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New Short Fiction Award
Three times a year, we award a writer who submits, in our opinion, the best original, previously unpublished work.
J.C. Michaels of Tainan City, Taiwan is the winner of the 70th Jerry Jazz Musician New Short Fiction Award, announced and published for the first time on December 12, 2025.
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The Sound of Becoming
by J.C. Michaels
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1
…..A lean young man with smooth skin and thick black hair moves his fingers in the air like pistons as he waits for the revolving silver conveyor to deliver his luggage from the airport’s bowels. He begins tapping on his phone screen, scrolling through his contacts, looking for an ally in the battle that awaits him. He has been privately schooled since the age of four, tutored as needed, trained in sports and music, and now topped off with a four-year degree from a prestigious foreign university. His family has done all they could to make sure that the family’s first-born son is, as the saying goes, fully polished.
…..His blue suitcase passes in front of him, but he does not move.
…..A child leaves. A man returns. The almost mythic event is steeped in the lore of antiquity. His shoulders will carry the familial weight. He is expected to be a role model for his younger siblings. If necessary, he will financially support their education and extracurricular studies, assist them with medical issues, and help them find a marriage partner. He will be responsible for the daily care of his aging parents, organize their burials, maintain the family altar, and perform rituals of remembrance. His public behavior and participation in civic activities is expected to show his magnanimous spirit and bestow honor on the family. To him will fall the burden of furthering the family lineage, which is too important to be left to the vicissitudes of dating. Women are queued and eager to meet him.
…..After another rotation of the conveyor, he grabs his suitcase and slides it over the rubber bumper. He adjusts his backpack and takes a few deep breaths. Slowly he strolls down the long corridor toward the arrival gate. His father is waiting … for him to run the family company. But his plans and his fathers are no longer, as the saying goes, on the same page.
…..“Eewen,” comes a joyful shout, cutting through the early morning sun.
…..Baba approaches and greets him with a customary bow, noticeably lower than when he left.
…..Baba gestures toward a black limousine and opens the back door.
…..“For me?” Eewen points toward himself.
…..“For my son,” Baba says. He takes Eewen’s luggage, places it into the trunk, walks around the vehicle and enters from the opposite side.
…..Eewen sinks into the black leather seat and pulls the brim of his hat downward. He tries to hide his facial expression, which he knows is not one of gratitude.
…..“Your mother is preparing a meal,” Baba says. “Later tonight, some close friends will join us for dessert and drinks. The prince of the family has returned to take the throne.”
…..The words make Eewen sick. He considers telling his father that he is too jet-lagged, too discombobulated, too irritable to talk with anyone. As his father continues to chuckle with delight, Eewen presses his lips ever more tightly together, smiling, nodding, holding inside a feeling of dread. Education was supposed to fill his empty mind with information. Instead, he has been exposed to the strange notion that he possesses a self capable of forging its own path. Eewen will not join the family business until, as the saying goes, hell freezes over.
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2
…..Since childhood, the stories and images from the book were etched into Eewen’s mind, especially the cover, which showed a diminutive young boy carrying his sick mother on his back along a remote forest path. Grand and mysterious mountains tower in the background. A thick, layered fog hovers in the valley. Hiding behind trees in the foreground are bandits preparing to attack. Just by looking at the picture, Eewen knew what a good son should do.
…..Inside the book were twenty-four stories from ancient China about children engaging in heroic, strange, and bizarre actions in order to demonstrate the depth of their filial piety, a term that seemed to slip from comprehension as soon as he thought he understood.
…..When he was younger, Mama read the stories, which were richly illustrated and filled with action. She then discussed with him the moral lessons, which always were about how a child should behave toward his parents.
…..“Does a filial child really have to do such things?” Eewen asks.
…..His mother laughs. “There are ancient stories,” she says. “The details no longer apply, just the underlying principles.”
…..“What are those?”
…..“They are like the roots of a tree.”
…..“There are no stories about roots and trees.”
