A birthday wish gives Siobhan Llewellyn far more than she knew in Miao Ling Grace. Grace and Shiv have adjustments galore to go through, including culture shock, language barriers and coming to terms with being open about their relationship.

Though my first installment is easily acceptable to general audiences, later installments will have sections meant for adults only. That is to say:
At times, this story is not safe for work and truly not acceptable reading for those under 18.

Please enjoy my first installment of String of Pearls.
- Eclectic Kitty

Part One: Wishing On Trick Candles Takes Extra Effort

2:25pm October 14th, 2009 Our 'Flat', San Francisco

What should I feel? Who could tell me? I suppose I'll just have to wait for time, experience and/or my love-addled brain to reveal the secrets and character of my débutante heart.

As she slept against me, breathing slow and rhythmically on a cool autumn San Francisco afternoon, my thoughts explored and caressed the beautiful half of my soul. When we opened the boundaries of friendship into love, I found out for the first time in my life that humans aren't complete until they find the other half of their soul. They sometimes find a partial or ill-fitting match, then attempt to make due with that. What surprised me was that the perfect fit to a yang isn't always a yin. Sometimes it's another yang that completes the wuji.

I wonder what she's dreaming about.

On second thought, she hasn't stirred for a while, so perhaps she has not yet begun to dream. When she does, will it be of me-- of us? We are all I can think about when awake and beyond all I ever imagined I deserved in a hundred lifetimes.

Looking down across the futon, I followed the way the sheet held tight to the curve of Grace's hip. Seriously tempted, but committed to not disturbing my sleeping lover, I focused instead on the first hints of this marvelous, magical love that began fifteen years ago and brought me completion. It all started with the kind of soul-deep wish that only children seem capable of asking.

A bit after lunch, July 16th, 1994 Miao's Santa Clara

Miao Ling Grace moved in across the court from us in June of 1994, just after my tenth birthday. Her family moved to our quiet corner of Santa Clara from Hong Kong. For me, it was like a dream come true.

My best and only friend Tommy had moved away to Tennessee that January, so I had wished over my cake very hard for a new friend to move into his old house. Two days later, a SOLD sign capped the Better Homes brokerage sign.

Mom sent me over with zucchini bread with raisins and our greetings when the Miao family arrived two weeks later, right in the middle of sunny July.

Mrs. Miao didn't look Chinese. She looked quite like my cousin Felicia, though with bright blonde hair and a nose that tipped up in such a way that she must look down her nose at the whole world. Her reaction was smooth and warm as she accepted the bread graciously in a sweet BBC anchor-worthy accent. I didn't expect an English family to be moving in across the street.

How I love any and all British accents, I thought with rising anticipation.

“This smells quite good, Siobhan. Did you help to make it?”

“No. I was taking a bath when my mom was mixing it up.”

“Perhaps next time. I always enjoyed cooking with my mother. I hope we will become good neighbors and friends.

“My daughter, Grace, has been eager to meet you. Allow me to call her. Grace? Come down, please.”

When Grace arrived, she looked sourly at her mother with a monstrous, pouty bottom lip. In an English accent that was just like her mother's, she accused, “She's not pretty, like you said she was.”

Hurt and angry, I was glad of my parents' insistence that I was well-versed in British humor and gave my sweetest smile and laid my best English working class-tinged accent. “And wot kinda poppet 'sgot Viking 'air and Jap-o-nese eyes?”

Grace drew in a huge breath, which gave her mother time to close the door before her daughter belted out, “I'm Chinese and you have ugly orange hair! Plus, you are totally filthy like the carrot you are!”

“Grace. Go to your room. Now,” Mrs. Miao ordered evenly before opening the door again.

I was angry, but it all flew away when I looked up at Mrs. Miao's scowl. “I'm sorry Mrs. Miao.”

“Look sweetie, Grace is none too happy about moving here from our home in Hong Kong. She lost her friends and she lost her home, so please give her a little time to adjust, but don't give up on her. I think you two will become fast friends,” she added with a smile.

“I'm sorry about calling her Japanese. Hong Kong is Chinese, right?”

