Chicago,1990

“God knows how much I wish I hadn’t had you kids! He knows!” The scratchy, naturally rhythmic voice of a lady’s scolding rudely woke Song Ya from his sweet dreams. He let out a sigh, reluctantly sitting up and grabbing a sweater from the edge of the bed to pull over his head. He’d been stuck in the past for over ten days now, and whether he was comfortable with it or not, he just had to deal with it. And hey, he wasn’t Song Ya anymore, or even Chinese. Now, he’s Alexander Song, a fifteen-year-old whose folks died in a car crash, living with his aunt in Chicago. The soundproofing in the place? Non-existent! The string of curses from downstairs was crystal clear, thanks to Aunt Susie’s “teaching” session with her seventeen-year-old daughter, Connie, Alexander’s cousin. “Biological, right?” Song Ya thought to himself. “Yeah, yeah! Talking about sluts, let’s not forget who had two kids in their early teens！” Connie fired back, not giving an inch. Aunt Susie had her first kid, Tony, pretty young, and then Connie came along the next year. After that, the guy who was supposed to be around split… “Hey, isn’t the big deal here about staying out all night?” Song Ya mentally added. In China, parents would never miss the point like this, but Aunt Susie, in the heat of her scolding, totally spaced out on the fact that Connie hadn’t come home all night… With his clothes on, Song Ya headed to the bathroom nearby, turned on the tap, and started his morning clean-up. The sound of the water effectively drowned out the quarrel from downstairs for a bit. He took a good look in the mirror, checking out his new digs. Using Chinese tastes for black beauty as a benchmark, he had a pretty youthful, decent-looking face. The half-Chinese genes gave him a slightly lighter complexion. At fifteen, he was already towering at over 1.7 meters, with a nicely balanced build… I mean, as a time traveler, it’s a given that he’ll make it big eventually, so the looks thing isn’t a biggie. It’s America, after all, where money talks and can get you almost anything in a capitalist world. “But here’s the rub: zapping me back in time without any cool powers is one thing, but not even letting me bring along my past memories? That’s just not playing fair!” For the past ten days, Song Ya’s been trying his darndest to remember his past life, but it’s like trying to catch smoke. Sure, his math grades have shot up, but ask him about historical events or the books he read, games he played? Nada. And let’s be real, that math bump isn’t saying much when you’re in Chicago’s South Side, where it’s mostly poor, black neighborhoods and schools that aren’t exactly top-notch. The tests were pretty easy to begin with, and if he hadn’t kept that Chinese academic edge, Song Ya would’ve been in deep trouble. “Hey, lazybones! Time to come down for breakfast!” Aunt Susie, with a house full of kids and not enough hands to give special treatment, was always fair. She never gave Song Ya a hard time or any special treatment. And yep, she was just as direct with her words. “Coming!” Song Ya quickly got his act together and dashed downstairs. The groaning stairs totally gave away the age of the house. It’s your classic little house in the hood, standing on its own but barely any space between it and the neighbors. Mostly wood, the second floor used to have two bedrooms and a bath. The big bedroom got split in two, with Song Ya crashing with his cousin Tony, and Connie with her ten-year-old sister Emily. Aunt Susie and her little bro Freddie, not even a year old, are in what was the small room. Downstairs, it’s all open – living room, kitchen, dining area – just a tiny bathroom, no shower, hidden under the stairs between floors. So much noise, but everyone’s just doing their own thing. Aunt Susie’s like a pro, flipping golden scrambled eggs with one hand and cuddling little Freddie, who’s checking out the world with those big blue eyes of his. Freddie’s a cute mix, thanks to Aunt Susie’s new white dude. At the table, Connie and Emily are passing the big ol’ milk and oat circles, filling up their bowls. Tony’s just being Tony, spraying cream straight into his mouth from the can like it’s nothing. “Open up.” He says, after a good gulp, then turns the can to Song Ya. “Nah, I’m alright,” Song Ya says, passing on the creamy offer. Song Ya declined with a shake of his head. With a new soul in the driver’s seat and considering the, well, let’s say ‘robust’ figures of Aunt Susie and Tony, plus Connie’s not-so-subtle widening, keepingobesityat bay was a full-time job in this life. “You’ve been acting different lately, Alex,” Tony commented. “Really?” Song Ya’s heart did a little jump. “In what way?” “Hmm…” Tony was chomping down on his milk-drenched oats. “It’s just… a feeling, you know?” “Oh, come on! It’s gotta be about a girl!” Connie piped up, expertly steering the convo off track. “Got a new flame, huh?” “I…” Song Ya was still trying to keep up with the conversation when Aunt Susie served up the fluffy, Western-style scrambled eggs onto each of the siblings’ plates. “Let’s keep the chatter down and chow down, folks, or we’re gonna miss the bus!” She seemed pretty done with Connie’s shenanigans for the day. “Let me just change real quick! I’ll be down in a sec!” Connie didn’t argue this time, just bounced up and zoomed upstairs. You know, over here, a girl wearing yesterday’s outfit usually means she didn’t make it back home for the night. So Connie’s main mission this morning was to grab a fresh set of clothes. “Who brought her back in the AM?” Aunt Susie casually slipped in the question, showing she hadn’t dropped the subject. “Dunno, just heard a car,” Tony replied, giving Song Ya a sneaky foot nudge. Song Ya shook his head; he was clueless, and little Emily did the same. Aunt Susie let it go, turning back to the dishes. “Ah, black woman…” she sighed quietly, sounding a bit down. Milk, cereal, scrambled eggs - Song Ya gobbled up his breakfast in just three minutes flat. It’s 1990, and sure, the U.S. might not have the same level of welfare as back in his day before the whole time travel thing, but for a family like theirs with five kids, they’re doing alright with the basics like food, clothes, a roof over their heads, and school. They’re even getting a bit too much in the food department, if you ask me. After Connie got ready, the four of them said their see ya’s to Aunt Susie and headed out together. This place was totally different from what Song Ya thought America would look like before he time-traveled. No nice, green lawns here, just dead grass, random junk, falling-apart wooden fences, and a bunch of old cars. Aunt Susie’s and a few other houses even had a little Cameroon flag out, showing they hadn’t forgotten where they came from in Africa. “Brr, it’s cold out here!” February in Chicago? It’s like a fridge with a wind tunnel! Poor Emily was shivering and ducked behind Tony for warmth. Tony, like a big brother should, wrapped his arms around her and used his hand as a windbreaker. Bunch of us hunched over, power-walking to the bus stop just a short sprint away.