…..“Respect is an example of an underlying principle,” she says. “You first learn to respect your parents. From this, you learn how to respect your siblings. Later you will learn to respect your friends and they will respect you. Someday you will share respect with coworkers and your wife. If you go into public service, you will receive respect from every citizen.”
…..“But why do I need respect from so many people?”
…..“So we can live in a world of peace and harmony.”
…..Eewen pinches his eyebrows tightly together. “You mean that if I respect you, the world will be more peaceful?”
…..“That’s right,” Mama says.
…..“And how do I learn respect?”
…..“Through filial piety.”
…..“Which is why we read these stories?”
…..“That’s right.”
…..“Hm,” Eewen mutters, “so … filial piety is like a puzzle that’s an image of a puzzle.”
…..Sometimes the puzzle was interesting, sometimes confusing, sometimes terrifying. His favorite story was about a young boy who convinces his father he is old enough to work in the fields. Reluctantly, his father agrees. On their way home, a tiger attacks his father and begins dragging him away. Thinking nothing about his small stature or his own safety, the small boy jumps on the tiger’s back and wrestles the beast until his father is free. Eewen learned that a filial son ignores concerns for his own safety to protect his father.
…..Another story tells about a young boy who is extremely attentive to what gives his parents enjoyment. One day he accompanies his father to the house of a friend. They are served a type of orange that his mother especially enjoys. When no one is looking, the boy hides two oranges in his sleeve. Eewen learned that a filial son ignores the law in order to please his parents.
…..In another story, a boy’s stepmother makes her own son a coat of the finest material while giving her stepson a coat insulated with reeds. On a wintery day, the very cold boy cannot properly hold the reins of a carriage. His furious father whips him, splitting open his coat and revealing the almost complete lack of insulation. Realizing what his second wife has done, the father is prepared to divorce her. However, the young boy implores his father to be silent. If his stepmother stays, only he will suffer. If she leaves, his father and stepbrother will also suffer. Eewen learned that respect is given according to status not reciprocation.
…..Eewen learned that a filial son would warm his parents’ bed on a cold night, eat the most distasteful food, even sell himself into slavery to pay for his father’s burial. He learned to never complain about his own discomfort. When he fell on the playground and broke his nose, he was very proud that he could conceal the swelling for two days before his mother discovered the disfigurement and rushed him to the hospital.
…..When he became older, he read the stories his mother avoided.
…..He doubted he could lie naked outside the house so mosquitoes would bite him instead of his parents. And he was quite certain he would not taste his father’s feces to help diagnose a medical problem. The story that terrified him the most was about an extremely poor family in which the young father could not afford to feed all of this family. The only solution was to feed fewer people. Those lowest on the family hierarchy had to be sacrificed, which meant their young son. His wife objected. But the father told her they could always have more children, but his parents could never be replaced. Eewen learned that he should never become a financial burden.
…..Eewen made sure he scored very high on tests, stayed at the top of his class, and applied for all possible scholarships. His effort made it possible for him to attend the most prestigious and competitive high school in the city. He was then able to attend a famous foreign university and earn a degree in banking and finance, which was what he needed to save his life.
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3
…..The elevator stops on the top floor of a modern, high-end building with a roof-top pool, exercise room, sauna, twenty-four-hour guard, full-time cleaning staff, and a management fee greater than the city’s average rent. Like a concierge, Baba steps out with the wheeled luggage and places his hand on the door waiting.
…..Eewen smiles, trying to hide a grimace, and exits. He follows Baba to the end of the long hallway, where the door of their condominium is open. Mama stands in the archway, upright, proud, smiling. She has taught him about respect but nothing of practical value. He has never washed clothes, cooked anything but rice in a cooker, cleaned anything beyond sweeping the floor, has never paid rent or a utility bill or doctor’s fee. He doesn’t even know how to find a doctor. His mother takes care of all such trivialities. When he is married, Mama has assured him, a good wife will do these things.
…..“Mama,” Eewen says, lowering his head on her shoulder, then quickly disengages. “You’re so dressed up.”
