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Chapter 103,162 wordsCompleted

At a grey, rain‑threatened Sunday the narrator and Ma sit in a bright Dunkin’ Donuts. Ma offers coffee and croissants, then the narrator, trembling, tells Ma that he does not like girls. Ma repeats the confession, asks what the narrator likes, and after a pause the narrator says “boys,” though the word feels dead in his mouth. Ma reacts with concern, calling the narrator “Little Dog,” and asks why he would ever wear a dress, warning that “they’ll kill you.” The conversation shifts when Ma reveals that the narrator has an older brother who is dead. She then recounts her own teenage pregnancy in Vietnam in 1986, forced abortion by the narrator’s father, and the poverty and hunger surrounding that time. The scene is intercut with the din of a Justin Timberlake song and the memory of a piano‑playing man in Saigon.

The narrative then jumps back to the narrator’s first grade in a refurbished Lutheran school where lunch is served in a gym. He describes the cramped tables, microwaves, and a boy named Gramoz, an Albanian immigrant who shares a warm pizza bagel with him. Gramoz’s kindness leads the narrator to shadow him on the playground until Gramoz angrily shouts “Stop following me, you freak!” and runs away, leaving the narrator feeling abandoned.

Weeks later Ma buys the narrator a cheap hot‑pink Schwinn with training wheels. While riding in the tenement parking lot the bike is seized by a larger boy who scratches the paint with a key‑chain, breaking the bike’s pink finish. The narrator watches helplessly as the color is stripped, learning that “a boy could be knocked off that shade and made to reckon his trespass.” Later that night Ma paints over the bike’s cobalt scars with pink nail polish.

The chapter returns to the present Dunkin’ Donrons scene. Ma becomes ill, rushing to the men’s bathroom where she vomits, and the narrator helps her. He later reveals that he has already worn a dress on a night in an old tobacco barn, dancing with Trevor while a lanky boy with a busted eye watches. The dress had been salvaged from Ma’s closet, bought for her thirty‑fifth birthday but never worn. In the barn, surrounded by tires and the smell of dead moths, they feel no fear.

Interspersed are brief, stark references: a fourteen‑year‑old Vietnamese boy assaulted with acid for slipping a love letter, the 2016 Orlando nightclub shooting by Omar Mateen, and philosophical musings about the placenta as a first language and the body as a mirror. The narrator reflects on the persistence of beauty, replication, and the power of the comma as a fetal curve. The rain stops, and the chapter ends with the narrator and Ma leaving the shop, the rain returning, and Ma brushing a sprig of hay from the narrator’s hair as she decides to keep the son she once considered aborting.

Running Summary
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Through chapter 10

Also by Ocean Vuong: Night Sky with Exit Wounds. In this chapter the narrator expands the memoir with a series of fragmented vignettes that reveal ongoing physical abuse, moments of artistic escape, cultural dislocation, and the monarch‑butterfly migration as a metaphor for intergenerational trauma. The narrator recounts childhood memories in Hartford with his schizophrenic grandmother Lan, the protective nickname “Little Dog,” scenes of war‑time trauma, bullying on the school bus, his mother’s (Ma) attempts to teach him English and instill “American” habits, a spiral metaphor for memory, and his emerging role as family interpreter during domestic hardships. The chapter expands the backstory of Lan, revealing her escape from an arranged marriage, the naming of herself, and her life as a mother to a daughter named Hong; it depicts a wartime checkpoint scene where Lan and Hong confront armed soldiers, includes a brutal macaque‑brain ritual by the soldiers, and ties the events to 1968, the Year of the Monkey, deepening the memoir’s intergenerational trauma motif. The narrator discovers his grandfather Paul’s wartime past, his marriage to Lan, and learns that Paul is not his biological grandfather, a truth revealed by Ma; Paul’s cancer remission and his present life in Virginia are also detailed. Narrator is violently taken in a tan‑and‑rust Toyota by Ma and Lan, fearing a killer targeting Mai; they race to a house where a white man with a shotgun confronts them, learning that Mai has lived in Florida for five years; the car withdraws as a boy with a toy pistol mimics shooting. Ma waits at a kitchen table while her son lies wounded beneath pine trees; the son, addressed as Trev, shares a secret and declares he is no longer afraid of dying, and the chapter introduces a bullet metaphor for his lingering trauma. Ma’s nail‑salon work is shown as a toxic, underpaid immigrant labor site where she cares for a prosthetic‑leg client, and the narrator later tends her back with Vicks‑coin scrapes. The narrator’s first job at fourteen is a summer harvest on a Connecticut tobacco farm (2003), meeting crew‑leader Manny, owner Mr Buford, and other undocumented workers (Nico, Rick, Rigo). He learns the farm’s rhythm, hears “Lo siento,” and later encounters Buford’s grandson Trevor, prompting a son‑to‑mother apology. The narrator’s relationship with Trevor deepens into a volatile mix of mutual hatred for paternal figures, drug‑driven escapades, and explicit sexual intimacy; Trevor’s family background—an abusive father, an absent mother living in Oklahoma, and a cluttered mobile‑home life—is revealed, and the narrator’s memories of childhood trauma and his grandmother Lan surface alongside vivid scenes of farm work, a barn radio game, and a series of violent flashbacks. The narrator confesses a queer identity to Ma during a tense conversation at a Dunkin’ Donuts, learning that Ma has an older brother who is dead and that she once aborted a son in 1986. The chapter revisits childhood memories of a first pizza bagel from a boy named Gramoz, a violent episode with a pink bike that teaches the narrator about the danger of color, and a later night of dancing in a tobacco barn in a red dress with Trevor. Additional references to a teenage acid‑attack in Vietnam and the Orlando nightclub shooting underline the theme of violence intersecting with identity.