2007-08-05 22:28:30PS
2001.6~2002.5 (不)對等: Fragments of summer
This was another suffocating August night in 1997, South China, hot, humid, and sticky.
The window was fully opened, thirsty for breeze. The room was engulfed by darkness little by little. I still didn’t turn on the light. I was so eager to have darkness wrap me up and keep safe as always. But tonight, I was far too restless.
”Marry me”, his eyes conveyed too much ardent heat, just like this weather unbreakably sultry.
For a moment or two, I didn’t know where I was. My mind was inaccessibly blank. I saw my body moving, in the streets, among the sweating crowds, with a paralyzed hand in his hand. I walked like that for the whole tedious summer.
Across the street, five blocks down from my building, there was a small teahouse ”Joy”. A green paint-peeling door, scratched windows with fading sunworn curtains, plastic vases filled with fake flowers, a forever dimness and one or two other customers. In those numbly sunny afternoons, wherever we went, we would finally stopped for a tea at ”Joy”. To him, ”Joy” offered every true meaning of simplicity. And I was too obtuse to get the hidden sense. I never bothered. With him, things always only meant themselves to me.
He did most of the talking. He talked about his education, his career and his family. I listened, absent-mindedly. Sometimes, he asked questions. I didn’t have much to answer. After ”yes” or ”no”, there was silence. Although he treasured my behaved shyness, my seemed obedience, he tried to break this silence by jokes. He laughed. I laughed too because I thought I had to, because it was polite and appropriate, because it was right.
”Min?”, he slightly touched my arm. I forced a smile. My skin started watering again. Downstairs, children were chasing around, screaming and laughing.
”Yes,yes,yes”,my parents must be laughing too,as happily as those kids. A good daughter, a delicate bride doll wrapped in silk and satin, pink face was blooming like a summer rose in the billow of lace and tulle. A grand wedding banquet with hundreds of relatives, friends and strangers. Gifts, champagne and blessings. My parents must have been waiting for centuries. Nothing to worry about now. She just uesed to have an over intense friendship with another girl. At the age of 24, she knew which was the right way to go. But, why did she still hate summer?
Xia, my dear friend, the precious home of my wandering sprit, had an unexplainable crush on summer. I didn’t. I was an autumn freak before I met her. Fuzhou, the little city where I was born, built up dreams and finally left behind, had a quiet autumn, gray and windy. Slight sadness flowed sluggishly in the air, which caused various strange thoughts and immature inspiration in me. I wrote a lot of dismal nonsense which I called ”poems” or ”youth murmur” by then. I pretended to understand life which I didn’t, not even now. I was only a silly, sentimental 17-year-old girl waiting to grow up. Xia loved summer and I thought it was uncool. I asked her why. She only said she belonged to summer. A free soul with passion, braves enough to cope with reality. I didn’t understand that then. However, it doesn’t matter, it didn’t take long before I fell for summer too .
With her, summer always shone, especially before night was falling. We were swimming under the desperately burning sunset. Sun was dancing on her skin. Fire on the water. I heard mermaids singing. At other times, we would take walks along the river outside the campus, watching it running through the late afternoon’s peacefulness, through our enchantment, and through our innocent youth. Wind blew our hair, we heard our footsteps lingering together, our hearts beating together. Night deepened.
Summer, summer, my beloved summer.
”I’m sorry, can’t.”, slowly let out of those words, struggled with efforts, I looked into his eyes for the first time.
Thousand of times, I wished I had said that. Whereas, those words, those words, just rose from my unconsciousness, and skimmed over my lips and sank into the lake of time, disappeared. I married him, living in the summer , eating and sleeping. And she is oceans away.
New York’s summer , no resentment, no expectation, no sorrow, no bliss. No, nothing. I am a passer-by who is living in other people’s summer.
Most of time, I stay at home, pull down the blinds, crunch in the darkness, stare at the TV screen, kill summer in the flickering of sound and pictures all day and all night. I also go to Long Island at weekends, lying on the beach, getting tan. Sun is on my naked back. Gulls are hovering above my head. Sea is breathing in my ear. Still, some other people’s summer.
Sometimes, I would like to think she is only an obsession born of too much empty time for thoughts. She never existed. If I really believe so, I can be free of her, of those memory fragments, of the summer I buried in the bones of my soul. I will forget her, as summer goes, as winter comes.
Yet, yet, on those lacerated nights, I see her face floating out of my dreams, shining and reachable. At moments like that, I think I am back, in that little city, by the river, in our rosy summer.