…..“For you,” she replies, and then gestures for him and Baba to sit in the living room.
…..“I’ll make tea.”
…..Eewen sits in the middle of a dark leather sofa and slouches into the cushions. He knows what is about to happen—an interview if he is compliant, an interrogation if he shows resistance. Like a shield, he picks up his phone and begins sending out messages that he is in need of a rescue operation.
…..Mama returns. She sets the tray on the table in front of the sofa and pours tea for Eewen, then Baba, then herself.
…..“The finances of the company are quite strong right now,” Baba says, “which makes my job, and yours, much easier. Take time off. Enjoy yourself. Travel around.”
…..“How?” Eewen says flatly, “There’s a pandemic.”
…..“Travel locally,” Baba says, “on your bike. It’s waiting for you. I just had it tuned up.”
…..Eewen smiles tersely. Yes, the bike. His escape, a heavy-bike with a four-hundred cubic centimeter engine with a sound that makes its presence known, was intended to magnify his small stature, which it did, for a while. In high school, he was envied by the boys and a prize to be won for the girls. A week later, the intoxicating feeling of domination and power laggered. It was clear the bike was not a gift for some achievement or a reward for being a filial son, but a bribe to ensure he stayed the course.
…..“You’re very quiet,” Mama says.
…..“A bit tired.”
…..“Your room is just the way you left it. I’ve recently washed all your clothes. The bed, of course, has clean sheets. If you want anything new, just let me know.”
…..A notification sounds. Eewen picks up his phone. He feels a moment of relief.
…..“You’re distracted,” Baba says. “I understand. Many thoughts must be in your mind. Transition is always a challenge. For now, don’t worry about anything. We’ll figure this out over the next few weeks or months. You could start off as an executive, or a high-level intern, or as a lower-end employee and learn from the bottom up. Any way is possible. I am very open minded.”
…..“Open minded,” Eewen repeats, “yes, that is important.”
…..“Of course,” Baba says.
…..“I’m thinking of a different approach,” Eewen says.
…..“Not a problem. We need innovation. I like innovation. We need to plan for the future, not just do things as they have always been done.”
…..“A friend from high school just texted me,” Eewen says. “He also just returned from abroad. I’d like to meet him for coffee.”
…..Mama leans forward and tries to look up into his eyes. “What about social distancing?” she asks.
…..“We’ll sit at separate tables and send text messages.”
…..Eewen stands up, retrieves the motorcycle keys, puts on a leather jacket, and takes one last sip of tea. As he opens the door, he momentarily looks back to see his parents. This may be the last time he sees them smiling.
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4
…..Eewen opens the throttle. He feels the wind against his face, passes through a few red lights, weaves around slow drivers, cuts between lanes, swerves left and right as though playing a video game. Thirty minutes later, he is atop of an expansive, panoramic hill covered with green grass and dotted with trees. The only people around are a few adventurous young lovers. Eventually, this space will become very crowded, but not until the transformation from landfill to park is completed.
…..He sits astride the bike and reads a brief message from Michou, just a hi. He stares at her picture. She is the only person he really wants to see. Or maybe she is the only person he doesn’t want to see. Either way, he cannot stop thinking about her. He cannot forget the time they stood facing each other in a hotel room, naked.
…..In his fantasies, he had imagined that the moment of first intercourse would be one of life’s peak experiences. Instead, he discovered unexpected curiosity. Would reality look like the pictures? When she offered her body to be touched, the encounter seemed contrived, almost humorous, as though they were playing a game but didn’t know the rules. Instead of touching, he eyed her like a perverted scientist. He could not stop staring at imperfections, an odd birthmark, tan lines, uneven breasts, hair in unexpected places. As time and silence slowed, he wished he had a magic eject button that would send him to the other side of the world. What was the purpose? What was the meaning in what they were about to do? Were they just playing out biological roles no different from their social roles? And then a thought emerged as words: Is this all there is? Before he could say anything more, Michou had slumped to the floor, as though she had been shot. Her face contorted with unimaginable pain. Tears streamed down her face. Her eyes became so distant and vacant he wondered if she had stopped breathing…. They agreed to never mention the incident again.