“Yes, it is. It is also British in a small number of significant ways, but that's due to change soon. It's part of the reason we came to America. Speaking of which, how about that accent of yours, wot? Where'd you learn that?”

Embarrassed at having the extra scrutiny, I squeaked, “'Are You Being Served?' has a woman named--”

“Miss Brahms,” Mrs. Miao finished for me with a laugh.

“That's right. 'Glass of water for Mister Grainger!'”

“Ohhhh, I loved that show as a child," she gushed.

“Tell me, are old reruns your only exposure to British culture?”

“Oh no! I also have seen a bunch of old movies, too,” I replied with a smirk.

Grinning widely, Mrs. Miao said, “I like you, Siobhan. Despite the fact that you insulted my daughter-- not without provocation,” she added when she saw me shrink a little, “I feel that you will be able to keep up with Grace just fine. She has a similar sharp wit. Perhaps you two can work it out with some time together.

“I'd like to iron out a few things about our family first. Would you like to come in and share some of your mother's deliciously fragrant zucchini bread while we talk?”

“I'll have to ask, but I'd like that.”

“By all means, invite your family over if they have the time. We could certainly use a break from deboxing for a bit.”

Leaving the Miao's, my doubts and my hopes fought for dominance.

On the one hand, Grace seemed to be a spoiled brat. She'd answer for that carrot comment. On the other, her mother was beautiful and sweet. Her promise of a 'fast' friendship was a little confusing, but I don't think she meant quick. I'd have to ask mom or dad when I got in.

Early afternoon July 16th, 1994 Miao's, Santa Clara

My mother was not pleased at being invited to the Miao home on short notice, as today was a cleaning day and there wasn't enough time to become presentable. I dragged her along anyhow by giving her a quivering lip and tears on the verge of spilling. She just smirked and came along without a fuss.

Walking up the steps to the porch, we jumped out of our skin when a boy with wild and long light brown hair started mashing huge bubble wrap blisters with huge stomps that boomed on the wooden porch.

Where the front door had been one moment, a blink later Mrs. Miao appeared, having obviously heard the ruckus. The cackling boy took the distraction of his mother's appearance to cover his dash over the railing and down the side yard with a mirthful whoop of victory.

Composed, but obviously none-too-happy with her son, Mrs. Miao introduced her little monster, “That was Cretein. He is usually more manageable, but it seems my son has forgotten his manners.

“My name is Heidi Miao. Do please come in.”

Our irritated scowls melted in the face of Mrs. Miao's good manners.

“Pleased to meet you, Heidi. I'm Alana and you've already met my husband Daniel and daughter Siobhan. You may meet my stepson John sometime soon, since he is with us every other week.

“Forgive my appearance. Saturday is a cleaning day for us, so I was busy with laundry.”

“Think nothing of it Alana. I have similar attire for much the same reason,” Mrs. Miao reassured. “We do not have guest slippers yet, so you needn't remove your shoes.”

Mom turned to me and raised her eyebrows, but said nothing as we entered a foyer that was quite familiar to me.

From where I was standing, I could see that it was the only familiar part as far as color and flooring was concerned. The walls of the living room were light green on the far wall and to my right and a yellow to my left and behind me as I walked in. The kitchen beyond to the left was caramel brown with teak cabinetry and crown molding that seemed to hang in mid-air due to the color difference.

“Do you like what we've done with the place?” Mrs. Miao asked us, hopeful for a compliment.

I wasn't done looking, but my mom answered politically, “It's lovely. It certainly makes the room more interesting to be in. Ecru is so boring.”

“Thank you, Alana.” Not to be let off the hook, Mrs. Miao addressed me directly. “And your thoughts are, Siobhan?”

“Tommy's parents were smokers, so the walls were always gross. They also had pets that weren't trained, so this house smelled really bad before. Did you change the upstairs too?”

Unsure how she had asked for such detailed information about the former occupants, Mrs. Miao hedged a bit. “We've had the walls painted and the carpets put in, but the upstairs isn't yet furnished. Why do you--”

“Tommy's room was in the middle. Is the middle room Cretein's?”

