The Lady Who Sells the Time

Six o’clock, bobbed hair young lady, the seat by the window, a white T-shirt, a big bowl of beef noodles, extra spicy.

If you go to a restaurant regularly as I do, you may notice someone being seated at the same table, ordering the same food, and wearing the same style of clothes every day. For example, I meet this bobbed hair lady. I call her the spicy lady.

However, the spicy lady is late today. It is twenty past six when she appears at the door. Unusually for her, she wears a sapphire dress and a pair of milky pumps which make her look elegant and graceful. It is the busiest time of day for a restaurant and her favorite seat has been taken. She stands in front of me, looking around and hesitating to take a seat.

“You can sit here.” I speak to her.

Looking me up and down, she puts her black leather bag on the table and squeezes into the seat opposite me.

“Beef noodles, extra spicy.” She orders without reading the menu.

“Always beef noodles, extra spicy?” I question.

She shows no surprise that I am familiar with her taste.

“We are both regulars.” She says and looks into my eyes, smiling.

“You are a little bit late today.”

She takes a mouthful of water and says “I just came back from downtown.”

“You work in downtown? What’s your job?”

“Just Guess.”

The waiter brings her noodles with a layer of spicy red sauce floating on the top. She buries herself in the bowl and her glasses steam up.

“You come here to have dinner at a set time every day. Usually, you don’t dress up. But today is an exception. You may have flexible working hours. However, you need to meet your colleagues or partners every few days. You might be a freelance writer or designer.”

I am quite confident about my answer. Since my wife stopped nagging me recently, I have some time for my favorite detective movies which improves my logic.

“Good line of reasoning,” She picks up a slice of beef, “but you are wrong, inspector...I am the one who sells time.” She says in an extremely calm voice.

“Oh.”

I try to pretend that I know about the occupation but I fail.

“I love the astonished face people have when they hear about my job.”

She looks at me through the steam on her glasses.

“I’m, I’m just curious about—”

“How to sell time, right? My job is to spend my time as my customers’. People hire me to visit their parents, select birthday gifts for their children or to attend some situations for them. For example, this afternoon, a writer hired me to pose as her in a reading party.”

“A writer? Reading party?”

As a man who works with numbers and computers all day, I have not done reading for a long time. The word “reading” seems unfamiliar to me. But my wife does love novels which I perceive as stupid illusion. She always wants to talk to me about some stories while I am replying to e-mails from my boss.

“She is a blogger of some renown.” She continues, “She labels herself as a sentimental housewife. Her subtle description of urban people’s emotional life attracts a number of lonely souls in the crowded cities. Her heart-broken story of her workaholic husband impresses me a lot.”

“But why does she not attend the party in person?” I ask.

“She has concerns about what will happen if others know who she is in real life. Actually she is not worried about herself but her husband, even though that man seldom cares about her feelings. She loves her husband anyway. But they were going to divorce, she told me. The man makes no effort to keep her.”

“Wow.”

As a man who also has marital problem, I don’t want to comment. Maybe the writer has the same problem that my wife has with me. I am busy with my work as an investment analyst. And, my wife, a typical woman who desires romance, always expects me to spend more time with her. Every time I see the disappointment in her eyes when I refuse to take a walk outside with her, I am upset, too. However, after working more than 10 hours, the only thing I want to do is to slump into my chair and rest.

“You know what, the biggest advantage or disadvantage of my job is that I always witness the raging wave beneath the serene surface of the world. Some make me laugh and some take me to the verge of tears.”

The spicy lady lays down her chopsticks and seems a little bit down.

“It sounds like a good job.” I try to cheer her up.

“Yes. The job never bores me. But the more time I sell, the less I have for myself.”

“Actually those who work in the cubicle with no passion are also selling their time. They sell it to their boss, you sell it to other people. No big difference.” I think I know well about the nine-to-five guys because I am one of them. “At least you have every evening free, sitting here, enjoying your noodles.”

“How do you know that I am not working now?” Seeing my confusing expression, she adds, “Three months ago, I got an order which required me to have dinner here every day.”

“What? Someone paid you to eat here.”

It is definitely a weird but fantastic job, I think to myself.

“Guess who he is.” She asks me.

“I don’t know. It’s strange and beyond my understanding.”

“This one hit my heart.” She confesses.

Cupping her chin, she looks out the window. There is a long silence before she starts to talk again.

