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ruth-moore · 1 month ago

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Lovable, unlovable, l’amour de l’impossible, l’amour du possible

I saw Nghia again in a summer morning. It was late May: the air was cool with chilling wind, now and then, moving, making the country almond branches shiver. The sky was painted with a transparent bluish, littered with white clouds as thin and delicate as pieces of lace embroidered on a big, wide tapestry. On the ground shimmered a bright and immaculate light of early-summer sunshine.

Normally, I would caught sight of him being accompanied by a boy, who was his classmate and taller than him by a head. They would walk together to school every morning and back to the dormitory after classes end. But that morning, I saw Nghia stood still on the school ground, alone, staring at me with a manifestation of rumination in his eyes. Every time I ran into him before, I would be overwhelmed with an avalanche of frantic and hysterical feelings, as if I were a bug got electrified by a laboratory scientist. But this time, a mysterious force persuaded me to stand still and retort his lingering stare. Han, my best girlfriend, who was sitting next to me, got a chance to tease me:

“Look! Who has just been frozen up in this cool just by catching sight of that boy?”

I was so embarrassed by the mockery coming out from my girlfriend’s mouth but was altogether captivated by the existence of Nghia that I couldn’t counter her back. Nghia saw me staring back at him, and a childlike and naïve grin lighted up on his countenance. He waved his hand at me and essayed to approach where I was standing. My girlfriend, on beholding his rushing to me, threw a not-so-modest smirk at me.

“I’m going. Good luck, babe.” She said her good-bye and disappeared. I spared little attention to her that I didn’t know which direction she was heading for.

“Long time no see, Linh.” cried Nghia as he reached my place.

Actually, we saw each other really often; but it was merely seeing, not a word was exchanged between us. I don’t know why I always tried to shun him, as if he had done something really horrible and dreadful to me; but in fact, I was the one who torn us apart. I was a tad confounded by his daring to talk to me again. Did he not expect that I would one more time run away and leave him in profound perplexity and embarrassment? I was unable to reply to his greeting as I was swamped with apprehension as to the inquiries that he might shout to my face, such as “Why are you always acting like a shit when you see my face, hah?”.

On the contrary to my thought, he did not ask anything like that. Instead, “How are you doing?” was his next sentence. As he spoke, he panted quickly as if he had just finished a marathon.

“I’m doing good. How are you doing?” I said my first words to him for a long time.

“As good as usual.”

“Hey, you are on your way back to the dorm right? So am I. Can I walk with you?” He was silent for a moment and continued.

“That’s OK. My friend just left and there is no one here to give me a ride.”

As we were walking back to the dormitory, we continued our conversation. He was mostly the speaker and I was, in contrast, mostly the listener. This situation was totally different back then as I would forever be the one to be prattling and all he would do was giving all ears to my saying and smiling, or now and then, expressing agreement by nodding his head. I was rather surprised at his outgoingness and extroversion and wondered whether he changed after roughly a year.

After a while, he stopped talking and we both grew silent. Was that because he was at a loss for things to say or he started to question about my unusual reticence? The silence between us was so intense that I could hear our respiration when we made a move. I humored myself by the lovely pleasure of stepping on the dry leaves that fell on the ground - a crispy sound was produced when my shoes crushed those leaves into broken pieces. My nostril was engulfed by the scent of blackboard trees’ flowers. Some people said that smell was extremely unpleasant. I don’t think so: that smell gave me a sense of peacefulness and stirred up romance and poetry in my soul.

———*———

The sun rose higher and the ground was covered with a golden silk blanket. Sweat began to drip down from Nghia’s forehead. His complexion blushed pink - the pink shade of a peach. At that moment, I started to examine Nghia’s countenance. Not much change had occurred to the lad’s comely face. His lips were such dainty creatures; they were always quivering as if he was about to say something or burst out crying. His black wide eyes, now and then, gave me a benevolent gaze. People often say that “The Eyes are the Windows to the Soul”, and Nghia is a perfect example to this adage. Just by looking at his eyes, a person can sense that an immaculate, spotless and kind-hearted soul is apparent before them. But I couldn’t imagine how his eyes would look like when he cried. While we were together, not a single tear came out of his eyes. However, one of our friends in common had told me that he had wept like a child the night we broke up. Oh God, what a poor little creature! Since when does the act of emancipating a person, but not holding him captive, leave him with great sorrow and grief?

“Morrow is Sunday, are you coming back home or staying at the dorm?” Nghia commenced.

“I’m my mama child so I’m definitely going home. Anyways, staying at the dorm on Sunday is deadly boring as there is nothing much to do.” I laughed as I answered his question.

“Hey, how about going to my place, I mean my home in T.H. You have never been to my hometown, right?”

“What, I have never given a thought about it. I feel a bit … shy. How will your mother react if you bring home a surprising guest? Nay, I’m not your girlfriend or anything like that.”

“Nay, I’m not bringing you home under the title of my boyfriend or fiancé or whatsoever. I have taken my roommates home before and my mother had no problems about that. She adored them.”

