. There was nothing more that he could find himself to do. There was not a single person to call, not a single ‘stuff’ to do.

He closed his eyes, trying to find rest in his heart. Soon, he fell asleep without a dream to remember.

Once he woke up, a terrible headache tore through his head. A yearning of some sort existed in his mind, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint where that yearning came from. While his mind pondered a fading memory, he checked his watch – 2 PM. He looked out the small window and realised how bright outside was. The January light ever seemed so lovely, shining the asphalt from deep black to warm grey. Wang felt the yearn just to be outside. But he understood the simple daily routine of stepping outside and going to work…was now a pure fantasy.

His head was boiling with pain, his breath getting quicker. He felt lumps started filling up. He coughed it up, but then the thickening lump started filling up the deepest part of his lungs. He coughed once more, the lump filled once again. He grabbed his blanket. Even if it was winter outside, the heathers should warm the room to at least 70 degrees. Nevertheless, it felt way, way too cold. He shuddered, teeth clattering. He coughed a few more times.

His lungs hurt badly. He closed his eyes, trying to remain calm. Perhaps for once, he could find peace.

Eventually, the cough took over his peace. He stumbled across the room towards his lavatory, trying to fill his cup with water. He had to pause, then he started to drink it. He felt the chilling water go past through his throat, filling his chest. But with that he came to a sudden stop. His lungs fluttered, aching in extreme pain. He coughed several more times until he felt a plateau coming over. He collapsed on the floor, trying to grasp breath a few more times. His head rested against the root of the sink, and he could feel the coldness of it against his neck. Then, he found himself drifting away into sleep.

This time, he had a dream. His parents stood in front of him – their 80-year or so body barely holding up. They still had a warm smile on their face. The same smile in the picture. Wang pondered the last moment he had called them. The moment then soon materialised. 6 months ago, his parents were still going on about how he had found no wife. He responded to them with a sharp irate, which only silenced his old parents. Wang did, indeed, desire a wife. But his life, his work did not permit it. He did not want to break that reality to them. So, he only responded with anger.

Then, Wang started to dream of his possible future. One time his teacher had mentioned his ability in writing. That moment was vividly clear, as were the moments of him writing short stories, poems. During these moments, he rose up to the glory of the greatest contemporary writer. He owned several apartments across Manhattan, one mansion in Long Island. He was featured on People’s magazine, shown in televisions across the nation. One of these televisions was the same old, flickering television at his workplace. In that corner near the door where he left hundreds of thousand times to make delivery, the television buzzed and hummed. Mrs. Lee lowered the volume and looked at Wang. She handed him the mirror and inside the mirror was the old, sagging face. Youth-less and pointless, having achieved a small grey semi basement in an uncaring city. The dreams soon shattered into reality, pushing him into the deep underground of depression. He wept and wept, and his lungs perplexed and started torturing him. This woke him up.

He had lost the sense of time. But the time seemed to put a cage around him, infinitely torturing him with each passage of seconds, locking him in this small, grey room.

A thought went across his mind. What if he broke the quarantine? After all, not all Americans followed the rules. This was probably how he got sick in the first place. Could anyone even punish him? With that, Wang started coughing again. His body was barely able to stand up. Had he not been this powerless, he probably would have stumbled out. But now he had no choice, but to drag himself from place to place in this small room. He grabbed the doorframe of the lavatory, pulled himself up. He almost lost balance just trying to get up, but he gasped and held onto the door frame. He slowly made his way towards the sofa bed, then collapsed onto it.

Wang then started to remember his ‘real’ plans. Not the pointless writing dreams. His ‘tangible’ future. Once he had achieved his savings plan by his 60s – which was nearly close to its goal - he would start his own business. Probably a laundromat, down at Flushing. This busy city always required such a place. Or a restaurant. Wang could learn how to make dumplings. At least in his own mind, Wang was capable of such. He could vividly picture himself owning one of those businesses. The night air of the city greeting him as he opened to door, saying good bye to the night shift workers. The walk that he would make across the streets to return to his house. The freedom to roam around the city with tiredness after hours of work, but with satisfaction that it was worth it. But that was about as fantastic as his dreams of becoming a writer.

Wang started coughing again and held onto the sofa frame. He grabbed the blanket and covered himself with much force as he could muster, but it did not help him with the pain.

He held onto the tangible future. The American dream. Start a business. Work your way up. Even if Wang was true to his savings plan, Wang slowly realised he cannot start a business in this city. It was a city already crowded with infinite generations of infinite wealth. The wheel turned, only allowing a slippage of people much better than him to join the circle.

Wang coughed once more, this time in rapid successions for what felt like an entire minute. He shoved his head and his chest down flat onto the bed frame, trying to suppress his coughs. The coldness struck all across his body and Wang started clattering his teeth.

The dreams he enjoyed, the future that he thought of – it started to collapse on itself. The room was small, damp and dark. He thought of the travels he had in Colorado, the intricate details of warm air. The incredible view, Oh, the incredible view.

Wang could feel his lungs now trembling. He gasped for more air, only to be met with excruciating pain. He wanted peace. He wanted to escape from this pain. He rolled around in his bed, clattering his teeth, seething of pain, only to cough in successions. Every time his lungs expanded to breathe; not enough air filled it. Wang realised that he was very, very close to his end.