“He is my ex. He left me because I had little time for him. Because of my job and laziness, my life was chaotic. I seldom had dinner even though he asked me to. He became my customer to compel me to have dinner regularly. I know all he wants is that I can live a healthy and normal life. I know he still cares about me. But I just--”

She turns her head to hide her facial expression or maybe her tears. I can feel her regret and loneliness. Not knowing how to comfort her, I pat her hand. At this very second, and just for one second, she reminds me of myself.

We fall into silence until we pay and say goodbye to each other.

Walking on the bustling street, I take out my phone, think for several minutes and text my wife who sent me the divorce agreement this afternoon.

“Baby, give me one more chance. I suddenly realize what you mean to me.”

A Taste of NYC Subway at Night

As night fell, New York City expanded with light. It was amazing to witness the magical process. The skyscrapers put on the most gorgeous garments made of neon lights, one after another. Streets dancing with the headlights of enormous numbers of cars cut the city into delicate pieces.

Standing on the 86^th floor of the Empire State Building, I felt that I was the owner of the world. The astonishing night view of New York City completely convinced me that it was the most prosperous city in the world.

I couldn’t get enough of the splendid view. However, in order to catch the subway to get back to the hotel, we had to leave.

Before I went to New York City, some of my friends warned me that the underground railway system did not match the city. I had prepared myself for a subway station that was not as luxurious as the lobby of the Empire State Building. I thought I was silly when I finally got into the station.

As I walked down the stairs, I was assaulted with the unpleasant smell of sweat and oil. The dirt and grime on the dark floor was noticeable in the pale light. My stomach churned and I couldn’t help frowning.

I could hear the noise made by the crowds in Times Square. I still felt dizzy because of the dazzling billboards I had seen on the bustling streets. I was enchanted by the grand view of the whole city. But the scene right before me told me that I had entered into a totally different world.

After ten minutes’ wait, the train finally came. I have never waited more than 5 minutes for a subway in Shanghai. Thank God the train was air-conditioned. I was almost burning in the station.

There were not a lot of people in the train because it was eleven at night. Everyone was minding their own business. The guy who sat beside me immersed himself in an attractive detective novel. Sometimes he took a deep breath as if there was thrilling plot. The man in rags sat across me was taking a nap. His duffel bags blocked the passage. It was impossible for me to tell the original color of the duffel bags due to the stains and grease on them. At one station, a slim young man and a plump woman got on the train together. Holding a bunch of fresh pink roses, the man seemed a little bit nervous and hesitated to put his arms around the woman’s shoulder. Tonight might be their first date, I guessed. They sat in silence for a while. Then the man whispered something to the woman which made her blush just like the pink roses in her date's hand. The only bright and lively thing in the train was that bunch of roses.

“Here is 96^th Street, we will get off at the next stop.” My friend reminded me.

I grabbed my backpack, got ready to rush to the hotel and fall on my bed. A muffled voice came from the loudspeaker. But I was too exhausted to hear the words clearly.

The train slowed down and was approaching 103^rd Street where I was supposed to get off. I stood up and moved to the door. It was strange that no one other than my friends and I seemed to leave at this stop.

Seeing the board which read “103^rd Street”, I was about to walk out. However, the train did not stop!

“Are you kidding me?” one of my friends yelled out.

Everyone on the train was calm except us. It must be a normal pattern. But we did not know it as new comers. No one told us about that. Oh, wait, I tried to recall the broadcast and vaguely remembered the words that “the train won’t stop at the next five stations”. My friends and I looked at each other, but no way out. We sat back on the seat, down in the dumps. Because of the whole day’s walking in the NYC, we barely had enough strength to complain.

Time passed with incredible slowness. After passing 5 stations and exhausted of all my patience, the train stopped at 161^st street, which was remote and bleak. We had no choice but to walk to the other side of the station to take the subway back.

This station was extremely small and dirty. There were few people waiting for the subway. The blower kept generating sizzling wind and a rumbling noise. The passage was so narrow that I was afraid of falling down into the tracks. No one talked. I squatted down against the wall, looking into the distance. Propping my head up on one elbow, I was waiting for a train which seemed like it would never come.

I had never guessed that my day in NYC would end up this way. If I could, I’d like to have the memory that my glorious and magical day ended up on the 86^th floor of the Empire State Building, letting the cool night wind blow my cheeks, burying myself in the magnificent NYC night. 

