Peter Liu - Bald New World

“Rap about whatever you want,” Kelly said.

Three days later, there was a rap online called “My Girlfriend’s Ugly Brother” that had pictures of me provided by my sister, making me the butt of all jokes at school. This was the jerk I had to visit every year.

Traffic was bad. Helicopters were racing to a gun battle ahead and I heard the sirens from police bikes. Fortunately, helmets came with audio players and visual displays so I could block it out and watch the news. Most news channels were reported by young and attractive broadcasters who were practically naked on-screen and replaced every two months or however long ratings kept up with them. When the necessary one-minute global recap was finished, it was the usual splurge of man wants to marry his dog, woman had an affair with both her bosses, and prodigy can beat any videogame in ten minutes. Jesus the General commercials played on every channel and the latest episode declared, “Jesus takes on the Viet Cong and kicks ass.”

“You know how it was written, turn your cheek. Well I say onto thee, turn your cheek and aim properly through the scope,” Jesus, played by actor James Leyton, declared. “I am the way, the truth, and your life or death, depending on how you answer my question.”

“Do you believe?” a female voice asked as the commercial came to an end.

That was followed by a Chao Toufa ad starring an obese young man shunned by all his friends. He bought a Chao Toufa wig and was immediately surrounded by beautiful people who revered him for his full head of hair. “It’s the most realistic hair in the world,” four attractive women declared.

America was home to the most overweight people in the world. After the FDA got bought out by a fast-food chain, regulatory rules became a joke and the drivel that passed as hamburgers was deemed organic because they came from “living cows.” It was no wonder that Institute #348922, officially known as “The Center for Peaceful Recuperation,” was filled with the corpulent obese. I wasn’t talking a little overweight, but people who couldn’t even walk because they were so big. I’d always wondered where all the collective dumps they took went. That was a lot of crap to dispose of, even if used as fertilizer for the farms of the world.

I got out of the cab. It was raining hard. I rushed to the front entrance where I signed in. The institute was a warehouse for people who couldn’t work because they couldn’t walk. It was as big as some convention centers and every person was allotted a space with a holopad so they could lose themselves in entertainment and commercials. The holopads were hooked into their wheel bikes without which they would have no mobility. Wheel bikes also served as bathrooms. Many had IV needles in them and the stench of junk food was horrific as much of it had been regurgitated or stuck as stains on their clothing. It was a pig sty for humans. Nurses and janitors cleaned up where they could, though most just flirted with each other and gossiped about trivia. Every piece of equipment had a logo for a food brand.

Ian was watching a basketball game and didn’t notice I’d come. “Hey, Ian,” I said.

He didn’t reply. He never replied. A stroke from all those cholesterols clotting his veins had caused permanent brain damage.

Kelly was the only biological relation I’d ever acknowledged as “family.” Even though she was stubborn and pig-headed, I could never really be angry with her. She’d had a tough childhood and I understood why she was the way she was. Violence begat violence. A man had to murder his past to destroy the cycle. The whole history of humanity was violence so that this current motion towards peace could be considered an anomaly or quirk of circumstance. Since the early 20th century, Koreans were immersed in violence. First the Japanese Empire, then the North Koreans who sundered families apart. The Korean military rulers who took over after America established the demilitarized zone were a ruthless lot that crushed resistance, especially student protesters who believed they were fighting for a better world. Tie in Confucian ideals of following elders without question, and it almost explained why my biological father was an abusive control freak who beat us mercilessly as children. My whole childhood was a memory of escaping pain, doing my best not to incur his wrath. It was never associated with something tangible, like bad grades or bad behavior. Instead, it was random violence made worse by my mother who would scream that if I didn’t stop crying, they would kill me, my incomprehensible life blotted out in punches and kicks. As Kelly got older, she took on the brunt of the pain. When she couldn’t stop crying after watching a scary Chinese movie about walking corpses, my biological father beat her to a few inches short of death and locked her inside a cabinet afterwards. Kelly, rather than resisting, sat quietly inside without a murmur. That was even more terrifying. Was she okay? Was she living? Even now, I’m ashamed that I didn’t have the courage to check. She came out all right, but she didn’t speak for three months. At elementary school, the teachers thought she had a psychological problem and suggested special schools for her. A few convenient bribes silenced the teachers.

Even now, I can’t refer to that man as a “father” without shivering, but rather the “biological father” who contributed chemicals to my birth. What makes me burn though wasn’t his actions, but the indifference of all those around me. I swore when I grew up, I would escape and make my own family. The Great Baldification meant freedom for me, the death of my past. It was the most welcome event of my life as my parents got divorced and left us in the care of Baochai. In my eyes, they were dead. I was reborn. I’d pave a new path.

For Kelly, marrying this scumbag turned out to be a dead end. She couldn’t find herself so it was important to find her identity by reconnecting with our biological parents. That was the last thing I wanted. More than anything, I wanted a new family so that I could branch out on my own. That meant sundering any connection with the past and I did it, not caring what anyone else might think or say. I still hoped for a connection with Kelly, but she kept on insisting on drawing me back into a past I wanted nothing to do with. It became worse with moderate fame from our movies as people came out of nowhere, claiming a connection with my past and the family that I wanted to forget. I realized that the only way to really move on was to literally murder every part of the past. Every part. I didn’t talk to Kelly until she passed away, cut her out completely. Even though I missed her, I still didn’t regret my actions. My future family would be different. They wouldn’t have to suffer for my past. Linda was supposed to be the beginning of that.

I tried talking with Ian for a while, knowing he wasn’t listening. Another pointless trip to feel sorry about myself. I checked my phone and saw Larry had called several times.

“Sorry to break up your personal time,” he said when I called back. “Nice helmet.” He appeared chipper.

“I’m done. What’s up?”

“Can I ask you for a favor?”

“I don’t think I can go on another date tonight.”

He grinned. “Can you pick up a package for me? I’m sending over an address.”

“What’s in it?”

“A special gift for a special lady.”

I groaned, remembering all the times I’d brought back “special” gifts for him. “This isn’t going to get me in trouble with the censors, is it?”

He shook his head. “You’re coming back by private jet. It’s on standby. I also sent a car for you.”

“Where am I going?”

“Only if you’re willing. I won’t force you.”