“You have taken your roommates home before?” A feeling of envy aroused inside me as I heard that piece of information. I had spent little of my care for them before as they were a bunch of reprobates that would drive me to crazy if I had to share my room with them. However, their being taken to his house before I was, and, of more importance, getting the affinity of his mother kindled the first feeling of mine towards them - envy.

“Yes, what’s the problem?”

I did not answer his question and remained silent as if I was contemplating on something. I had no intention of visiting his house, but once again, the mysterious force successfully drove me to accept his bid.

“OK, your invitation sounds quite sensational. Are we going to catch the next bus?”

“Yes, if we hurry up. The next bus arrives in 30 minutes.”

———*———

I came back to my room to prepare my stuffs. 10 minutes was enough for me to do. Also, I had to call my mom to inform my not coming home, but I didn’t tell her about my trip: I told her that I had given my promise to my friends that we would study in group morrow. If I had told her the truth, she would have soon stamped the intention of setting off any trips out of my head. She is kind of a melodramatic person as every time I ask her to go for a journey with my friends, a series of event in which I would bump into an accident will conjure up in her mind. Although I love her, I can get really annoyed sometimes by the unreasonable vigilance and overprotective nature of her. After arranging all my stuff in a green - the shade of green that resembles the color of infantry’s uniform - backpack, I walked to the bus stop which was a stone’s throw from the dorm. As I arrived at the bus stop, I saw that Nghia had already stood there. I waved at him and stepped closer to his place.

“How long have you been standing there?” I commenced.

“Just recently, about for 1-2 minutes.”

———*———

The scorching heat of the summer noon was really killing us dead. Any part of the body uncovered by clothes was exposed to the sun, and then it would blush crimson and feel like being stung by dozens of needle. We waited for the bus in silent. In these moments like this, I will whisper some songs, both songs of my favorite artists and songs that are made up of random words popping up in my head.

I sang to escape the boredom of the situation, to take an aspirin to relieve all the sufferings and pain of my life and enter a more glorious world in which I was granted the alms for which I was forever craving .

“Will anybody ever love me?

For good reasons, without grievance

Not for sport

Will anybody ever love me?

In every season pledge allegiance to my heart

Pledge allegiance to my burning heart.”

[1: Will anybody ever love me - Song by Sufjan Stevens]

I sang to myself in a light, weak voice, like a prayer who just suffered his most horrendous torture and begged for the last benison from the God.

But was I so loveless that I had to search for love in the dreaming land?

The truth was that I was once loved by the person who was standing next to me.

But I cruelly discharged his love

I told him to get the fuck away

In a night, as still as other nights

But storming

revolted in my head

lightning

struck before my eyes

thunder

deafened my ears

I rejected his hands

And let my bodies go adrift

in the cataclysm flood.

The honk of the bus brought me back to reality. We chose a double seat. I asked him to let me have the right chair, which was close to the windows, and he would sit on the left chair, which was close to the aisle. As the bus rolled its wheels, the scene outside the window started to change. When we got out of the city, the images of houses and buildings were less dense. Instead, paddles of rice, lands of green grasses and flowers respectively flew through my eyes. As I observed the country landscape through the window, my mind commenced to wander into the past, into the things that I had missed in my life.

———*———

I had missed the chance to behold my sister sobbing on her wedding day, when she was about to get on the car which drove to her new house. My grandma said that she was waiting for me to show up and say my good-bye to her. But I didn’t. I was hiding in the corner of my bedroom, lying on the cold, damp ground like a puppy. What was the point of saying good-bye to her, if she was still alive, still mine, and we would still meet each other in the future? Why do people cry in their wedding while they say that it is the happiest day of their life?

I had a tête-à-tête with Hang, another best girlfriend of mine, a few days before my sister’s wedding. I told her about my sister’s up-coming big day; but when I was talking to her, I started to cry without knowing any reasons why. I had thought that I was worried about my sister’s future at her new house, about the problems she was going to face with once she entered marriage and maternity. But in retrospect, I realized that I had cried because I loved her, and it’s harsh to see someone you loved belonging to another person. At the same time, however, I felt happy for her to eventually find someone who could take care of her for the remained part of her life.

I once imagined what my wedding day would be like, when my mom is walking me down the aisle; behind me is my family, all of my friends - the people who finished the first chapter of my life, and in front of me is the person who would help me finish the last one. I would turn my head back to them, and a tear would be rolling down my crimson cheek, and a grateful smile would flicker across my face.

All the love I have received

All the love I have given away

All the gorgeousness of a brief life

fuses into the tears

that fall from my eyes.

