The Stars in the Trunk

When the car door slammed shut with a "bang," Lin Xiaoyang was curled up in the corner of the trunk. At nine years old, he could already feel the vibration of the metal — it was the sound of the engine starting. The trunk was packed with luggage and his baby brother's stroller, leaving only a tiny space for him. He had to curl up like a shrimp just to barely lie down.

"Xiaoyang, hang in there. There's really no room in the car," his father's voice came through the backseat — tired and helpless.Yeah, there's room for Aunt Chen, the baby, and her parents… but somehow not for me, Xiaoyang thought. He didn't respond. He knew nothing he said would change anything. Ever since his mom passed away and his father married Aunt Chen, everything had changed. After the baby was born, he felt more and more like an extra piece in the family.

The car began to move, and his back immediately felt every bump in the road. The trunk was sweltering like a steamer, and his T-shirt was quickly soaked with sweat. The only light came from the narrow gap between the seats, and he pressed his face to it, trying to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

"Baby, want some water?" Aunt Chen's gentle voice floated through — clearly meant for the baby.

"Yes!" his two-year-old brother chirped. Then came the sound of a straw being inserted into a bottle.

Xiaoyang licked his cracked lips. No one asked if he was thirsty. Before they left, his father had handed him a bottle of water and a bun, saying it was his lunch for the trip. That bottle had since rolled somewhere in the trunk amid all the bumps.

The car merged onto the highway. The vibrations became rougher. Xiaoyang's head kept hitting the stroller's metal frame, making him clench his teeth from the pain. But he didn't dare complain — last time he did, Aunt Chen said he was "ungrateful," and his father only sighed.

"Look! A big truck!" his brother squealed with joy.

"So many trucks!" Aunt Chen laughed. "Let's count them, okay?"

Xiaoyang closed his eyes, trying to remember the road trips from when his mom was still alive. Back then, he always sat in the front seat. His mom would prepare snacks, and they'd play the "I Spy" game together. She always noticed his needs first — a drink of water, a bathroom break, or a hug.

A sharp pain jolted through his back — the stroller's wheel had crushed his leg. He tried to move carefully, but his elbow knocked against the side of the trunk with a dull thud.

"What was that sound in the back?" Aunt Chen asked.

"Nothing. Probably the luggage shifting," his father replied quickly, not even glancing back.

Xiaoyang bit his lip to hold back tears. He remembered last week when he'd timidly asked if he could keep his little backpack near the backseat — it held his favorite dinosaur picture book and Ultraman toy. Aunt Chen had said, "There's plenty of room in the trunk. Don't take up space with unnecessary things."

Unnecessary. That word pierced Xiaoyang's heart. He felt just like those "unnecessary" items, shoved into a corner of the house, only remembered when someone needed errands run or chores done.

Suddenly, the car braked hard. Xiaoyang lurched forward, his forehead slamming into the metal seat frame. A wave of pain made his vision blur, and something warm trickled down his brow.

"What's going on up there?" his dad snapped, honking impatiently.

"Looks like there's an accident," Aunt Chen answered.

Xiaoyang touched his forehead — his fingers came away sticky with blood. Oddly, he didn't feel much pain. Or rather, compared to what he felt inside, this was nothing. He wiped the blood with the hem of his shirt and curled into an even tighter ball.

"Dad…" he whispered. The sound was so soft he couldn't even hear it himself.

The car drove on. To pass the time, Xiaoyang started counting his heartbeats. One hundred… two hundred… When he reached five hundred and thirty-six, the car pulled into a rest stop.

"Let's take a break and grab something to eat," his father said.

The trunk popped open, and sunlight poured in. Xiaoyang instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes.

"What happened to you…?" his dad asked, frozen at the sight of blood on Xiaoyang's forehead.

"What's going on?" Aunt Chen came over and frowned at the sight. "How could you be so careless?"

"It was from the sudden stop," Xiaoyang murmured, his voice hoarse from thirst.

"He's a boy — a little scrape is nothing," Aunt Chen said as she turned to lift the baby. "Come on, let's use the bathroom."

Xiaoyang crawled out of the trunk. His legs were numb, and he stumbled a little. His dad reached out to steady him but quickly let go and went to help with the stroller.

The rest stop restaurant was noisy with people. Xiaoyang sat in a corner, a bowl of noodles in front of him barely touched. His forehead was now patched with a band-aid his father had picked up from a nearby pharmacy. His brother sat in a highchair while Aunt Chen patiently fed him steamed egg.

"Eat something," his dad said, nudging the bowl.

"I'm not hungry," Xiaoyang replied.

In truth, he was starving. But his stomach felt stuffed with cotton, like nothing could go down. He watched the happy little family across from him and suddenly felt like an outsider. That realization hurt more than the cut on his forehead.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Xiaoyang said, pushing back his chair.

"Be quick. We're leaving in half an hour," his father replied without looking up.

In front of the mirror in the restroom, Xiaoyang stared at his pale face. The band-aid was crooked, and the wound beneath it throbbed dully. He splashed cold water on his face. Droplets rolled down his cheeks — he couldn't tell if it was water or tears.

"Mama…" he whispered into the air, as if saying it could turn back time and take him to a world where she still existed.

Back in the parking lot, his dad was rearranging the trunk. Xiaoyang silently hoped he'd be given a real seat this time — but all he heard was the same line: "Come on, get in!"

He stood there, feeling the blood freeze in his veins.He didn't even have the strength to feel disappointed anymore. Mechanically, he crawled back into the trunk like an obedient little dog returning to its dark, sweltering den.

As the trunk closed again, Xiaoyang made a decision.The next time they stopped, he wouldn't come back. He would be like the little heroes in storybooks — running away from the place that suffocated him.

The thought brought a strange sense of comfort. He even began planning what he'd bring, which direction he'd go.

The car started up again. Through the narrow gap, Xiaoyang watched the rest stop fade into the distance. Sunlight glinted on the asphalt like a galaxy stretching into the unknown.

And soon, he would be one of its stars —a small star, shining quietly on his own.