Page 44 of A Banh Mi for Two
“C?m on, Má. I’ll bring back mooncakes for you.”
She smiles. “My favorite flavor?”
“Of course. Mooncakes with lots of lotus seeds inside.”
Má waves me off as I drive away toward the bright skyline. The morning shops are already closed, making space for street food at night. Lively crowds flood through the streets of Sài Gòn, a warm glow emitting from almost everyone’s hands—lanterns. Beautiful, luminous lanterns for the Mid-Autumn Festival.
Brushing my sweaty palms on my pink áo dài, I stare at the door to Vivi’s dormitory. My heart rate increases with each passing second. Finally, the door opens and reveals a smiling face: Cindy. But no Vivi in sight.
“Sorry, Lan! We had some last-minute fashion issues. Vivi will be down soon.”
Seconds later, a timid voice calls out from behind the door. “Cindy? Are you sure this is okay?”
Groaning, Cindy opens the door wide and pushes Vivi through. Vivi stumbles out with a yelp, nearly tripping on the pavement. I hurry to her side, my arms finding her waist as I break her fall.
“Hi,” I manage to breathe out. Vivi’s wearing the pale lavender áo dài from Cô Ngân, her inky-black hair brushed neat with a purple ribbon on top. “Purple looks good on you.”
“Really?” she whispers, her cheeks rosy.
Cindy coughs and we break apart, both blushing. “Sorry we’re late. This one”—she points at Vivi. “She took a bit deciding if she wanted to wear the áo dài or not. But I’m glad I managed to push her because you guys are matching!”
Vivi groans. “Thanks for predicting the future, Cindy.”
“You’re welcome.” Cindy grins. “I’m going to join the rest of the study abroad cohort, so, why don’t you two go ahead?”
Vivi gapes at Cindy, her face flustered—I wonder if she’s shy at the thought of us spending time alone, even if we’ve been doing that so much already. “That’s not what you said—” she starts.
“Bring her back by midnight, Lan!” Cindy says, scampering back into the dormitory before Vivi can catch her.
“So.” I nudge us toward my motorbike, my heart thundering at the thought of us alone together again. Exploring Sài Gòn together again. “Ready for your first Trung Thu in this city?”
She nods, her arms finding their place over my hips. “Mooore than ready.”
Because it’s Trung Thu, Sài Gòn’s traffic is a lot worse than most days. It takes us nearly an hour to get through the crowds, but we manage to make it to Chinatown just in time before the festival starts. Everywhere around us, children and adults are swarming toward stalls filled with mooncakes and tea. Brightly colored lanterns light up the alleyways from above. Amid the chatter, drumbeats cut through the air and vibrate through the alleyways, announcing that the lion dancing’s about to start.
Vivi squeezes my hand as she points at the decorations above. “It’s beautiful.”
“Isn’t it? Wait until you see the lion dancing. It’s my favorite part.”
“We also have lion dancing in Little Saigon! But it’s so much more extravagant here. I feel like we’re stepping through a different world. It’s… magical.”
We walk through Chinatown’s alleyways, buying a box of mooncakes and sitting by the Sài Gòn River. Kids are running around us, all carrying at least one lantern in some shape or color.
“What are the kids doing?” Vivi asks.
“They’re probably getting ready for the parade. Trung Thu is also known as the Children’s Festival here, so parents would make lanterns for their kids—or just buy them—and the kids get to do a parade together, as a way of shining the way back to Earth for Cu?i, the man who floated to the moon with his tree.”
Sure enough, more children join in, carrying even more lanterns. They’re forming a parade now, touring the alleyways while chanting rhymes alongside their parents.
“I want to join them,” Vivi announces, and tugs me toward their direction, her eyes saying Are you in?
I pick up my pace, leading us to the crowd forming at Main Street. “Let’s do it.”
We weasel our way through the crowd, never letting go of each other’s hands. People gravitate toward us, forming a circle as the drums and cymbals thunder through the air. A man in a round mask dressed in a red robe emerges, signaling the arrival of the lions. Ông Ð?a, or the Earth God, is at the heart of Trung Thu. The children gather around Ông Ð?a as he sways back and forth, light on his feet and clapping along to the drums. Two red lions—dancers in very elaborate sequined costumes—leap out from behind him, drawing squeals from everyone. Little kids hide behind the crowd, anxious about the beasts, some crying while their parents shush them with mooncakes. Vivi squeezes my hand, her eyes twinkling brightly like the lanterns above us. Their golden glow caresses her cheeks, and in this moment, she looks just like the fairy on the moon.
The lions make their way toward us, swaying their hips and heads along with the singing and cymbals. Ông Ð?a animatedly fans himself while the lions nuzzle up to Vivi and beg her to pet them. Cooing, she ruffles their manes and tosses coins into the straw hat carried by Ông Ð?a. Two more lions join us in the crowd, bouncing up and down as the crowd cheers them on. I take hundreds of pictures—of Vivi, of the two of us, of the colorful lanterns. I hope they’ll remind her of Sài Gòn—of me.
Shifting closer to her, I shout in her ear. “Are you enjoying the festival?”