A tear ran down my cheek, then a stream of tears, like uncontrollable flood, burst out from my eyes. My body was tremulous and my mouth uttered a series of whimpering sounds. I got the grip on myself, trying to not blurt out any squealing or wailing sound lest the other passengers be frightened. Nghia didn’t say anything; he hold my hands, stroked my hair as a way of relieving me. He left a gentle kiss on my forehead and let my head rest on his sturdy shoulders. My hands were still on his; I could feel the warmth coming from his hands as my fragile fingers intertwined with his. I kept on crying for a few minutes, making the shoulder part of his white T shirt soaking wet with my tears. After having underwent an abrupt emotional outburst, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of weary and drowsy. All I needed at that moment was a light slumber, to forget the embarrassing moment I had just unveiled before Nghia’s eyes. But the uncomfortable feelings of dampness, as my T-shirt was soaked wet with my sweat, mingled with the dazzling beam of sunlight shining through the window prevented me from falling asleep. Hence, my only resort was that I closed my eyes throughout the course and only opened when Nghia grabbed my shoulder and whispered to my ears that the bus had arrived. As we got off the bus, I caught sight of a woman getting off a black car; she unfurled her bumbershoot and stepped closer to us - she was Nghia’s mother.

———*———

I examined the bonny dame’s countenance through her reflection on the rear-view mirror. She still had a young look, at least younger than my mother. Her curly hair was long to her shoulders, and had the color of a chestnut. Her complexion was slightly pale. She wore sun glasses, hence I didn’t get a clear view of her eyes. However, one striking resemblance of her and her son was the lovely lips, which I already depicted. She apologized for not preparing lunch for us since her son’s informing of a surprising guest was so abrupt, and instead, she gave us a bag of bread and yoghurt. On the way to his abode, we drove past a shoreline. My eyes gazed outside the windows, searching for the sight of a sea. Nghia gave me his forever-childlike smile and said that I needn’t be that zealous and promised to take me to the beach tomorrow morning. His mom, now and then, asked me some questions as to my family and my study; however, I was too tired to put on a sociable play with anyone, therefore, I insinuated my fatigue and unwillingness to answer through my weary voice. He caught my drift and told his mom to spear her inquiries for the dinner and let me have a rest after a long path. She gave me a pretty smile and apologized for her galling curiosity. I hoped I hadn’t left an impression on her as a misanthropist.

His house is a three-story building, with all walls painted a white color of ivory, and bronze-colored tile gable roofs. The tile yard was spacious enough to be transformed into a tennis court. On the left of the house was a small lake with a bridge led to the land at the center, where there was a couple of benches under the shade of an enormous, old Chinese Banyan tree. The overview of his house indicated that his family was kind of a well-off one.

Getting to Nghia’s bedroom was rather a tiresome practice as his room is on the third floor. His bedroom was spacious with posters of action movie stars or rock bands, here and there, hang on the walls. Pardon me for I have no desire of delving into illustrating the furniture of his room. I was so fatigue that I laid myself on his soft, comfy bed and made a nap until it was dusk.

———*———

When I woke up again, it was nearly half-past 5 p.m. Nghia was sitting by his study table, looking engrossed in perusing a thick book; the late rays of light of the day streaming through the golden curtain hanging across the window near his table fell upon his fair countenance. The image of his face was blurred by the effulgent sunlight; however, I could still imagine that it was the face of a youthful, gorgeous prince. I got off the bed and crept upon him to inspect what he was reading.

“Have you all forgotten? He yearns to ask. Have you forgotten him? Have you forgotten how much I need him? Have you forgotten I don’t know how to be alive without him? …”

[2: Cited from the novel A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara]

He was reading A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara, the novel which I gave him as a gift for his birthday. I placed my chin on his left shoulder, which made him startled and turn back his head to find out who it was. His eyes were red, looking numbing and sad. He raised his hands to wipe off the tears coming out of his eyes, tried to regain his composure, and asked me how my nap was. This was the first time I saw him cry. His sobbing face looked nothing like with what I had expected: it was not as beautiful and more miserable.

“Are you OK? Why are you crying?” I commenced.

“I’m fine. I’m reading A Little Life, the book you gave me as my birthday gift, ‘member? You said it right, the book is a truly riveting and touching masterpiece.” His voice was tremoring and halting as he answered me.

“I have turned on the water heater. We have to wait for few more minutes to take a shower. Mom made an orange jug for us, would you like some?” He was eventually able to speak with a proper speech.

I refused his offer for I was busy casting around for my backpack, which I forgot where I had left it, to prepare my clothes.

While waiting for the warm water to be prepared (I have the custom of showering with warm water even if ‘tis summer), I laid myself lazily on the bed, whiling away by listening to some folk songs:

“The question pounds my head What's a lifetime of achievement If I pushed you to the edge But you were too polite to leave me? And do you miss the rogue Who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? Will you forgive my soul When you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

[3: coney island - Song by Taylor Swift featuring The National]

———*———

Nghia had the kindness to help me take off my clothes, but I refused him and did it on my own. I took off each piece of clothing, slowly: first was my T-shirt, then it was my short. I hesitated for a moment before I removed my last piece of clothing: my underwear; however, the eager and courageous eyes of Nghia, as if he was going to help me do that gave me the backbone to finally strip it off. This was the first time I showcased my completely bare body to Nghia, with absolute genuineness and without any traces of self-consciousness. Seeing my body totally naked, Nghia’s smile quickly transformed into something of a debauchee, but he soon concealed it and regained his straight face. He commenced to strip all his clothes off in a prompt way.