“The children have expressed interest in the room east of the middle room. They will be drawing lots on it later. The middle room is larger for closet space, so if I were them, I'd select that one, but I am not a pre-teen with an agenda set by the whim of conversations with Fae folk.

Mom chuckled lightly and pointed out her zucchini bread, which had been sliced and set upon nice blue and white china among a very flowery tea set that featured a large white pot with a blue ribbon outlined in gold amid every different kind of flower you could imagine.

“Is that a Chinese tea set?” I asked.

Sporting a very bemused smirk, Heidi Miao picked up a cup and turned it over for me to read. “St. George Fine Bone China MADE IN ENGLAND” was printed next to a knight in full armor holding a lance.

Puzzled by what I saw as an illogical claim, I asked, “How can China be made in England?”

Mom jumped in to help cover my lack of education in this area. “China is pottery. Porcelain. It is clay that is very fine and hardens very nicely. It is a little expensive, but long-lasting-- with proper care,” she added pointedly. “It is made all over the world.”

Mrs. Miao took our pause to mean that she should continue. “That brings me to why I hoped you'd join me for a chat. I'd like to talk about our family a little and give us some base to touch upon for becoming good neighbors and hopefully form a friendship between our families.”

Mrs. Miao showed us to some stools at her caramel and blue tiled breakfast bar, which allowed us to look out over the same old backyard I had known, but with completely dead grass. Seeing my and my mom's puzzled gaze, she began on her plans for the home.

“We will be putting in a pool and paving the area around it, so we didn't see the point in caring for the grass. There will be bamboo here in large pots and very many fountains. We hope it will be a garden of tranquility.”

Seeing sparkles in our eyes, she continued, “In the front yard, half the lawn will be turned into a fenced court for entertaining or enjoying the sun. You see, right now, it is raining diligently in Hong Kong. It is the wet season there and seems a bit warmer than here, though the temperature was 28 degrees when we left and the thermometer here says it is 28 degrees, so humidity definitely plays a part.

“We moved here due to the coming change of political systems in Hong Kong's future, when the British Empire relinquishes control of Hong Kong's government back to China. I can't say that I'll miss the weather, physically or politically,” she finished cryptically.

Mom took the opportunity to change the subject. “If you don't mind my asking, I'd like to know if you were raised in Hong Kong. You sound English.”

Blunt as ever, I mused, wisely keeping the smile from my expression of 'deep interest.'

“You and your daughter have a good ear for accents, I am learning. My family is located in Kidlington, where I spent my youth going nowhere.” Seeing our blank expressions, she amended, “Near Oxford.”

We nodded as two quite dim light bulbs came on that would only reach full illumination with a very detailed map.

Satisfied for the time being, Mrs. Miao continued, “I left for Hong Kong to fill an English instructor vacancy for Intel. It was wonderful pay, if a bit boring, since it was riddled with technical jargon. Once, I had to call the Santa Clara office for confirmation when a co-worker pronounced 'see em oh ess' as sea moss.”

Since she thought it was humorous, we smiled and Mom said, “Daniel would know all those terms. He loves computers.”

“He did mention that he'd love to see how he'd get on with Bruce.”

“Is Bruce a Hong Kong native?” Mom asked.

“Yes. His family has been in Hong Kong for as long as he is able to trace his lineage back to around 1300 AD. Most recently, with his parents and grandparents, there was a bit of intermarrying with an Italian and a French actress just these past two generations. It was quite the family scandal back in the 50s and 60s, but has since become common enough that marrying me was quite welcome by both our families.

Mrs. Miao took a moment to turn dramatically to the side and call loudly for Grace and Cretein.

Grace called out, “Straight away, Mother.” A rumble upstairs was audible shortly before a series of nearly imperceptible squeaks told us that someone was descending the stairs at a much safer pace.

Cretein didn't respond, so Mrs. Miao went to the back door and slid it open to find Cretein crouched and grinning beside the wall next to the sliding glass door. She pointed in the house with a raised eyebrow and he straightened himself before strutting haughtily inside.

Cretein tipped an imaginary hat at us and plopped down on the floor beside the counter just inside the kitchen. Grace entered and behaved as if she did not see us.

