A Few Imaginary Scenes

1.
She was sitting on her bed. Pondering. The door cracked. She looked toward the source of the sound, it was her daughter who had returned home for the spring break.

She saw that her mother was buried deeply in thoughts. She let out a soft call: mom. Receiving no response, she left the room, shutting the door behind her. She wanted to ask her if there were any star anis left for the stew she planned to make.

Something light then, she thought.

She rolled up her sleeves until they were sitting above her elbows, then immersed her pale hands into the green enamel pot where the soaked vegetables slept.

2.
There's nothing to miss. Really.
She looked out of the bus window. The glass was tainted by fog and traces of salt. The landscape seemed washed out, a total blur.

It is true that there's nothing to miss. Because there had never been anything to start with.

She extended her index finger and drew a line along the buildings rolling by. There was a small bead of water at the end of that line, but it never grew big enough to form a full drop. A still-born.

She rang the bell, got up and got off.

3.
The corner of a black package emerged from the backpack tossed on the ground.

A tablet of black chocolate, 70%.
What kind of man would reveal his inclination for chocolates? Bitter chocolate?

I watched him as he brought a piece to his mouth.

4.
One voice message from a stranger in an unknown language, a murmur, a whisper.

Two voice messages from a stranger in an unknown language, a murmur, a whisper.

5.
She gazed at his face and remembered.
She knew his deepest hopes and desires, his phobies and his follies.
He didn't know her yet.

The book he was reading: A Brief History of Time.

6.
The commuters sat in a row.
Their heads tilted. Their hands crossed.
The rising sun burned their eyelashes.
Different shades of gold.

7.
She is young, but she already had lines etched into her face.
Whe she talks,
they dance,
like ripples on a lake.

8.
I have this song:
the shape of your finger nails is connected to your personality.
It goes something like this:
Round, square, short, very short and sharp.

Dialogue

Have you seen the ugly dolls,
like the one buried in the stall?
O, the ugly dolls, with detached buttons eyes
And their mouth opened with awe.
You can look for them at the bottom shelves;
They are seldom seen, if at all.
Quietly, they sing to themselves,
You would never hear them from the hall.
The ugly dolls have tiny hearts
Made from cotton balls.
They are as gentle and as hungry for love
Like any other toy at the mall.
How I cry for the ugly dolls,
So unwanted and utterly small.

Séchez vos larmes versées pour les poupées malheureuses.
Il existe des chose encore plus douleureuses.

Hearsay

all men have had their hearts broken at some stage between 16 and 23 and never experience the same intensity of love again - until they have their first child

宿命感

她前面坐着一个人。那个人和她来自同一个中学，现在他们坐在同一所大学的教室里。
她只可以看到他的后脑勺和三分之一侧脸，如果伸长脖子，还可以看到有鼻子的二分之一侧影。
他把头发剪短了，她想。

 

三年以前，她在化学教室里见到他，他是高一年级的学生，背稍弓，眼弯眉窄。那节课，化学老师告诉她的班级，他们那个学校有两个学生得到Science fairs的国际名额了。R. Gervais 和 S.Luo.她知道R.Gervais是谁，因为她在学校音乐汇演的节目单上见过这个名字，而且在舞台上把名字和人对了起来。

他拉大提琴，那个眼睛弯弯，手却总是紧张地握拳又松开的人。
拉大提琴的人看起来总是很滑稽，这是指他们随身携带乐器的时候。
巨大的琴箱，不管拖还是拉都很不方便。

 

中学毕业前有一次，她在公车上见到他，那时候他也是这样坐在她前一排，侧坐着，腿间夹着那一人高的琴箱，和一个站着的女生说话。她看着说话的两个人，揉了揉眼睛，决定转移注意力，开始看窗外。她记得那是一个冬日的黄昏，迟暮的太阳正颤抖着，一点一点哆嗦着陷下去。

她对他的印象也就停留于此：一个温和，稍微神经质的学长。

 

今天他就坐在她面前。

要不是老师让所有人在一张纸上签名，她几乎就没有认出他来。
那一刻他把纸传给她，她扫视了一眼前面所有的名字，参考格式，却看到R.Gervais,材料工程。她迟疑地抬起头，仔细地打量了前面坐的那个人，见到了记忆中沙黄色的头发，不过短了很多。
她快速地签下了自己的名字，让名单继续往后传。

 

多么有趣啊。
这是她偶然决定上的课， 偶然选择的教室和老师，偶然选择的座位，在偶然收到的名单上认出以前偶然认识的人。

 

那节课剩下的一小时，她一直在研究要不要和他打招呼。
虽然说她并不是多么热情的人，而且不曾正式认识过他，但是她觉得这一系列偶然在对她说，这一时刻不同寻常。

 

她从小到大都在耐心地观察着自己的环境，等待着一个启示，一个标志。它会告诉她该怎么样生活。在那以前，她从不冒险。她坚守着自己的原则，守候着一套仪式，哪怕那让她显得古板，冷漠且不合时宜。她相信命运胜过她相信自己。

 

下课了，她快速地收拾东西，准备在教室出口拦截下他。

R！
他转过头来，是别人，他的朋友，叫了他的名字。
她瞪目细细端详那张脸，不是她记得的那个人。
她快速地在自己的记忆深处搜寻，那个人是叫 R吗？R.Gervais?不是R.Germain?还是别的什么？
她立在原地，看着他和那个朋友离开。

 

当天晚上，在关机前，她不甘心地在google搜索栏里敲下了R.Gervais。