We cast our eyes over each other’s stark naked body. I felt like this was the first time we had the resolution to face each other directly, to feel connected and related. I had a closer look at his frame: he is not so much tougher than me; however, some of his body parts exhibit the quality of being muscular and sinewy like the lads in Henry Scott Tuke’s paintings. The lascivious and filthy beast inside me occupied my mind.

I commenced to lick his underarm which was engulfed with glossily dark hair, and smelt the arousal odor of his sweat stained on it. My lips gradually slithered to his right bicep, which was rock hard: I had forever dreamt of having an everlasting slumber while I was resting my head on it. After that, I caressed his soft, pink nipple while the other one was taken care of by the naughty fingers of my right hand; his mouth uttered a disgraceful and salacious moaning sound as I did so. My tongue descended to his abdomen, leaving several fleeting kisses on the well-defined muscles. I stopped right above his manhood and started to examine the adorable creature: his male member was more powerful and could do more formidable things than the fallacious abilities its appearance reflected; I am daring to guess that with his manhood, he can make women (or men) scream with the pain of satisfaction, and give birth to a beautiful, strong kid - just like him.

The steamy atmosphere filled with intoxicating scent of lavender shower gel really enticed people to get involved in sexual activities, but we were eventually able to resist the disgraceful temptation. ———*———

There were only 3 people at the supper table: me, him, and his mother (his father was on a business trip, so he was not home with us; actually, Nghia said that it was a lucky thing because his father was a homophobe, misogynist and rather unpleasant). Mrs. Lan (the dame’s name) had a great hand at cooking: I must say that although I’m a finicky eater, I had to pay a compliment on her excellent cooking. While we were eating, she continued asking questions that she hadn’t had the chance to hear my answer; this time, I was able to be more sociable, and partook in her cordial conversation. She also told me stories from Nghia’s childhood, about how he used to be a stubborn, but at the same time, brave and brilliant child. Her stories stirred up a little bit of embarrassment in Nghia, most obviously manifested though his crimson-blushed cheek and now and then telling his mother to stop.

———*———

At the meal, I wondered who would become his wife: I may feel jealous of her for she is married to a handsome and kind-hearted husband, for she is the mother of his children, who I believe will be very bright - just like him, for she has an amiable mother-in-law who will treat her like her own daughter, for she has beauty and such intelligence that she can enchant him, for she has ample valiance to be by his side during your times of hardship, and together with him, sail through them; for she can relieve his agonies with her sympathy, compassion and patience; for she can make him feel truly in love, and receive back his love without feeling pathetic.

———*———

Dear Nghia, I’m so sorry that my horrible jealousy might cause so much trauma for you when we were a couple. I remember one time when you gave a girl a lift on your bike. You guys were constantly chattering away and exchanging smiles; now and then, you turned your head back and spoke to her with so much joy and happiness: you were so happy that you forgot that you were riding, that you had to look out for the road ahead - that’s was so careless of you as if you were fearless of the accident you might meet with, so serious that both you and that girl would be detained months in hospital, or worse, die.

After that event, I would some times get on your nerves with my absurd inquiries. Let me conjure up the chaotic scene of the very first time when I did so.

“Are you seeing anyone? I mean, anyone besides me. I don’t think you need to feel bad if you do so. Because a person like you deserves someone so much better than me, someone who is really beautiful that you can feel proud when you introduce her to your friends. Also, that person should be a girl so that you can introduce her as your partner, not your “friend”.” “I swear to God that I’m not seeing anyone but you and I have no intention of cheating on you. Why are you always saying that I should find someone better than you? I don’t dream of beauty or anything like that, if I did so, I wouldn’t have loved you at the first place. And I feel comfortable with coming out as bisexual anytime even if I may lose some friends of mine, but it is you that told me not to…”

“We’re are faggots and we’re sick. No one should be aware of the sickness we have.” I interrupted his talking.

“Ridiculous, you’re a fucking little self-hatred bigot!” You were so annoyed and sullen that you couldn’t say any more words.

But that was the very first time I asked you questions like these. After that, I did it more often, as if it became my ritual; and after experienced so many times with it, you became accustomed to it: every time I asked you again, you would just say: “No”, or sometimes, “Definitely no”. You repeated those words until I was tired of asking and feel guaranteed that you were not seeing anyone else, really.

I believe, and always will, that you will not cheat on me; but the very thought of it frequently encroached on my mind - it threatened me, overwhelmed me with trauma and frighten, and it gave me no other choice rather than inquiring you. I thought my mind was playing a foul on me, and it would only stop if you confessed your having affairs. I told you about the galling foul that was being played in my head, and you understood that and said you wouldn’t be annoyed by it. But is it true that you have never felt a bit of annoyance?

