by Huina Zheng
When Helen’s mother asked to schedule a meeting about her daughter’s essays for U.S. summer program Y, Lan’s heart sank. Requests like this usually meant a hard battle ahead.
When the meeting began, however, the mother did nothing but look down at the printed draft of her daughter’s English essay. She read it aloud line by line, repeating each sentence first in English, then in her own Chinese, the English coming out word by word, stumbling, mispronounced. “This sentence my daughter wrote is really wonderful. So soulful.” Then she compared it with Lan’s revised version, shook her head, and said, “Your version could apply to any student. It has no individuality.”
Lan didn’t explain herself. She listened to the praise, sentences she was trained to revise but could not, and reminded herself: this was what the client wanted.
A new workflow was established. Helen’s mother printed the essays, circled and rewrote them in red pen, photographed the pages, and sent the images to a WeChat group without Helen in it. She didn’t want Helen to know that all the revisions were hers.
From January 2nd to the 4th, Lan received more than a dozen photos every day. Often, the revisions amounted to nothing more than changing but to however.
“You can edit directly in the document. It would be more efficient,” Lan suggested in the group chat.
“I type slowly,” the mother replied.
On the evening of the 4th, the mother proposed another new addition.
“If we add this sentence, it will exceed the character limit,” Lan reminded her.
“How do you check the character count?”
Lan explained step by step.
“Do spaces count too?”
“Yes.”
“Why should spaces be allowed to limit us?”
“Because of the system text box,” Lan typed. “Anything beyond the limit can’t be entered.”
January 5th. Deadline day.
At seven in the morning, a message popped up in the WeChat group: “Here are the revised versions of the three essays.”
There were still no attachments, just the text pasted into the chat. The first thing Lan saw was trying best. She took a breath and pointed it out. “The idiomatic expression is try one’s best.”
“Then change it to try hard,” the mother replied.
Lan continued, “I’m not sure admissions officers would understand confirm the nature,” and asked what she intended to express so the English could be adjusted accordingly.
“No, don’t change it. I’ll adjust it myself,” Helen’s mother said.
Three hours remained until the deadline. Lan glanced at the Chinglish-filled final version. She replied, “Okay.”
Fine, Lan thought. We’ll do it her way. After all, she was the one paying.
Huina Zheng is a writer and college essay coach based in Guangzhou, China. Her work appears in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, and other journals. She has received multiple nominations, including for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions, and Best Microfiction.
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