The beginning of this summer is lonely. I don’t know why. We are doing fine, and my parents are coming to visit soon. But there is the incredible loneliness floating in the air, spreading like a lethal drug, gnawing the humidity in our breath. Well, probably I should stop using plural at this moment. You can never tell another person’s feeling in a specific situation.
Days becomes longer, but I still feel sleepy and exhausted. It has been too long since the last time we met each other. I was sitting there, behind the thick glass that apart us into different world. He was drinking a glass of brewed coffee, mildly smiling at me. I told him that I decided to give up school, of course not forever. Sometimes, you just need something different in your life, something special. He had a new hair cut, curly on the bottom. I stared into the glass, lost in the imagination of river’s wave in spring. My parents never know that I was seeing him all the time. If they knew it, they would give me up. In fact, no body knows. People know him does’t know me. They believe that I’m one of THEM. They say “THEM”, with contemplation and disdain. Who cares.
I knew that I should talk to him, so as I did. However, there is no one single minute that I’m not regretting for myself didn’t talk to him more back then. He sometimes asked me questions, but I rarely answered. I wanted to, but I just didn’t know the answer. I suppose everyone has that kind of period, being almost mawkishly innocent and unharmful. I remember that there were one time he asked me “what are you afraid of?” I looked somewhere else, avoiding his eyes. I’m afraid of you. But I didn’t say it, and he knew that I would never manage to tell it.
Then I left school, getting rid of all those literatures and theories. Then I left home, left him, without saying goodbye to him. My parents drove me to the airport, we had the macha polar cup while waiting for my flight. My mom made a joke of the old saying “a day without you feels like three autumns to me.” It was a bad metaphor that brought up endless sentimentality to me. I was sitting there, holding the plastic cup tightly. I cannot tell if it is my sweating or the condensation of the cold drink on the surface of the cup. I tried to send him an message, but failed. He had not have that cellphone for several years, since he was in the other side of the glass.