My Kind of Town
The right question
>> Queen's Medical CenterQuinn Ah Sun was going crazy lying in this damn hospital bed. He was an active guy -- an HPD solo bike officer, a weightlifter, runner, surfer -- but his body was forced to lie here, immobile, and heal from a gunshot wound to his leg. And so his mind was working overtime.
His focus was the wadded up photocopy of an old newspaper story, which his father had tossed in the wastebasket across the room before he left. Quinn was dying to get his hands on it again, to see if there was something he missed the first time when he'd really just skimmed the story.
That's when his Auntie Grace walked in, the first time he'd seen her in 21 years, since he was 6.
"Oh, Quinn, I was so sorry to hear what happened," she said, leaned down and kissed his cheek, squeezed his hand. Same old Auntie Grace, full of hugs and kisses, squeezes and pats for her family.
"Thanks for coming, Auntie, it's great to see you!"
"It's been too long, Quinn."
There was a silence until Grace said, "Lily told us about meeting you."
"Mm," Quinn said, not wanting to talk about Lily suddenly refusing to speak with him. "My dad told me about Lance, is that his name?" Yesterday was the first time he knew he had a cousin who was born after Quinn's father and his Uncle Sheets quit speaking.
"Yes, it was awful, at the state Capitol, he was attacked during a march, and fell and his head on a curb and ..."
"That was Lance?!"
Grace frowned, not understanding the question.
"I was there, Auntie, for extra security at the hate crimes bill rally. I saw it happen. Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I saw this skinhead moving toward the marchers, and I was moving to intercept him, but he ... I didn't get there in time. I had no idea the poor kid was my cousin." The poor little flaming gay boy, he didn't add.
Grace patted Quinn's hand. "It's not your fault. But the good news is that Lance is coming back to us. The doctors are calling it a miracle."
"That's great news."
Another moment of silence, broken this time by Quinn. "Auntie, can I ask you a favor? There's a wadded up piece of paper in the wastebasket over there. Could you get it for me, please?"
Grace retrieved it, watched Quinn un-wad the ball, smooth it out. He turned the paper to show her and said: "Auntie, who is Bobo Ah Sun?"
The name, anathema in the Ah Sun clan for many years, rocked her back on her heels.
"How did you ...? Where ...?"
Her reaction told him he'd asked the right question.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com