Wang thought of the one time he decided to visit Central Park. It was filled with tourists, hot dog stands, birds, autumn leaves. He wanted to walk through it once more. Just this once.

Then the phone started ringing. Every time the rhythmic tone struck his brain, his ears struck his head with colossal pain. Could this be his parents? Has he ever told them about his conditions?

Not like this.

Wang soon realised his lungs did not accept any more air. He gasped for air, but he could not feel the satisfying sensation of air filling his lungs.

Not like this.

His brain then focused solely on people he hated. The people he loathed. Mrs. Lee. The rude customers. The complete strangers who berated him as ‘chinks.’ The biker who almost hit his scooter. These memories and many more, combined in his brain in full rage.

Not. Like. This.

Something clicked within Wang and Wang’s insignificant life started to fade away, as his breath started to fade as well, the everlasting sensation that was his joy of living cracked with the infinite pain that stood within his cells of his body, that protruded and contorted him in every horrible manner, as he slowly and slowly suffocated, the lungs started trembling, while rest his body refused to end, all the while his mind raced through the insignificant, small cog of a life of his, trying to find portions of life that he could find solace from, only to be met with excruciating loneliness which surrounded this damp and grey room that brought him to the very depths of another wave of depression he had suffered from his dreams, as his brain started losing oxygen and his head started to ache to a point he could literally feel the blood throbbing and piercing the few sanity that he bared, but no one to stand next to him, no one to grab his hand and say few warm departing words, only the horrible phone call that shattered whatever sanity that was left behind which only came to serious end as he realised that there was no coming back, no going back, nothing but the infinite desire to just survive what now seems like the luxurious life that he had lived, survive and enjoy the sweet miserable life that he had lived in the short 57 years…

Then, in a sudden but silent moment, his thought dawned to eternal void.

His body will still try to fight the fate of his death. His heart will still pound, but his brain lacks oxygen that made him alive. His heart will fade away as well, and slowly dew the coldness to corners of his body. About a minute later and his heart will have stopped.

Hours will pass since Wang's existence has ceased. The phone call will come back a few times, but after a few moments, it will go away. The people outside his window will pass many times, only not to realise the cold body inside. Sunlight would have touched his body a few times, only to go away after a short few minute. Nothing in his room will move, until a few small lives on his body start wiggle with life. Soon, his body will be covered by a few countable living forms, all taking up what was his flesh and birthing another kind of life. They will swarm, occupy, and thrive on the corpse.

It would have been two days when the door was knocked several times. The pound will continue for a few times, until it is opened by the locksmith. Immediately, Mrs. Lee, the landlord, one neighbour and the locksmith will be greeted by a horrible odour of a decomposing body. Mrs. Lee might quietly scream but will look away. On the sofa bed will be already a fairly decomposed, white body of Wang. This will haunt Mrs. Lee for the foreseeable future, until she too, will suffer the same fate. Locksmith as well, will do so too. Two of the three onlookers/neighbours will somehow manage through it, but the smell of the decomposed corpse will echo through their dreams from this point on.

Mrs. Lee will call the funeral services, only to realise that their landline is down. The entire city has been suffering from the virus for quite some time and now the consequences have dawned upon it. Mrs. Lee’s sympathy will still look for available resources though. Asking her son, perhaps. Her son will give her the website to tell her what to do. Mrs. Lee will take a few moments to understand and translate what is written there, with the help of her son. Once she calls the right number, or his son will, she would have already left the scene with a closed door.

The people who greet Wang’s dead body will wear white clothes, gas tanks and masks. They will move with extreme tiredness and carefully place his body into a bright orange body bag. This, perhaps, was the only time he was handled with care in this country. Then, they will place the body bag inside their van which was originally used for moving snow de-icer. In the van will be two other bodies, one of Veronika Smirnov, and one of Kevin Keefer. Keefer’s body will be identified, but Smirnov and Wang will be discarded onto the piles of other bodies at makeshift morgues in dozen trailers in Brooklyn. Smirnov’s family will inquire about the whereabouts of her body, especially her now aged daughter, Katherine. But soon she will realise that she needs to spend her life savings for the relocation of the body. The family will instead burn several artefacts of Veronika’s and keep them in an urn. Katherine will soon add her father’s remains there as well, where she will briefly conflict within herself whether she can mix her father’s remains and her mother’s things.

Wang’s family will have no such luxuries. Perhaps one might find solace in knowing that his parents will believe that Wang had simply abandoned them and is happily and strongly living through the difficult times. But his parents will start to get caught up on the idea of the fact that they had ended their last meeting with a conflict and a brooding silence. This will continue on in their lives without any resolution. Although they will die peacefully, a big hole will remain in their heart. Partly blaming themselves for their insolence of scolding their son. Partly blaming their son for abandoning them.

Wang’s body will then be moved to Hart Island. He will first be put into a wooden coffin. Then the coffin will be buried, stacks by stacks, underneath a small island that no one can spot in the map. There, among hundreds of other corpses, are nameless victims whose families are laboriously searched by deeply empathetic people. Looking the solace for those departed, who needed the most at their end.

5th of Jan 2021.

Jack Min