“Grace, please introduce yourself or you can spend the day in a room of my choosing, which will become your new bedroom.”

“Yes Mother.

“Good afternoon. My name is Grace Miao. I am in my eighth year of school and I don't like it here.”

“Grace. You are being rude to our guests. Apologise and pour the tea for our new neighbours.”

Grace was going to attempt further defiance, but gathered up her ire and seemingly locked it away. She poured out our tea and joined her brother on the floor.

I couldn't help but watch her as she moved about and poured our tea. She was taller than me and the blonde hair was not as much of a puzzle to me as her reddish brown eyes that looked like cinnamon buns with the frosting drawn out in thin lines away from the dark center. I could also tell she did not like the scrutiny, so I looked away-- then back. It was hard to fight.

Mid-afternoon July 16th, 1994 Llewellyn's, Santa Clara

Heidi Miao sent Grace along with me to play, which went over with Grace like a pile of horse apples.

That was before she saw my collection of vinyl, cassettes and compact discs. She stood transfixed; likely from the shame of her behavior that now stood as an obstacle to her getting what she wanted, which was to drool over my hand-me-down collection of music.

I pondered letting her off the hook, but decided to make her ask. She owed me for the “filthy carrot” comment.

“You like our collection?”

“Our? This isn't all yours?”

Wow, she may just go home without seeing my prized vinyl today.

“My brother and parents added their stuff to my collection as they acquired CD versions. The CDs are what I've spent most of my allowance on, though I love the vinyl the best. It has such a clear sound that makes me lose myself in every note and beat.”

Grace pulled a lock of her hair around in front of her and began twisting the end of it lightly while looking down.

“Is something wrong Grace?”

“No. Not really. It's just that I've been such a pain and I don't feel like anything I say is going to sound true.”

She looked up at me for a moment past her bangs. It was a look I'd been finding great success with lately, though I didn't have bangs.

I raised my eyebrow at her and waited.

“Wot?”

“Well, I'm just waiting for you to figure out that I'm not going to buy your 'sweet innocent me' look. In fact, I find it offensive that you'd try.”

“You think I'm being disingenuous?”

“I think, Grace, that you are crazy if you think I'm going to let you near my music collection until I trust you. I'm not sure I can yet.”

“Think what you like. I should go back to my new home in this hell. Nice to meet you,” she spat.

Grace turned in a swish of long blonde hair and daisy-colored summer dress, intending to leave. I couldn't let her. There was something about these masks we were wearing that seemed to be mere pretense and culture clash.

She had answered my wish. I knew it was her and not her brother, but I couldn't put my finger on why I wanted to be her friend so badly. I placed a hand on her bare shoulder.

“Don't go. I know we're not being who we really are. I'm angry about what you said, but I wished so hard on my birthday a few weeks ago that I would find a new best friend moving in across the street from me and I know that you are that person.”

Without turning, Grace said, “My only wish is to be home at our flat in Hong Kong.”

It seemed that ten minutes passed, though it might only have been seconds in the deep silence. I lifted my hand and nearly whispered, “I'm sorry you lost your home. I'll do my best to make this one a good one for you and your family if you would give me a chance.”

Grace turned and caught my attention with her unique eyes. She held out a hand after studying me for a moment. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Siobhan Llewellyn.”

When I took her hand in a friendly grip, she winced because she was offering no grip in return. “Sorry,” I lamely offered. “It seems we have a lot to teach each other about customs.

“I am pleased to meet you, Grace Miao.”

With a smooth sweep of her arm, Grace gathered her dress to one side as she sat on my fuzzy brown loveseat. It was as if she had magically taken her legs up with the skirt and floated down, her descent was so fluid.

“If we are to be good friends, I would like us to know each other's names. For instance, my family name is pronounced 'myow', not 'mee-ow'.”

“Thank you for clarifying. My surname is Welsh and is pronounced 'hlhoo well inn.”

“I will practise it, if you would write it down.”

“I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to practice, but I'll write it for ya. Now, let's listen to some music, OK?”

“I'd like that.”

“Would you like to choose something?”

“I would be looking forever, but if you have anything by Bjá¶rk...”

