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 didnt turn on the light.I was so eager to have darkness wrap me up and keep me 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 didnt 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 dull 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 understand the hidden sense.I never bothered.With him, things never meant anything more than their literal definition 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 didnt 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 each others 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 used 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 didnt. 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 understandlife but I didnt, not even now.I was only a silly, sentimental 18-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 didnt understand that back then.However, it doesnt matter, it didnt take long before I fell for summer too .
With her, summer always shone, especially before night fell.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 afternoons 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.
Im sorry, cant.?slowly let out of those words, struggled with efforts, I looked into