It is unhinged that the feeling of jealousy when one of my beloved ones is taken away by another person, accompanies with the happiness and easiness that someone has escaped completely from my hands, free of suffering and trauma that I bring with myself: it is like I dream of holding a person in captive as much as I dream of their freedom from me.

It is unhinged that my mind was forever craving for what is called “love”; and when it achieved it, it told me “you’re unlovable, leave him for someone more deserving.”

Fuck!

And one more dreadful thing, a secret that I have never had the courage to reveal it to you, for I fear you might slur me, you may call me “corrupt and disgusting”: I don’t know why but every time I was with you, my head was insinuated with the thought of harming you: when we were kissing - it felt sweet, but I feared I might suffocate you till death; when we were hugging - it felt warm, but I imagined I would bring out the knife that I kept up my sleeves and stabbed you right at your heart until your red blood pooled over your body - I would suck your blood as if I were a hungry, wicked vampire. I rarely remember my dream, but there is one noon dream that is still haunting me now. In that dream, you said something that triggered my high horse and egotism, and I started to hit you with my fists and my kicks, slurred you with the most terrible swears that I would never say to you; and you didn’t retaliate me or say anything back - you were just sitting in a corner of a dark room, as still as a statue, but suffering my violence; your complexion was as pale as a dead person and your countenance didn’t exhibit any signs of emotion. Feeling satisfied with the act of hitting you, I danced on the floor as if I lost my sanity: I jumped like I was on a trampoline and made some peculiar movements that would definitely scare people off if one saw me, as if I was a member of a primitive tribe carrying out a savage ritual. As reflecting on it, I am still feeling terrified and nauseated.

I feared that someday it might be true, that I would injure you and you wouldn’t counterattack: you would be dead under my arms, which also means, I would have just killed someone I love.

To eradicate any possibilities that that situation might happen, I have no way but to keep you away from me. Sorry for putting an end to our relationship, for driving us to an dead-end. But don’t lament over our failed relationship, because if it had continued, it wouldn’t have been so much beautiful as you thought, and it would soon have the same ending.

Forgive me for stranding you on the desert and the fact that I didn’t patiently carry on the path with you. “Always believe that ahead of us is an oasis,” you once said so. But you would soon find out it is just a mirage, and you would not only die of thirst and heat, but also of false hopes.

———*———

Nghia said he wanted to watch Everything Everywhere All At Once. It was one of my favorite movies of all time: I was always babbling about my obsession with the movie with my friends or with him, about how much touching and soul-stirring it was that I always cried my eyes out every time I watched it; I had suggested to him many a time that we should watch the movie together, but we had never done it.

But that evening, he asked me gently if I wanted to watch the movie with him, and I agreed because I hadn’t re-watched it for a while. We sat on the couch in his bedroom, staring at the television screen - the only source of light in the room as we had turned off the lamp. He leant back slightly on the couch with his left legs extended in front of him while his right one resting flat on the seat cushions; his right hand was gently caressing my hair. I rest my head on his right thigh comfortably, and let my body nestle into the couch. Just like any other time, I wept all through the movie; and all he did was holding my head closer to his chest and whispering to my ears “It’s okay to cry”.

I remember one line from the movie that is so touching and heart-breaking that it is imprinted in my head: “You are not unlovable. There is always something to love. Even in a stupid, stupid universe where we have hot dogs for fingers, we get very good with out feet.”

[4: a quote from the movie Everything Everywhere All At Once]

That night, we one again slept next to each other on the same bed after months. Nghia turned his side to the right and laid against the cool wall, his head turned towards mine, intimately. We gazed at each other’s eyes lingeringly for a while, and we would burst into laughing unreasonably. He put his hand on my thigh and then stretched to my bottom, spanking on it gently in a steady rhythm - I once told him that it was a practice my mother or sister would do to lull me into sleep easier when I was a child.

The wind coming from somewhere suddenly rose, it banged on the bedroom’s window and made a loud and eerie noise as if someone was knocking madly at it and begging for the host to let them come in. The midnight air was made turbulent with rustling branches of foliage as the wuthering wind oscillated through them, and after a while, there was a clap of roaring thunder coming from the sky.

It started to rain: millions drops of rain fell down on the sheet metal roofs of someone’s house, producing a sharp noise that I imagined it was rock that was coming down from the sky. A bolt of lightning struck out of the blue as if it torn the dark sky into 2 pieces and created a fault from which dazzling white light flew out and swallowed the whole sky. I was so terrified by the thunderbolt that I startled with stun and fear, then my body huddled and shook like I was a caterpillar. Every time a lightning struck, Nghia would hold me tightly within his body: I could feel the slight shake of his hands, which were wrapping firmly around my back and hear his quick gasp and drumming heartbeat as he did so. The power went off: the coolness of the Air Conditioner lingered for a while around the room, but it soon faded away. The uncomfortable heat made us bath in sweat, I unbound myself from the grip of him and stayed further away from him, his body heat , and deep breath. A storm like this is not uncommon in a summer night, but as it had gone away, the electricity wasn’t restored and we were still lying there, bearing the sweltering heat.

