06
Jun
Our family’s newest, proudest acquisition was also utter contraband for a comrade of my mother’s rank and seniority, or lack thereof. I had been ordered, in no uncertain terms, to never—under any circumstances—divulge its presence. If anyone, be it an auntie or a schoolmate, asked, I was instructed, firmly and unequivocally, to lie.
Jiayang Fan writes in Tiananmen and Our Little Red Phone for The New Yorker
