by Tin Hua Ren 任婷華

                          The Summer We Had

She woke up on the bed, palms folded right upon her abdomen, the posture just as peaceful as a goddess lying on an altar. The neon lamp in a corner kept raying out a bunch of mysterious colors, decorating the dark silently. The rays of neon swept some posters on the wall. On the posters were some singers of famous Brit bands, holding electric guitars and making poses like shouting and screaming to the air as if music would burst out from the posters. Beside her bed was a cabinet crammed with piles of CDs; she had built that fortress of Rock music since sixteen and whenever people came to her room, they were amazed by her tremendous Britpop collection for they thought she was merely a girl of Canon. The light after doing an inspection of the room again swiftly wiped her face. Now she was ninety-five percent conscious. She got off her bed and drank off the water on the bedside table. Then as usual, she turned on the stereo. As the CD started to swirl, her memory soon rewound to one track, time still, a hot summer afternoon at a record store where they met again after ten years of separation.

Their relation used to be very subtle. “We are just friends,” they always told others as if there’s an unspoken understanding between them. Not only that, they surely had noticed a fine line which neither he nor she wanted to go beyond it. If he pushed that line too far then she would stand back a little so as not to destroy that amiable feeling.

He left in one summer day. On that night, to her own surprise, she did not sense any swing of mood like she always did after seeing sad movies. But later, she realized that the utmost pain would not burst out in a short time; it took a long time to prove its existence.

She had some absurd dreams; that’s how she named them, after his leaving. One day they walked side by side down a path lined by rows of tall, stately trees. Emerald green foliage had the fragrance of fresh summer. They had walked for a long time without breaking the silence. Few minutes passed, she decided not to walk any further and just stopped here. Then she asked a question which constantly haunted her before she went to bed.

“Have you thought of me?”

She did not know why but he kept walking down the path as if he never heard any question. So she watched him left till his back was submerged by the sunken sun.

In another dream, he became totally a stranger to her. He sat far from her in a café, chatting with other people she did not know. She stood from her seat and made her way through the crowd so as to see his face clearly. But no matter how she tried she failed to get closer to him. She felt like she had crossed through hundreds of people but he still remained unreachable. His eyes never traveled at her for a moment. His appearance, reflected by the faint light, seemed to be covered by a layer of cloudiness and became a face she no longer recognized.

  She was used to this kind of ending, no matter in dream or in reality. Even though they spent lots of time hanging out together, she never thought that none of them were seriously being together. He regarded her as a friend whom he could share an earphone with; together the songs they had shared were countless. She would never put rock music in her fortress until one day he took her to his favorite place—a record store. That was a summer afternoon. The air was warm blended with a little breezy wind. She loved this kind of weather dearly because it was just the perfect moment for siesta. But that day he insisted on asking her out to show a place to her. “A cool spot,” she remembered his voice in telephone. As to that record store, she could not place it anymore; to her, the record store had become a mirage forever. The song in the store was the only thing she could recall. “I want you to hear a song,” without introducing much he took her into the old-fashioned listening booth and put the CD into the player. As usual, they huddled together, sharing one earphone. That was a song which etched her happiness piece by piece; even the machine could not filter its sorrow. A compulsion to cry made her lifted up her head. She was surprised to find that his eyes fixed upon her. She automatically, swiftly withdrew her sight from his black eyes. Then she regretted after one second. In the following hours, their sights had no convergence.

She forgot how they parted each other. The next day she heard from a friend that he had gone abroad. After hanging up the phone, she searched the internet, in an unconscious way, for the song they listen to yesterday. She remembered at the coda, there’s a repetition of a sorrowful voice, “I don’t belong here.” With the one and only clue, she found the song. It was Radiohead’s Creep. A song she would never sing since then but just listened to its rhythm. She stored this song in her MP3, in her mind and in her dreams. Every time she heard it she felt hurt like a hardly recovered scar. Why did she elude his eyes at that moment? Or she should ask herself first: Why did he look me in that way? Would that be possible that at that moment he did not want to be her friend anymore? Too many questions sometimes choked her as if drinking a bottle of Perrier. When the bubbles disappear, there’s still an unbearable air churning in her stomach.

  It was a summer day. She idled around on the street. As she passed one record store, she was attracted by that rhythm, standing still in front of the entrance. When she decided to enter into the store, a man’s figure drew her sight. He stood there besides a listening machine, like he always did. Within two seconds, she understood two things: One was what people used to say that time will seized at the moment you meet the one. And the other was the luck to meet someone again and that’s what she always believed in. Apparently, he did not sense the existence of her for he continued engrossing on the music. During those years waiting for an answer, she determined to meet him again. And right now he was there, a real one, not in a virtual café or a dark forest. She made her way toward him, not far away. Just to pass four more people then she could reach him. But she stopped at the last two people. Somehow the music became so loud and clear enough for her to understand every single word.

Question and hurt

Grab all your bubbles and run

Falling pieces crash in my head

She saw him take off the earphone and gently wore it on the girl next to him.

But I won’t wait for your train anymore

Don’t care if you are on the run

They looked at each other and exchanged a smile. The same smile he used to send her whenever a song they had shared was over.

Ain’t got a crush on you

From the way they looked at each other, anyone could tell they were in love.

Cause waiting ain’t my game anymore

No more questions on her mind except one.

“What’s the title of the song?” she asked the clerk.

“The summer we had.”

Ain’t got a crush on you anymore