The Corner I Like Most

I call it my booth—the seat before the panoramic window overlooking the Qiantang River. Every time I read there, I am able to get distracted from the busy life for a while and find the peace of my mind.

A bohemian sunflower tapestry covers the window seat with several violet cushions patterned with vines. Sitting cross-legged on the puffy tapestry, leaning back among the soft cushions allows me to immerse myself into the world of Jane Austen.

 

My grandma’s antique low table in the center of the window seat is polished by the time. The smell of the camphorwood table takes me to the forest. If I close my eyes, I can imagine the fresh grassy air and the twitter of birds. As my fingers going across the table, the round corner gives me a taste of old times.

In spring, there will be a standing daffodil in a blue and white vase on the tea table. With the window open, the gentle breeze will carry the light fragrance of daffodils to me. The sunlight slants through the clear panoramic windows into the room. The white flora wallpaper baths in the sunlight and turns into mellow yellow. Sometimes, when I get tired, I will set aside the book, put on the headphones, lay my hand on the window frame, and overlook the Qiantang River from the 19^th floor. The surface of the water with sparkling ripples is as intoxicating as Elizabeth Bennet. The Canon in D major passes me by. All the troubles and pressure in my life disappears at this moment. 

I will never be bored with enjoying myself there.

Boulder Dash

The sun was scorching. But the heat couldn't stop me from trotting into the lake. It seemed that the hot weather was nothing compared to having fun at the amusement park. Because there were people everywhere in the lake.

At the entrance, the first thing I saw was the Boulder Dash, which had been voted the world’s No.1 wooden roller coaster, stretching on the mountains. Half of it was hidden in the mysterious woods and the other half lay in silence under the clear blue sky. All of a sudden, with a high-pitched scream and a roar of the train, a rollercoaster zoomed past me like a rocket. It was too fast that I could barely tell what I had seen.

I couldn’t wait to experience the excitement of shrieking and yelling on the Boulder Dash. As I waited in line, the scream came from the depth of the woods again and again. Every time I heard it, my desire grew stronger. After 20 minutes, I finally boarded the Boulder Dash.

At first, the roller coaster climbed the mountain at a very low pace. As it became slower and slower, we were approaching the highest point, which was the start of the thrilling journey. My heart was pounding against my ribs with excitement as well as fear. It felt like that I was going to talk with someone I had crush on.

My heart was in my throat when we reached the pinnacle. I could hear the wind passing through the leaves. I could hear the noise made by the crowds. I could hear the breath of myself. The air was still.

Then, all at once, the roller coaster dived down the mountain. The tall guy who sat behind me cried out for mom and a girl around me shrieked like a soprano. Soon, the sound that the iron wheels hit the wooden track rose above all other sounds.

My brain was blank. Before I managed to calm myself down, the roller coaster climbed rapidly. Because the safety belt was not tight, I was almost thrown out at the apex. It kept going up and down time after time. I held the handrail firmly at first. Then I dared to loosen my hands and stretch my arms. They danced freely with the Boulder Dash. I was flying like an eagle as I had been many times in my dream. I wanted to laugh. But due to the strong rush of wind, my face twisted into a strange expression. Actually, my facial muscles were shaking.

Finally, after yielding enough screaming, the roller coaster started to slow down. Ann, who sat next to me was fixing her hair, puffing and panting. Still immersed in pleasure of flying through the woods, my heart beat could hardly came back to the normal rhythm.

As soon as getting off the Boulder Dash, words burst from people’s mouth. People just couldn’t stop talking about how exciting the experience was. I looked back to the track that wound into the woods. Ann and I smiled at each other, said at the same time

“Let’s do it again!”

A Seated Peasant Woman

A Seated Peasant Woman

Camille Pissarro

French, 1830-1903

   

I had been observing her for a week. But I did not talk to her.

I came to the countryside a week ago in order to do sketches of the field. There were many peasants working in the fields, man and woman, elder and child. Despite of the intense sunshine and scorching temperature, they worked hard to wrest a living from the soil. Sometimes I would like to include them in my pictures. When the sunshine was really blazing, they would stop and rest under the shade of trees. Men often fanned themselves, looked out on their own fields, and planned the life of the whole family. Women loved to get together and gossip.