“How can we fall asleep in this fucking hotness? My shirt is being covered with fucking tangy sweat. I’m taking it off.” He lost his temper and commenced to swear restlessly.

“Hey, you wanna drop off quicker? I have heard a really interesting method.” Each word coming out of my mouth accompanied with a giggle that had the quality of being indecent.

“You fucking tell me.” He spoke with an eager speech like a child waiting to receive the souvenir from his dad who’s just back from his business trip.

‘Sex…” This time, I was totally unable to control myself and laughed my head off.

He rise up stunningly and got closer to me. “Do you really wanna try it?” I could obvious feel his gasping as he inquired me, and an undertone of excitement he carried.

I started to regret my words since I meant them as a joke but he took it seriously. I hesitated for a moment before responding to his proposal (actually, it was my proposal): I interrogated my own mind whether I would like to do it, and the answer it gave me was “You have to do it.” - I had always been a liability to him, and “that” was all I could offer him as my decompensation for all the favors he had granted me.

After having practiced the hygiene procedure - it took quite a long time for me to do so and was especially arduous in this power outage - I came back to the bed: he was lying there completely naked, his cheek resting on his right hand; had he been smoking a pipe, I would believe that he was a client waiting for his prostitute coming to serve him. I sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating on what his reaction would be. He didn’t move and asked me “Do you still wanna do it?” with a great excitement and pertness in his speech that I knew there should never be a “No” to his question.

I crawled closer to him lewdly as if I was actually a competent prostitute; I sat on top of his, gazing at him with a sense of slight reluctance in my eyes. Finally, I moved my heads down, nearer to his and commenced to put my lips on his: he was a good kisser - it is evident through the skillful movement of his tongue wriggling inside my mouth. Then it came the foreplay, I just wanted it to end soon because I’m not good at giving head at all; now and then, I had a gag reflex and stopped for a moment, then began again: it was like a vicious circle - I tried to redo a mistake, but it turned out to be another, and I would retry it forever until my client was so annoyed that he told me to stop. After the unnecessarily long foreplay, he commenced the penetration of his manhood into my body: when his thing intruded inside mine, I uttered a sharp sound of pain (the sound continued throughout our intercourse as the pain wouldn’t go away, even after that, but I managed to keep it in a much lower pitch lest we wake somebody up). He started with a slow and gentle force and gradually accelerated his pace: when his movement got quickened, every thrust he made created a loud and erotic sound. This time, I found our encounter less painful and more pleasant than the first time we did, which was one year ago.

That time, he just put a small part of his male member inside me but I was overwhelmed with the feeling of pain and agony: I had wondered why it was nothing enjoyable and looking extremely pleasant as they always did in the movies I had watched. I begged him to stop and nearly shed tears as the physical suffering and tension were so intense. We finished our sex by jerking each other off while watching pornography: it was a terrible experience and I had thought I would not have any sex, maybe not in the subsequent decades.

“His performance has changed so much…” I thought in my head. “Did he practice it a lot with other girls?” I was rather curious to find out the answer to my preposterous question but asking him would be so inappropriate and a turn-off, hence, I kept it to myself.

Our sex was so good that I almost blurted out “I love you.”[5: influenced by the lyrics of Norman Fucking Rockwell - a song by Lana Del Rey ]. While we were making love, a prose I had read somewhere was called forth in my head:

“Making love with you

Is like drinking sea water.

The more I drink

The thirstier I become,

Until nothing can slake my thirst

But to drink the entire sea.”

[6: Cited from The Love Poems of Marichiko translated by Kenneth Rexroth]

We waked up at 5 am in the next morning: despite not having slept much last night, I felt not a bit of weariness at all. The bedroom was still dim because the weak early daylight was hindered by the blue curtain hang across the window. The hotness of last night was no longer there, instead, I felt engulfed by a cool and fresh air, typical of a summer dawn. I removed the veil to let the light get in and opened the window to seek for more fair breath of wind. Raindrops from the heavy rain last night mingled with the dust and grimes ran down on the window panes like flows of espresso. As soon as the windows opened, the petrichor odor quickly leaped to my nostrils: a smell of novelty and chilliness. After a rainy night, leaves of the trees in the garden was washed clean and greener than ever.

Nghia suggested that we should have a morning walk: he would lead me to the sea where we drove pass yesterday. I have no habit of walking in the morning since I am not an early bird and sporty person; however, I used to walk with him to school every morning - that was a memorable experience. In the winter, I would walk next to him and hold his hands - I don’t like wearing gloves, either socks; hence the only source of warmness I got for my hands was from his.