﹒
﹒
﹒
邀稿在很早以前
和她是朋友的時候
奇怪當時我們是情敵
卻有說不完的話
聽了太多她七年的初戀
好像已成為我的
說的她是我的情人。靈魂的另一半。
The window was fully opened, thirsty for breeze. The room was engulfed by darkness little by little. I still didn’t turn on the light. I was so eager to have darkness wrap me up and keep safe as always. But tonight, I was far too restless.
”Marry me”, his eyes conveyed too much ardent heat, just like this weather unbreakably sultry.
For a moment or two, I didn’t know where I was. My mind was inaccessibly blank. I saw my body moving, in the streets, among the sweating crowds, with a paralyzed hand in his hand. I walked like that for the whole tedious summer.
Across the street, five blocks down from my building, there was a small teahouse ”Joy”. A green paint-peeling door, scratched windows with fading sunworn curtains, plastic vases filled with fake flowers, a forever dimness and one or two other customers. In those numbly sunny afternoons, wherever we went, we would finally stopped for a tea at ”Joy”. To him, ”Joy” offered every true meaning of simplicity. And I was too obtuse to get the hidden sense. I never bothered. With him, things always only meant themselves to me.
He did most of the talking. He talked about his education, his career and his family. I listened, absent-mindedly. Sometimes, he asked questions. I didn’t have much to answer. After ”yes” or ”no”, there was silence. Although he treasured my behaved shyness, my seemed obedience, he tried to break this silence by jokes. He laughed. I laughed too because I thought I had to, because it was polite and appropriate, because it was right.
”Min?”, he slightly touched my arm. I forced a smile. My skin started watering again. Downstairs, children were chasing around, screaming and laughing.
”Yes,yes,yes”,my parents must be laughing too,as happily as those kids. A good daughter, a delicate bride doll wrapped in silk and satin, pink face was blooming like a summer rose in the billow of lace and tulle. A grand wedding banquet with hundreds of relatives, friends and strangers. Gifts, champagne and blessings. My parents must have been waiting for centuries. Nothing to worry about now. She just uesed to have an over intense friendship with another girl. At the age of 24, she knew which was the right way to go. But, why did she still hate summer?
Xia, my dear friend, the precious home of my wandering sprit, had an unexplainable crush on summer. I didn’t. I was an autumn freak before I met her. Fuzhou, the little city where I was born, built up dreams and finally left behind, had a quiet autumn, gray and windy. Slight sadness flowed sluggishly in the air, which caused various strange thoughts and immature inspiration in me. I wrote a lot of dismal nonsense which I called ”poems” or ”youth murmur” by then. I pretended to understand life which I didn’t, not even now. I was only a silly, sentimental 17-year-old girl waiting to grow up. Xia loved summer and I thought it was uncool. I asked her why. She only said she belonged to summer. A free soul with passion, braves enough to cope with reality. I didn’t understand that then. However, it doesn’t matter, it didn’t take long before I fell for summer too .
With her, summer always shone, especially before night was falling. We were swimming under the desperately burning sunset. Sun was dancing on her skin. Fire on the water. I heard mermaids singing. At other times, we would take walks along the river outside the campus, watching it running through the late afternoon’s peacefulness, through our enchantment, and through our innocent youth. Wind blew our hair, we heard our footsteps lingering together, our hearts beating together. Night deepened.
Summer, summer, my beloved summer.
”I’m sorry, can’t.”, slowly let out of those words, struggled with efforts, I looked into his eyes for the first time.
Thousand of times, I wished I had said that. Whereas, those words, those words, just rose from my unconsciousness, and skimmed over my lips and sank into the lake of time, disappeared. I married him, living in the summer , eating and sleeping. And she is oceans away.
New York’s summer , no resentment, no expectation, no sorrow, no bliss. No, nothing. I am a passer-by who is living in other people’s summer.
Most of time, I stay at home, pull down the blinds, crunch in the darkness, stare at the TV screen, kill summer in the flickering of sound and pictures all day and all night. I also go to Long Island at weekends, lying on the beach, getting tan. Sun is on my naked back. Gulls are hovering above my head. Sea is breathing in my ear. Still, some other people’s summer.
Sometimes, I would like to think she is only an obsession born of too much empty time for thoughts. She never existed. If I really believe so, I can be free of her, of those memory fragments, of the summer I buried in the bones of my soul. I will forget her, as summer goes, as winter comes.
Yet, yet, on those lacerated nights, I see her face floating out of my dreams, shining and reachable. At moments like that, I think I am back, in that little city, by the river, in our rosy summer.
﹒
﹒
﹒
邀稿在很早以前
和她是朋友的時候
奇怪當時我們是情敵
卻有說不完的話
聽了太多她七年的初戀
好像已成為我的
說的她是我的情人。靈魂的另一半。