…..can u meet today? Eewen types
…..maybe … very busy, not sure
…..She will not say yes to him. She is still angry for what happened, for trivializing her, for humiliating her, for judging her. She will not plan her days around someone like him.
…..I understand. Eewen types. FYI, I’ll be at the usual place. I might play.
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5
…..When Eewen was five, Mama told him that all young boys needed to learn an instrument. Someday, she continued, this skill will help him get into college. His brows drew closer together. She then handed him a three-quarter sized violin and told him he would have his first lesson later that day. Their eyes met like storm clouds. He grabbed hold of the instrument by the strings and shook it until his mother snatched it away.
…..The violin teacher showed him how to stand with feet together, while placing one hand on the neck, while resting the body on his shoulder, while turning his head to the side, while pressing down with his chin, while holding onto a long stick with his other hand. All the while, he had to stand straight and smile. His teacher encouraged him to rub the stick on the strings, which made a screeching sound like a dying cat.
…..A month later, Eewen refused to go to any more lessons and learn to stand like an upside-down L. After enough moaning and tantrums, Mama told him he could stop violin but had to choose another instrument, or he would never get into college, which was something all boys did. When he discovered he could choose a piano that had headphones, he agreed.
…..The novelty of the new instrument lasted only a week before Eewen decided sitting alone with his ears covered was very boring. Mama sat him down and calmly told him that she did not want to fight with him. He did not have to attend college like all the other boys. However, if he practiced at least thirty minutes a day and took a weekly lesson, at the end of each week, she would give him money.
…..Eewen considered the offer. He did not know what he would do with money. However, he did know that, unlike dessert, a person could never have too much. And so, with a big smile and a feeling of accomplishment, he agreed to play for money. By the end of grade school, he understood the options that a bit of wealth could offer. By middle school, he was practicing two hours a day and demanding a raise.
…..“If you want more money,” Mama says, “you need to play for the family.”
…..“When I am ready,” Eewen replies.
…..“After more than seven years, you should be ready.”
…..“I’m only ready to play the first piece I learned. One finger, three notes, repeated four times…. I’m sure that would embarrass the family.”
…..“Then just play for me,” Mama insists.
…..Eewen sits down and uses one finger to play three notes four times.
…..Mama scowls and walks away.
…..“I’d like the raise to start this week,” Eewen calls out.
…..Mama turns around. “No more money,” she says, angrily.
…..Eewen looks up in thought as though calculating the cost of his next words. He did not tell her, or anyone, that he was not interested in learning music written by dead people. He was creating his own pieces, his own experiments, music about inner thoughts that he could not express in words. And he was certainly not going to share this with anyone else.
…..“I think that’s an excellent parental decision,” he says. “If I only play for money, that will look very bad on a college application.”
…..By high school, Eewen spent many hours each day both practicing and writing music. Mama only saw a silent figure moving about, side to side, hour after hour, month after month, jotting on paper with a pencil, which seemed less productive than playing a video game.
…..“I’m concerned,” she says. “You need to do other things besides piano.”
…..“Practice is how one learns.”
…..“What are you learning?” Mama asks. “I would like to hear.”
…..“The piano is my journal. It’s private.”
…..“For years, I’ve paid for lessons, not to mention getting you a better keyboard.”
…..“I appreciate all the money you’ve spent, but I am not an entertainer.” Eewen shrugs nonchalantly. “If you want to hear me play, you’ll have to pay.”
…..Mama retrieves her purse, takes out a stack of bills, and hands it to him.
…..Eewen holds up his hands as though going through a security check. He draws his brows together like two boulders rolling down opposing mountains and colliding in the valley as he watches the money fall to the ground.
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6
…..After thirty minutes atop the landfill, Eewen revs the engine, engages the clutch, and leaves a skid mark. As he accelerates down the hill, he momentarily feels the bike slip from under him—a solution to so many problems, then it quickly grips the road. He accelerates around another corner, letting fate take the lead, but sooner than expected, traffic fills the road. He is forced to stop at a light.