Certain that my devil horns were showing, I lit up my amp receiver, tape deck and EQ, then pulled out Life's Too Good without showing Grace. I then rewound it to the second from the last track on side A, “Delicious Demon”. I hit it pretty well, only having to rewind it a teensy bit more.

Grace knew about the Sugarcubes, but hadn't heard anything other than “Birthday”. Her obvious interest in my collection and our discussions about what we'd listened to proved to be a solid groundwork for a lasting friendship.

Midday, August 13th, 1994 Miao's, Santa Clara

'Cretin' and I didn't have the heart-to-heart that Grace and I had shared. He and I were like oil and water, where he and Grace were like oil and vinegar. I loved them together, but without her, he and I couldn't find much to relate to each other about.

'Chris', as he now preferred to be called, was mean-spirited in his humor and that's what really kept me from liking him. He was amused with his own antics, but not in a way that was charming. He was a little jerk.

By 'little' I mean that here at the end of summer, I outdistanced him by a good two inches although he was a year older. Grace was now a bit shorter than me but gaining a figure that made me want to kick start my own body's hormones somehow so as not to be left behind.

Following my gaze to Grace leaning over the railing at the other end of the porch, Chris leaned in with some 'sage' advice, “Don't worry. It'll happen to you soon, I would gamble. All the girls at school that are my age are well on their way.”

I cringed at how lecherous Chris sounded, but knew that Grace was upset by our inability to get along. So I kept his mouth running by giving him the usual prompting of, “Uh-huh.”

“Yep,” he continued as if that were his cue, “I'd put good money on you being one of those supermodel types. Pretty face, thin, fake boobs--”

“Listen up, 'Cretin.' I don't intend on having fake anything, or being rail-thin. If my mom is any window to my future, I'll never be a supermodel, but I'll definitely look like a girl.” There went my self-control.

“Who do you take after that helps you look like one, 'Big Guy''?”

He didn't seem to see the slight buzzing over his head in a holding pattern, but knew I had said something to irk him. When it finally hit, he turned quite red and looked away from me.

“My mum tells me that my hair is too lovely to cut. At least, she used to. Now she just chases me about with a comb and threatens to snip it off in my sleep,” he lamented.

Chris turned back around and tried to avoid Grace's concerned look as she came to sit with us on their porch. I just shrugged.

“Chris, what's wrong?” Grace prompted.

“It's nothing truly. It's just Shiv being mean to me, as usual.”

Grace looked at me and I just rolled my eyes, then glowered at Chris.

“Chris was attempting to take jabs at my femininity, so I turned the tables on him. I bet you'd do the same.”

“I would never take jabs at--”

“Shut up, Chris,” we said at once.

“--Grace's femininity,” he finished anyway.

Sometime before lunch, August 15th, 1994 Llewellyn's, Santa Clara

Grace's parents were outraged by the California school system's insistence that Grace be placed in seventh grade. Even with advanced placement classes, it fell quite short of her proposed curriculum at the Island School back in Hong Kong.

Her gifted status at Glenealy School and had gained enough confidence with the principal and the year six teacher to advance her to the Island School as a year eight student from sixth.

Embittered by the injustice of suffering others' ignorance, but resolute that their daughter not be held back, the Miao family decided to ask my family about the school.

My dad chuckled knowingly, having expected the answers that the principal had given them.

“They'll tell you that your kids aren't 'mature' enough, then hold their heads underwater to drown in boredom, so they never can tell where they are going and must rely upon the system to guide them.

“Siobhan is going to eighth grade at Junipero Serra and I highly recommend you talk to the people there about enrolling Grace and Chris.”

Mr. Miao looked skeptical, but nodded.

“Don't worry Bruce. It's a Christian school, but they don't hit your kids over the head with it. It's a private school that's a little costlier than some, but is more reputable than a few others with a higher price tag. Siobhan's been going since she was in kindergarten and was bumped in second grade to third, so she's right where Grace is at.”

“That sounds grand. I'd appreciate you going with me, as I may not know the American equivalents for the British school my children were attending prior to coming here.”

