Huang Beijia

Three days before the boys birthday， his distant aunt called. Over the phone， the aunt asked， “Will your mother remember your birthday？ Will she buy you a cake？ If she forgets， remind her. Dont be shy.”

The boy hurriedly replied， “No， she remembers. Shes already talked about it”.

“Has she？” The aunt sounded somewhat incredulous.

The aunt kept reminding him， “If you want something， ask her！ Shes your mother.”

The boy responded， “Understood.”

In reality， Shu Yimei had never mentioned anything about the birthday， and the boy was unsure if she remembered. In his heart， he rationalized for Shu Yimei： it was his first birthday in this home， and if she forgot， it was understandable. Regardless， he didnt want to bring it up himself， nor did he want others （like his aunt） to mention it to him. Reminding ones mother about ones birthday always felt awkward.

That day， the boy received a gift from Zhang Xiaochen. But Zhang Xiaochen didnt give it for the boys birthday. He had no idea he was inadvertently hitting the mark. Zhang Xiaochens mother recently got a cat， a beautiful near-Persian breed. The only difference from a genuine Persian cat was its identical green eyes. As a result， the little bird at his home couldnt stay there any longer. Zhang Xiaochen said the cat was super curious， sniffing around， climbing high and low， even using its paws to open doors and cabinets. No matter where he hid the bird， danger lurked. He didnt want to witness a grisly scene of? a bird corpse at home. Besides， the cat was his mothers pet. If he secretly harmed the cat， it might snitch on him to his mother， the cat being quite the brown-noser and sneaky creature.

Zhang Xiaochen brought the bird to school， hiding it in the guard Mr. Xus room， and solemnly handed it over to the boy after class. He even tied a pink plastic ribbon to the “Nike” shoebox and added a flower of the same color （both discarded items from a flower shops trash bin）. With that ribbon， the bird indeed felt like a formal gift. Also included was a bottle full of beige mealworms， which he specifically went to the Confucius Temple market to buy. Compared to the gift of the bird， this detail of the mealworms touched the boy even more.

Holding up the shoebox， Zhang Xiaochen said， “Bro， Im entrusting this to you！ You cant neglect it， bully it， or abandon it. Feed it when its hungry， take it to the vet if its sick， and if it dies ... ”

At this point， Zhang Xiaochen paused significantly. To the boys surprise， tears were unusually welling up in the mischievous childs eyes. “If it dies，” Zhang Xiaochen said with a hint of a choke in his voice， “you must bury it properly. Never let a stray cat get to its body.” The boy took the shoebox with both hands. The little bird inside the box was moving， rustling around. The box moved with it as if it had come to life.

The younger brother felt that what Zhang Xiaochen had said was somewhat reminiscent of the vows made in foreign films， where a priest solemnly places one persons hand into anothers during a wedding.

At half past six， the younger brother locked himself in the room， trying to emulate Zhang Xiaochen by feeding the little bird with tweezers. Just then， Shu Yimei knocked on his door.

Shu Yimeis voice cheerfully called out， “Little brother！ Little brother！”

He jumped up， rushing to open the door in one swift motion.

In the moment the door swung open， he took a deep breath. He was taken aback to see the room transformed： all the ceiling lights， wall lights， and table lamps were turned off. On the table was a cream cake adorned with lit candles that danced joyfully， reminiscent of kindergarteners clapping in a line to welcome visitors. Above in the room， stretching from west to east， was a long colorful ribbon with an array of balloons hanging from it -- red， green， yellow， and purple， creating a festive atmosphere. The air conditioner blew towards the balloons， making them float and sway gracefully， reminiscent of a beautiful woman on a swing.

Shu Yimei took the younger brothers hand， leading him to the table. With all the tenderness of the worlds most loving mother， she said， “Son， happy birthday.”

He was stunned for a moment， just a brief moment， maybe a minute. Then he opened his mouth， his eyes narrowing into crescent moons， and began to smile silently. As he smiled， tears welled up in his eyes. Not wanting Shu Yimei to see， he pretended to lean down to read the words written in cream on the cake， wiping away the tear that had formed at the corner of his eye with his arm.

Shu Yimei placed her hands on his shoulders， gently turning him towards her to gaze deeply into his eyes. “Zhao Andi，” she said， “Baby An， little brother， my treasure！ When I gave birth to you and named you， I had never celebrated a birthday for you. I havent been a good mother. Can you forgive me？”

He nodded vigorously， “Mom， when I grow up， Ill celebrate your birthday every year.”

Shu Yimei burst into tears. She laughed through her tears， which poured down her face， pulling her younger brothers head to hers to kiss him. She kissed his forehead， his nose， his cheeks， and his ears. Her wet tears smeared all over his face， making him feel quite embarrassed.

Never before had Shu Yimei allowed her emotions to overflow so freely. This reserved， suppressed， melancholic， and proud woman let go of herself completely that night， liberating herself in the process.

Choking up， Shu Yimei said， “Little brother， Baby An， if you love your mother， give me a kiss too.”

After saying this， Shu Yimei suddenly straightened up. A look of anxiety， mixed with fear and anticipation， appeared on her face. She anxiously awaited her sons reaction.

He looked up， slightly furrowing his brow， studying Shu Yimeis face with a solemn and serious expression. He wondered， during his infant days， before he could recognize people， what this face looked like？ Was it just as beautiful and youthful as it is now？ When she first breastfed him， did she， like all mothers， have a face filled with joy and shyness？

Standing on his tiptoes， just as Shu Yimei had cradled his head， he embraced his mother， gently drawing her head close， his lips touching her cheek and lingering for a long time.

He smelled the faint scent of moisturizer on Shu Yimeis face， the subtle fragrance of orange blossoms from her collar， and the warm breath that radiated from her skin. This was the scent of Shu Yimei， the scent of a mother.

He pressed his lips firmly against her cheek， wishing he could hold her and kiss her forever.

Kisses for My Mother

Huang Beijia

Changjiang Literature & Art Publishing House

April 2021

30.00 （CNY）

Huang Beijia

Huang Beijia is an author of Childrens literature. Her works have won the National Outstanding Childrens Literature Award， the Central Propaganda Departments “Five ‘One Project” Award， the National Outstanding Childrens Book Award， the Bingxin Childrens Literature Award， and more.