I heard footsteps, growing louder then fading away into the distance. Yes, those who have left won’t come back; those songs that make you cry with every listen; those responsibilities you can’t pick up once dropped; those mistakes that are just mistakes; those times you can’t get back. These are the words I read on the first page of your diary. Forgive me for plagiarizing you once again. I always follow in your footsteps, drink the mint tea you’ve left, eat the bitter chocolate you’ve tasted, plant the cacti you like, and even love the person you love deeply. I am a despicable plagiarist. The past is like old wounds, occasionally attacking me, like old friends. I am willing to confess.
I heard footsteps again, this person was a bit anxious, his steps hurried and chaotic, almost stumbling. The footsteps grew clearer, approaching me, and eventually would move away. But these footsteps stopped beside me. I looked up to see Yida’s face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, worry etched on his brows, and I noticed for the first time how sexy his single eyelids were, and how handsome his face was, like a girl’s. His white T-shirt was still clean and loose, his casual beige trousers, his height of 1.82 meters, supporting his slender frame. I tried to look surprised but found my face stiff from the cold, even the slightest move of my brows would make me shiver. Actually, I wasn’t surprised; this was where I first met him, where my warm milk tea once sat.
He exhaled, was it an illusion? A trace of reluctance or sympathy or pity flashed across his face. I lowered my head, not knowing what to say. He sat beside me, probably also at a loss for words, and we sat in silence for 5 minutes. It was an exact 5 minutes, as I watched the minute hand complete 5 full circles.
“Is it because of someone on the other side of the world?” he suddenly asked, startling me. His voice sounded like a young child’s. I suddenly understood, his heart had a black hole as big as mine. “Are you sad?” I asked.
He laughed, a very childlike laugh, with shallow dimples appearing on his lean face. I had never seen dimples on such a thin face before. Boys with dimples should be mischievous, but he didn’t seem like that.
“What does that laugh mean?” I asked.
“It means laughter.”
“Then you must have someone you love deeply too, right?” He didn’t speak. His profile had the contours of an artist.
“Doesn’t she love you?” He gave a bitter smile.
“As long as she knows I love her, that’s enough.”
“Really?” He stood up, really seeming to hold up the sky. I had to look up at him at a 90-degree angle.
“Let’s go.” He extended his hand. At that moment, I felt we were like two children, kindred spirits, able to rely on each other. His long palm had calluses from years of playing the piano, those calluses were transparent. I extended my hand.
“Do you know what happiness is?” We walked through the night, one behind the other, and he turned to ask me.
“I don’t know.” I shook my head.
“Happiness is simple.” The night wind tousled his hair, making him look a bit pitiful.
“How simple?”
“It’s just a smile.” He said, “Remember to smile before you go to sleep every night.” He smiled, the arc of his lips had a frail beauty. Occasionally, a car would roar by on the street, its engine revving, shaking the streetlights. The air had become slightly fresher, the sky dark, but dotted with stars. I somewhat regretted lying to Teacher Ann about having a cold because now I really had one. Oh, how great it would be if I could say I was about to pick up 20 tons of gold. I recklessly ran to the subway station to feel the breeze, only to come back with tonsillitis, spending a week in bed with a runny nose. My frail body could truly be described as “weak as a willow,” though I didn’t like the description. The school had recently hired a new batch of cleaners, and I, the unlucky one, was assigned to clean the auditorium for the new students, which also meant I could finish early. Professor Bismarck was busy organizing an exhibition at the Time Hall, likely forgetting my misfortune entirely. Elian’s snoring kept me tossing and turning, my nose stuffed up making it hard to breathe; truly, I brought this upon myself. I sat up, wrapped in my blanket, as the serene moonlight poured through the window, bathing my face. I opened my wallet, looking at the photos by the moonlight. The photos showed two young women, their smiles radiant. Back then, their lives were free of betrayal, separation, or bloodshed; the sky over the French town was a blue so intense it was almost heartbreaking. I knelt on the bed, hands clasped in prayer. I had no cross, just a heart full of prayers. God, please bless my dearest sister.
In the reception room, the Monster was instructing me on how to take various medications. “I know, take the anti-inflammatory after the stomach medicine because anti-inflammatory drugs can harm the stomach.” The Monster paused, puzzled, “How do you know?” “Because I’m a walking pharmacy.” “Then why do you still run around?” “Hehe, it doesn’t matter, I won’t die anyway.” The Monster’s face turned serious, “Xiao Yu, don’t disappear suddenly again, okay?” I was taken aback; someone had said something similar before. I nodded. “You don’t know how worried we were the night you disappeared,” the Monster said, looking down at the medicine bottle. “Thank goodness Yi Da found you.” I remembered that night, how I fell asleep on Yi Da’s bony shoulder, unaware of how far he carried me. I played a game with myself; the first one to find me was Yi Da. That boy with the melancholic gaze and bright smile, like a character from a Japanese manga. “Sorry, Monster,” I said. He gave a shy smile, “Hehe, no need. Remember, I’m your anti-inflammatory drug next time you’re upset.” He shook the little medicine bottle. The egg yolk-colored pills were like his warm smile, with a magical power to alleviate pain. Yi Da’s smile was simple yet heart-warming, Ah Xin’s was mischievous, and the Monster’s was the most infectious.
It was at the Time Hall after the setup for the event that I first realized how famous the Monster and his friends were at Ren Fu. I went out to buy drinks: milk tea for me, mineral water for the Monster, green tea for Ah Xin, and orange juice for Yi Da. (What a hassle!) By the time I got back, the hall was almost empty. I heard Ah Xin and Yi Da arguing on stage. “Rehearsal time is limited, Kang Xi isn’t back yet, we can’t perform the new song. And can Kang Xi even play the drums with his recent injury?” Ah Xin argued stubbornly, his face long. Yi Da didn’t back down, “Rock music is about expressing oneself, not just a performance tool.” “Don’t give me your high-flown rhetoric, you’re just impractical!” Ah Xin was getting angry. “Even if I’m impractical, I won’t commercialize every performance!” Yi Da said with a martyr’s resolve. I sipped my milk tea, watching their argument. Ah Xin, as if struck, retorted fiercely, “Stay on topic!” “Are you scared?” Yi Da suddenly sneered. Ah Xin threw down his guitar sheet and stormed off without a word. The Monster almost spat out his water, shouting at Yi Da, “Why do that?” I had never heard the Monster’s voice so high-pitched. Yi Da coldly turned away and left the stage. In an instant, the once fervent hall was left with just me and my “anti-inflammatory drug.” (Haha, a bit cliché…)