Listening to Dad and Mr. Miao talk, I couldn't help but be excited about having Grace at my school. I was worried that she might be going to public school.

A couple of other things didn't escape my notice during their conversation. The first was that my dad was not at all happy with the government-controlled school system. The second was that Mr. Miao seemed to be having reservations about moving here.

An hour or so after school, November 10th, 1994 Miao's Santa Clara

“She is upstairs, sweetie, washing up after her Thursday fencing class,” Mrs. Miao reminded me. “I don't hear the water running any longer, so if you'd like, you can go up to see if she's done.”

Grace had not entered her room by the time I'd gotten up there, so I flopped down on her bed to wait. I had a brand new “Message in a Box” set with me since she had been drooling over my The Police collection at my house.

It felt good to buy music for Grace. Tommy and I had never done anything like that, since he was very stingy with his possessions.

Grace entered, wrapped in towels, her old clothes dangling in a laundry net. She jumped a little when she saw me in her room, but recovered quickly with a smile.

“Hullo Shiv. What's that you've got there?”

“Something for you that I picked up when Mom took me to Streetlight. Could be yours.”

“Really?” she said as she took the towel off her head and started squeezing gently down the length of her hair. “Could I convince you to tell me the title?”

“It's by The Police.”

Grace really had gotten into The Police after finding out that Sting was in it. She had a long way to go to get up to speed on music and I was happy to be her guide. At least she knew that Sting's real name was Gordon Sumner.

“There's no need to tease,” she pleaded. Scrunching up her nose and narrowing her eyes, she accused, “You're enjoying doing so, aren't you?”

“I aim to tease,” I admitted in my best Grace accent.

“Ugh. Well if you don't mind, I need to dress, so--” She twirled her finger to indicate that I should look away.

Dutifully, I turned my head to look outside, only to find that she had a very reflective window when the tree outside was shadowy in the afternoon sun.

She had been developing and I felt the gnaw at my gut of jealousy. My hips were coming in and I was getting taller, but my bust seemed intent on using bras merely for protection against chafing and the cold-- certainly not support.

I sighed and Grace heard.

“You're not peeking, are you?”

“And what's to see? We are both girls, last I checked.”

“I'm not shy about that, really, but I feel quite exposed without my pants on at least.”

“To answer your question, I saw the outline of your figure and nothing more in the reflection in the window.”

Grace got quiet as she continued to dress. I wondered if I had said something to upset her. Changing the subject, I found a way to allay her fears of me trying to peep.

“Are there any guys at school or maybe fencing class that you find cute? I saw Curtis looking your way more than once, though he's not too smart.

“He tried to get Angelica's number twice last year and the best he could come up with was, 'We got the same quality of blond goin' on.'

“She hit him the second time. Squarely in his right bicep. I saw him carry his backpack in his left hand after trying the right.” I laughed in remembrance, but held it in when I saw Grace's perturbed face.

“He hasn't tried, nor would I give him the time if he asked it of me. I have some adjustments to make before thinking about boys overly much.”

Now I've done it, I thought. I made her focus on how she's new here and still not fond of playing down her accent and catching up on new terminology when people didn't understand her right away.

We'd enjoyed all summer with nonstop barbecues and splashed in her pool until we were nothing but peachy prunes, then took our bleary eyes up to my room for music and book swapping.

She was heavy into fantasy, but I liked mystery novels. We found that neither was exclusive of elements from the other genre, so we started reading each other's books.

Our discussions about what we'd read and the music we'd listened to was great for learning about each other's language quirks, though it wasn't comprehensive enough to cover everything she'd hear at school.

Grace was also staunchly against cursing as a means of communication.

I suppose that's why it took me by surprise when she said, “Dammit Shiv, I've been staring at you for quite some time, now. Are you going to give me that gift or not?”

At a very unusual loss for words, I simply handed her the package. It seemed even Grace had allowances for special circumstances, such as a carrot dangled too long out of reach.

Ripping into the paper and seeing that she now held the entirety of The Police's official studio music, she gathered me into a hug that flooded my nose with honeysuckles and lavender. It wasn't fair that she made being girly seem so easy.

Most certainly will be continued...