It was a long path - undoubtedly the longest run I had ever done (the path was so long that we had to run). Now and then, I would ask him whether it took any longer to reach the beach and he would answer “Yes, come on. We’re getting near.” But I didn’t catch sight of any beach, and we would run and run and run until I was so fatigue that I stopped to gasp - I gasped like a hound, and my back was full of sweat. There was no going back because we had run a long course and I am a determined person that I would not surrender if I achieved nothing. It was still early in the morning that there were only lorries transporting goods and vegetables from other areas and some old women on their cargo bikes to the open market, now and then, passed by us. Having rested for a while, we hit the ground running and soon arrived at the beach.

My foot, after a long run, were comforted by the pleasant and blissful coolness of the sand strip as I strode through it. Lapping of waves, following the sand, caressed my foot: the body of water made me tremble with abrupt coldness. I couldn’t hear Nghia crying my name from behind because the waves crashing the shore and roaring from a far deafened my ears with their turbulent and violent sounds. The sky above was greyish with clouds that had the color of ashes and the sea above was revolting with lap of dark waves: I was struck with such great frighten while beholding the grand and tumultuous panorama before my eyes. Nghia embraced me from behind, wrapped his arms around my waist and placed his chin on my shoulder: our cheek found each other’s . I unconsciously hold his long arms with my hands. I was sick with the deafening roar of the waves and the salty air as the blustery winds blew from the sea, but I couldn’t run away. I stood on the shoreline as still as a statue and gazed lingeringly at the horizon. What was I waiting for? Was I waiting for the sun rising from the sea to kill the darkness and shine the earth with its warm and blissful light? The violence of the storm last night was still there. The darkness of our memory is still haunting us. But I believe when we wake up in the next morning, sunshine will erase the darkness of the earth and purify our soul with its immaculate light.

The noon sky was daubed with a color of somber gray, like the sky in the “Entrée des jetées du Havre par gros temps” - the painting of the French impressionist Eugène Boudin. The sun had risen but was hidden behind multiple layers of dense cloud that I caught no sight of it. Far away on the high sky was a break in clouds from which a ray of feeble light shone through, descended on earth: it was like a beam of light fell on the cottage through the hole on its thatched roof and glinted the dark interior of it. We went to a small local restaurant to have lunch. We were served with a dish that was layers of rice, as thin as white satin finishes, rolled with ground meat and a kind of sauce, which was the spirit of the dish: I was not partial to this dish, hence I have no intention of delineating it any further; however, I could infer from Nghia’s gobbling up the dish that he really relished it. I remembered the very first times we hang out, he would raise his hands to cover his mouth while he was about to take some foods, or chewing: I asked him whether he had ever felt annoyed and grown tired of doing it some time; he said “No. My mom taught me when I was child that it will be polite if I eat like this before a stranger.”

“So, you think I’m a stranger? We are going out, and I will definitely not judge your personality through your eating etiquette.” I said in a sullen voice because at that time, we were boyfriends for like… a few days.

“Sorry, I mean someone who has not seen my eating before.” A state of perplexity manifested through his behavior and speech as he answered me.

I was about to ask him whether he naively thought that people would stop judging each other’s behavior if they grew closer but I wanted no further argument or making him feel baffled, therefore I just asked him to feel at his ease and do anything he feels comfortable when he was around me instead. And my allowance for his nature made me discover that he was a rather wild person, nearly as wild as me. One time, when we were on our way back to the dorm from school, it suddenly started bucketing down: we were soaked wet because neither of us brought umbrella or raincoat that day. Raindrops fell on my face as sharp as thousands of needles - they made my skin feel itchy and burned, our glasses were obscured with rain that we couldn’t see the road ahead, his white uniform shirt was drenched and it became see-through: a couple of pink nipples bulged on the plainly white piece of clothing.

“There is no need to find a shelter. We’re as wet as drowned rats.” I told him as he was looking for a place to hide.

“I don’t want to catch a cold and get sick. By the way, lightnings might strike, did you just hear thunder roar?” He cried because the sound of rain pouring on the road were too loud.

“Ok, find yourself a place, but you will catch the cold from me anyways.” I retorted him. “Why don’t you come hear and dance with me? I don’t know if I am being a amphibian but I am feeling active and vibrant than ever under this rain. I think God is watering us, his adorable flowers, with his … pee. You know I have a fetish for urine. Haha”

I laughed and danced and sang loudly because I knew no one could see me in this weather.

“The rain came pouring down When I was drownin',

that's when I could finally breathe And by mornin' Gone was any trace of you,

I think I am finally clean”

[6: Clean - Song by Taylor Swift]

He came nearer to me and we started dancing as if 2 psychos had just found each other and fell in love in the asylum. A lightning struck on the north sky, enveloped the air with its dazzling white light.

“Ooh, guess who has just came?” I feel like I truly turned into a psycho as I had said these unethical and corrupt words.

But one thing proved that I’m still a normal human was that I got a tad frightened by the lightning - I didn’t want to be fired dead by it, so I asked him to refuge somewhere.

Looking back, I find that we had quite many meaningful (or sometimes wild and absurd) and memorable moments.