But the woman with the red plaid headscarf never joined them. Her delicate headscarf stood out from other coarse gray turbans. And her skin, not like other peasant woman, was fair and rosy. When others were chatting, she sat quietly on the mound, bending her body. She locked her eyebrows and folded her hands all the time as if something bothered her a lot.

I drew a portrait of her without disturbing her. It was my best work this year. And I thought the painting could be sold at a good price.

The day before I returned to Paris, I went to the fair, seeking for some interesting gadgets. When I was picking over the old potteries at a dark-skinned woman’s stall, the woman’s headscarf caught my eyes. It was the same fantastic headscarf I saw in the field a few days ago.

“What a beautiful headscarf!” A woman with tangled hair said to the dark-skinned woman.

“Of course it is, I bought it from Gloria. The headscarf came from Paris.” The dark-skinned woman was pleased by the flattery.

“She is selling her things again. Poor Gloria.”

“She had to. Her little baby caught a cold last week. I bought the headscarf from her so that she had the money to buy him the medicine.” The dark-skinned woman said as if she offered a huge help to Gloria.

“What a poor girl. She must regret abandoning luxurious life in Paris, splitting from the rich family and marrying Tom who was only a chef in her family’s holiday home.”

The dark-skinned woman touched the red plaid headscarf gently.

“Her life could have been better if Tom did not die of the malaria. But now, she has to take care of her son and Tom’s disabled mother all by herself. The situation couldn’t be worse.”

“Who knows? Leaving the baby and the old woman aside, asking for her father’s forgiveness is the best choice for her.”

“But isn't she silly? Working in the field in the daytime, taking care of the child at night. She chooses the tough life.”

It was easy for me to figure out the whole story. A girl from the upper class fell in love with a boy at the bottom. Despite the pressure from the family, they got married. These kind of stories were everywhere in the novels. Some have happy endings and some not.

A few days after I went back to Paris, my agent called me.

“Hey, Jack. Good news. A banker bought your painting today at a very high price.”

“Wow, which one?”

“A seated peasant woman. The woman with the red headscarf. The banker bought it at the first sight. Congratulations!”

“Did he say why he liked it?”

“I remember he said it reminded him of his daughter. ”

Shining Tears

“Lady, how about that pair of crystal earrings?" In the direction of the shop assistant’s fingers, the water drop shaped earrings rested in a small black velvet case. As I caressed the smooth surface of the little glittery earrings, my mind drifted back through the years, back to the days with Jack who shed tears just like the earrings. It took me back to the fresh touch of love.

I remember it was a sunny day, everything went well until that moment. I left classroom as usual, putting my left hand on the door frame. And suddenly, Jack – a naughty boy in my class rushed out, without seeing my hand. He slammed the door. My left hand was still on the door frame, but, part of my middle finger was not. My fingertip was cut off by the door!

The blood surged out as spring. There was screaming and yelling all around me. After freezing for seconds, I dashed to the gate of the school. The only thought in my mind at that moment was the doctor could save me. I felt that the red and warm liquid was leaving from my body quickly. I was scared.

The kids all jumped aside as I passed by. It was horrible for thirteen years old children to see a girl running in the corridor with blood gushing out. They dared not to find out what happened.

However, I found someone running with me -- the bad jack who slammed the door. He was crying like a puppy. But He kept running with me.

My teacher sent me to the hospital as soon as possible. I started to realize that it was extremely painful when I sat on the car to the hospital. So I couldn’t help sobbing. Seeing me crying out for mom, Jack cried even more sad. What a strange boy. What is even stranger is that because of the sunshine, his tears sparkled in a beautiful way, which, in several seconds, made me forget my pain.

I had a surgery in the hospital and stayed there for about a week. My parents were heart-broken but they did not blame Jack too much. But I guessed that Jack’s parents was really angry about what he did. Because when they came to visit me in the hospital, Jack kept his face down and dared not to speak. Actually I was not mad at him. Maybe I had forgiven him when he burst into tears.

When I came back to the school, my finger had not healed completely. I was not able to use my left hand. So Jack became my left hand. Every afternoon, he accompanied me on my walk home, holding my backpack. The first few days, we did not talk to each other. He kept looking at the other side of the street. And I stared at my shoes all the time. There is an embarrassing silence. I peeped at his face sometimes. The sun highlighted the arresting contour of his cheek. It always reminded me the glittering tears he had that day.