…..A few kilometers later, motorbikes clump together revealing a slice of the inner city’s demographics. An older student in a uniform is riding a small scooter, wearing earphones, and bobbing his head side to side. An office worker leans over her phone, using it like a mirror as she applies lipstick. A sun-darkened delivery man yells at his cell phone that traffic is heavy and he will be late. Eewen stares at a long-legged woman wearing a pencil skirt and high heels. Suddenly engines race. Clutches engage.
…..Even though the light is still red, traffic begins to move. When the light turns green, the horde accelerates like an old racehorse. All are headed toward the Ancient City, a place Eewen refers to as the Asian version of Gotham City. Ordinary rules are bent to accommodate the needs of the locals, who have imposed order far longer than the government has been imposing laws. Convenience is foremost. Once in the city, the foremost priority is getting from A to B as efficiently as possible. Bikes ignore lane divisions and traffic signals, ride opposite the flow of traffic, take shortcuts via the sidewalk.
…..Eewen finds a parking area for his bike. He pays the fee and gives the attendant a tip to ensure his bike is looked after. Even though free parking is available on the streets, using it would take away from someone’s income. People get upset. Things happen. No one sees anything. The police will shrug and suggest that next time it is better to pay.
…..Eewen looks around to make sure no one is watching him too closely. He then makes his way down a narrow alley without any signage. He stops at a non-descript door and enters a place only known via word of mouth, The Drifting Café.
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7
…..Light jazz echoes from the high, two-story ceiling, much of it absorbed by walls lined with books that are more than decorative. The usual café behavior of sitting, scrolling, and selfies is discouraged. Reading is respected. Conversation encouraged. There is no Wi-Fi. Drinks are served devoid of aesthetics. There is an understanding that if one posts on social media they will no longer be welcome.
…..Customers show up with their own books, or select one from the shelves, and set them on a table as an open invitation for conversation. The young crowd is carefree and inquisitive, demanding their moment of life now, not the future. They call themselves literary buffalo, an animal that implies persistence and hard work. For them, the work is in the field of the mind.
…..In a dimly lit corner, Eewen finds a small table unoccupied. A waitress appears with a glass of water and asks him if he will have the usual, a pot of oolong tea with lemon on the side. Eewen nods and smiles. He won’t have to pay as long as he plays. Against one wall is a shiny black upright piano, the corrupting seed planted by his mother.
…..Both Plato and Confucius had warned that music could harm a society by encouraging indolence and rebellion. Medieval Church scholars like Augustine and Boethius were concerned that the pleasures of music would distract one from focusing on god. Contemporary writers like Theodor Adorno argued that popular music could be used as a tool of mass manipulation by capitalists.
…..For Eewen, music was a tool of communication, transcendence, a retreat from the noise and demands of the world. But what kind of son places his selfish desires above the needs of the family? How does a struggling artist fulfill his filial obligations? He would be an embarrassment to the family. Baba would likely tell him he was no longer welcome at home while Mama would try to smooth over the rift by lying to preserve the family’s honor. Great attempts would be made to shield his siblings from this behavior. He would become a son unborn.
…..Anxiously, Eewen massages his hands. He is now the proverbial arrow released from the bow. Slowly he walks across the room, nods at a few familiar faces, sits on a padded adjustable bench, and prepares to commit himself to a path of isolation. He places his palms on his lap and waits for conversations to diminish. As he begins to play, Michou enters the room.
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This work is an excerpt from a novel in progress: Miraculous Symposia at The Drifting Café
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JC Michaels is an award winning, internationally published novelist from the U.S., living in Taiwan, who uses literature to shine new light on great ideas.
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War. Remembrance. Walls. The High Price of Authoritarianism – by editor/publisher Joe Maita
“My Vertical Landscape,” Felicia A. Rivers’ winning story in the 69th Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction Contest
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