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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Three times a year, we award a writer who submits, in our opinion, the best original, previously unpublished work.
JC 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 JC 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 has been privately schooled since the age of four, expertly tutored, skilled in numerous sports, trained in music, and topped off with a four-year degree from a prestigious foreign university. His family has done all they can to make sure the first-born son is, as the saying goes, fully polished.
…..His blue suitcase passes in front of him. He continues scrolling through his contacts, looking for an ally.
…..He will be responsible for the daily care of his aging parents, eventually moving them into his home if necessary. He will organize their burials, maintain the family altar, perform rituals of remembrance. He is expected to be a role model for his younger brother, support his education and extracurricular studies, assist with medical issues. If necessary, he will help his sibling with the challenges of finding and staying married. His public behavior and civic participation are expected to demonstrate his magnanimous spirit and bestow honor on the family. To him will fall the obligation of continuing the family lineage. Since procreation is too important to be left to the vicissitudes of dating, women are already queued and eager to meet.
…..A child leaves. A man returns. An almost mythic event. Education was supposed to fill his empty mind with information. Instead, he has been exposed to a new notion of self.
…..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. He strolls down the long corridor toward the arrival gate, hoping he will never arrive, but 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.
…..“Ewen,” 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?” Ewen points toward himself.
…..“For my son,” Baba says. He takes Ewen’s luggage, places it into the trunk, walks around the vehicle and enters the opposite side.
…..Ewen sinks into the black leather seat as he 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 Ewen 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, Ewen presses his lips ever more tightly together, smiling, nodding, holding inside his dreaded desire to speak his thoughts. He will not join the family business until, as the saying goes, hell freezes over.
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2
…..Since childhood, stories and images from the book were etched into Ewen’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, Ewen 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 were always about how a child should behave toward his parents.
…..“Does a child really have to do such things?” Ewen asks.
…..His mother laughs. “There are very old stories,” she says. “What’s important are the underlying principles.”
…..“What’s that?”
…..“Principles are like the roots of a tree.”
…..“There are no stories about roots and trees.”
…..“Respect is an example,” she says. “All of these stories are about respect. 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.”
…..“Why do I need respect from so many people?”
…..“So we can live in a world of peace and harmony.”
…..Ewen pinches his eyebrows tightly together. “You mean … 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,” Ewen mutters, “so … filial piety is like a puzzle that’s a picture 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. Ewen 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. Ewen 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. Ewen learned that respect is given according to status not reciprocation.
…..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. Ewen learned to never complain. 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.
…..Ewen 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 his family. The only solution was to feed fewer people. Those lowest on the family hierarchy had to be sacrificed, which meant their son. His wife objected. But the father told her they could always have more children, but his parents could never be replaced.
…..Ewen learned that he should never become a financial burden. He made sure he scored very high on tests, stayed at the top of his class, 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.
…..Ewen smiles, trying to hide a grimace, and exits. He follows Baba to the end of the long hallway. Mama stands at the entrance of their condominium 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. He 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,” Ewen 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.”
…..Ewen 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, rescue operation needed.
…..Mama returns. She sets the tray on the table in front of the sofa and pours tea for Ewen, 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?” Ewen says flatly, “There’s a pandemic.”
…..“Travel locally,” Baba says, “on your bike. It’s waiting for you. I just had it tuned up.”
…..Ewen smiles tersely. Yes, the bike. His escape. The heavy-bike, with a four-hundred cubic centimeter engine, with a sound that makes its presence known, was intended to magnify his small stature in high school, which it did, for a while. He was envied by the boys and prized by the girls. But a week later, the intoxicating feeling of domination and power laggered. 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. Ewen 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,” Ewen repeats, “yes, that is important.”
…..“Of course,” Baba says.
…..“I’m thinking of a different approach,” Ewen 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,” Ewen 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.”
…..Ewen 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 happy and smiling. This may be the last time he sees them happy and smiling.
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4
…..Ewen 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. They were close, are close. He cannot forget the image of them 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? Ewen 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. Ewen types. FYI, I’ll be at the usual place. I might play.
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5
…..When Ewen was five, Mama told him that all young boys needed to learn an instrument, which is the kind of extra-curricular activity that will help him get into college. 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.
…..Ewen’s brows drew closer together. 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, Ewen refused to attend lessons and learn to stand like an upside-down L. Eventually 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 Ewen 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.
…..Ewen considered the offer. He did not know what he would do with money but 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 power of a consumer. 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’m ready,” Ewen replies.
…..“After seven years, you should be ready.”
…..“I’m only ready to play the first piece I learned,” Ewen says. “One finger, three notes, repeated four times…. I’m sure that would embarrass the family.”
…..“Then just play for me,” Mama insists.
…..Ewen 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,” Ewen calls out.
…..Mama turns around. “No more money,” she says, angrily.
…..Ewen 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 is creating his own pieces, his own experiments, music about inner thoughts he cannot express in words.
…..“I think that’s an excellent parental decision,” he says. “It will look bad on a college application if I only play for money.”
…..By high school, Ewen 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. She encouraged him to do other things, even 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?”
…..“To write music.”
…..“I would like to hear,” Mama says.
…..“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’m not an entertainer.”
…..His mother glares at him.
…..“If you want to hear me play,” Ewen says with a shrug, you’ll have to pay.”
…..Mama retrieves her purse, takes out a stack of bills, and hands it to him.
…..Ewen 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, Ewen 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 quickly grip the road. He accelerates around another corner—let 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. Ewen 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 Ewen 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, which means bikes ignore lane divisions and traffic signals, ride opposite the flow of traffic, take shortcuts via sidewalks.
…..Ewen 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.
…..Ewen 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
…..Ewen walks down the crowded and chaotic streets of the Ancient City, weaving through cars and motorbikes as though his body is just an extension of the vehicular traffic. He turns down an alley where the walls of the buildings begin to block out the noise of the streets. Eventually, he turns down an alley just two body-widths across, allowing easy access only to those on foot. A sliver of sunlight that has found passage through the jumble of rectangles. He steps across the shadow, opens a plain wooden, and steps into The Drifting Café.
…..The background is not filled with non-descript music, but the cacophonous sounds of voices engaged in intent dialog punctuated by occasional interjections, gasps, and expletives. Most of the sounds in the large two-story room are absorbed by walls lined with books that are more than just decorative. There is no Wi-Fi, Cellphone use is openly frowned upon. Drinks are served devoid of aesthetics and snacks are rather bland. The only reason people come is to engage in dialog and occasionally listen to acoustic instruments.
…..In a dimly lit corner, Ewen 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. Ewen nods and smiles. He won’t have to pay as long as he plays. Against one wall is a shiny black upright piano…. Both Plato and Confucius suggested that music, which encouraged indolence and rebellion, should be limited or even banned. Medieval scholars like Augustine and Boethius were concerned the pleasures of music would distract from focusing on god. Contemporary writers like Theodor Adorno argued that popular music could be used as a tool of mass manipulation by capitalists. Were they right? Music has also tainted his relationship with family.
…..Whatever evils may come, Ewen has learned that music will alter his life. Music is a tool of communication and transcendence, a retreat from the noise and demands of the world. But what kind of son places his selfish desire above the needs of the family? How does a struggling artist fulfill his filial obligations? He will become an embarrassment to the family. Baba will tell him he was no longer welcome at home. Mama will downplay and smooth over the rift to preserve the family’s honor. Great attempts will be made to shield his younger brother. He will become a son unborn.
…..Anxiously, Ewen rubs his hands. The proverbial arrow has been 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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