We started to chat after a week or so. At the outset, we just complained about there is too much homework, commented on the dress our math teacher wore that day, discussed about how to get through the tough exam the next day. As time moved on, we began to talk something more personal. He told me that he was crazy for basketball and he wanted Nike’s basketball shoes as birthday gift. I told him that l love the lollipop sold in the Mr.Li’s grocery store. We also talked a lot about our pets, our friends, our family and almost everything in our mind. Chatting with him after school became the most amazing part of my day. But I had something I never told him. I couldn’t forget his tears, it was in my dream, in my brain and it was everywhere.

As time went by, my finger finally recovered. And I no longer needed Jack to be my left hand. I was upset the day I had to tell Jack that I could take backpack by myself.

“Thank you for your time Jack.” It’s hard for me to keep smiling while saying goodbye to the company of Jack.

“You see, my finger can move now. So, you do not need to accompany me on my way home anymore. What a good news, right?” Human being is strange species. We tend to pretend to be happy when we are actually bitter in hearts. 

Jack was silent for a few seconds with hands in his trousers pockets. I was hoping that he was going to say something that will make me feel a little better.

Thank God he did.

Pulling my favorite lollipop from his pocket, he said “I passed by Mr.Li’s store yesterday, here you are”. He put the lollipop in my hand. And the instant he touched the center of my palm, I felt pumping of his heart.

“And you know what, I enjoy going back home with you. So, if you don’t mind—“He doesn’t look at me when he spoke, he was looking at the building across the street as usual. I looked up, his handsome side face glittered in the bright sunshine with a lovely and delicate flush.

“Of course I don’t.”

“Lady.” The shop assistant pulled me back from the past. “Do you like this pair of earrings?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful. But I have had one.” I smiled and walked out of the store.

I have been out of touch with Jack for a long time. I would rather preserve his tears, his side face and his lollipop in my memory. The picture of the little Jack and the little grace walking along the street at sunset is timeless.

I am in New Haven

This is my first visit to the USA. The experience of the first two days in New haven is tired but interesting. The tiring  part is the tiredness after long journey, and the interesting part is experiencing Yale, finding differences between America and China.

After more than 18 hours' flight and stopping at Hong Kong and Vancouver, I finally got to New York. Then I took a shuttle to New Haven. This long journey from Shanghai to New Haven and the jet lag really exhausted me.

However,the beautiful campus of Yale alleviates my fatigue. The campus here is really different from campus in China. Yale seems to be a part of the city because I couldn't find clear boundaries of the campus. In China, most of the campuses have walls that separate it from the other areas of the city. Besides, the buildings is special. Most of them are made of stones and some of them are with a pointed roof like church. They seems to be more solid than buildings of my campus. The style of the architectures here is unified and makes me feel comfortable.

Despite of the beauty, the great amount of facilities, services and activities which campus provides impress me a lot. I live in Calhoun College and some of my friends live in Morse College. Every college has its own library, dining hall and buttery. It is really convenient for us to study or have fun.I hear about that tons of board games and card games are available in butteries. It's awesome. In addition to enjoy time in campus, the summer session also offer chances to travel around. This week's events include seeing Broadway show and going to the Lake Compounce, I can't wait to have fun.

As a gourmand, I have to say something about food here. I love the food here, pizza, salad and especially milk. The milk here tastes fresh and pure. Although I like the food here, I admit that the taste of western people is really different from that of us. I suppose that Americans like sweet food very much because the cakes, juice and cereals in dining hall are all too sweet for me. I am worried about putting on weight after eating here for five weeks. Besides, most of the food here is cold. We Chinese are accustomed to hot food such as hot pot. Actually I have started to miss hot steaming dishes made by my grandmother. In addition to the flavor of the food, the size of the food here surprises me. I went to a supermarket the day I arrived in New Haven. I found that the size of the packaged snacks almost five times that in China.

At the end, I would like to talk about people. First, the population here is way smaller than in China. The day I arrived, I could hardly find someone to ask for directions. You know, in China, there are always a bunch of people walking on the streets. I am unused to the empty street and it makes me feel insecure. Second, the people here are kind, especially YSS staffs. The day I registered, I had to go to many places to settle all things down. I was not familiar with everything here, but wherever I go, I could find someone to help.

I am new here and I have a lot more things to explore. I believe I will enjoy this summer at Yale.