On the afternoon, he rode he on his bike to a sunflower garden not far from his house. I sat on the back, sidesaddle as if I was a lass, with one of my arms wrapping around his wrist: it was a fun experience; however; dangerous at the same time as I could smash my face on the ground any time. On both sides of the country concrete road planted birch trees: they were so tall and their branches were such grandeur that there was a scarcity of light that could filter through those dense foliage. Now and then, when a breezy wind blew through, leaves from the trees rustled for a moment like they were partaking in the symphony with the sparrows.

We were passing through golden rice fields. The harvest time was near but there was scarcely any sights of farmer on the fields; however, the golden landscape was dappled here and there by a few white storks.

The garden was at his uncle’s farm: it was vaster than a garden with numerous parcels of land growing different kinds of plant.

That day was not ideal for people who has the graceful pleasure of watching flowers. The rain from last night made the flowers’ head droop downward. Still, their golden petals were bright and glimmering with dewdrop, but they all wilted melancholically.

All of a sudden, you ran as if you were child playing hide-and-seek

I followed you, not knowing where we were heading for.

May you lead me to our shelter?

Or may you submit me to the wicked devil?

All of a sudden, you stumbled on a stone

You fell to earth, still laughing and calling my name

“Give me your hand, I will stand you up.”

“Nay, lie down there next to me.”

The coolness of earth

The fresh scent of grass and flowers

Our hands found each other’s

Your face turned to my side

We exchanged a lingering stare

Will one lose,

if he closes his eyes first?

But I knew, the only thing that will lose

if I close my eyes

is the shape of you.

I would kiss you on your lips

If I were yours once again

To taste the sweetness of it

To feel the loveliness of it

To be embraced by the solace of you.

My memories of that mesmerizing Sunday ended when I laid my head on his shoulder and slept like a mild puppy on the bus back to the dorm.

———*———

After that day, our interaction became more tender: we would wave at each other and exchange greetings whenever I came across him. We started chatting online again, but not much - sometimes, we would talk about something casual, there was not any quality of romance in our conversation. We never had the chance to go out because both of us were swamped with our preparation for the college entrance examination.

Time went by like pieces of paper blown by the wind. Our high school years ended and the college time was waiting ahead of us; a feeling of unsure rose in my spirit. After the examination, I came back and spent the rest of my summer in my boring hometown - a rural village.

A new school year was coming. The dorm informed graduates to arrange and bring out all their stuffs in order to prepare for the new comers.

Having finished the organization work with my room (actually, it was no longer mine), I caught a bus to go home. I caught sight of Nghia at the bus stop: he was carrying quite a big trunk, looking rather tiresome. His countenance was lighted up with gladness when he saw me.

“Come sit next to me.” The lad cried.

It was an afternoon of a late summer day: scorching heat rose from the ground that could burned our foot if we didn’t wear shoes, rays of sunshine filtered through the dry leaves as if they were being burnt.

“Can you imagine what our story would be like if it happened in another universe?” He commenced with a sign of curiosity and contentment on his face.

“Maybe in another universe, we would never meet, and you wouldn’t go through much sufferings without me. You would fall in love with a girl instead, and maybe you guys have sex without using any protection and she’s pregnant.” I put not any quality of being serious in my answer.

“Or maybe in another universe, I would be more patient and compassionate towards you. Maybe I would beg for you to let me stay. Maybe we would be more sympathetic towards each other. Maybe you would cling to my hands while you’re hanging on the cliff. Then we would fall madly in love with each other and drop out of college to the surprise of our family and friends to get marry. Maybe we would adopt some children and name one of them “An” because you said you loved that name.” There was a sadness, a beautiful sadness in his speech. Tears welled up in his eyes.

“I think you shouldn’t study engineering and become a writer instead for the great plot of fiction you just told me…” I ended my sentence when I saw his weeping face. “Sorry.” I hugged him and wiped his tears with my hands. My hands were still put on his face, my eyes stared directly at his. “This beautiful countenance and eyes shouldn’t be stained with any tears.” I spoke to him.

I felt embarrassed and regretful about the unserious words I just blurted out. It was always him who dared to explicitly express our love. It was always him who dared to be honest and frank. It was always him who dared to express sorrow of our broken relationship and wish to make amends.

———*———

As the bus to his hometown approached near, we knew it was time to say goodbye to each other.

“I wish that there was a bus that would go through both our town so we could sit and talk with each other longer.” I really meant what I said to him.

“I wish that there was a bus that would drive us to one home.” He smiled and said his last sentence to me.

“Good-bye. We’ll meet one day in the future.”

“Good-bye. I hope so.”

The bus had gone. I gazed my eyes at the yellow-painted bus until it went so far away that it disappeared from my sight. My mind was still thinking about the words he just said.

There was but me standing there at the bus stop, in the sunny afternoon, just like one year ago.

My floppy hat was blown away by a wind and landed right at where a boy was standing.

“Here is your hat.” The lad run to me and gave the hat back to its possessor.

“Thank you.” My hands touched his hands and an ineffable emotion beat with my heart.

“Thank you.”

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