Chapter 36

I'm very happy. It's a holiday, of course I'm happy.

I smiled and kicked the person in front of me across the table in the shin, the tip of my shoe not leaving any dust on his pants: "Hey, pay attention to me!"

He glanced at me helplessly, then used his shoe to block mine, preventing me from moving. I was annoyed and ground my shoe against mine: "You're not talking, and you're not playing with me... What are you doing? You're doing it in front of me but not letting me see, isn't that intentional?"

He gave a soft "hmm" and said with a smile, "Yeah, I did it on purpose. Why don't you just go do something else? You little kid?"

I'm only eleven years old, having just finished sixth grade; he's twelve and in his first year of junior high.

I don't have any homework, but he has a lot. I should stop bothering him and let him finish his homework, but he's not doing his homework now; he's doing something else.

His lower half of his face was hidden behind the computer screen; I could only see his eyes. The colors were blurry, the photo unclear, the summer sun shining brightly outside the window, and the pomegranate tree was so lush it looked almost dead.

Also, I don't like the term "primary school student".

"I'm only a year younger than you." I wrinkled my nose mischievously, disgruntled. "You're not allowed to use the school I went to to make fun of me, I'm only a year younger than you!"

“But we are different.” He fiddled with the computer without looking up. “I’m in junior high school, and you just finished elementary school. Let’s talk about it when you start school. You’re still an elementary school student right now.”

I stared at him without saying a word. He heard my silence but didn't look up at me until I blinked hard because my eyes hurt and tried to rub them with my hands. Only then did he slowly stop me: "Don't touch your eyes with dirty hands."

"My hands aren't dirty!" I protested, still quite indignant. "Why won't you look at me?"

“Because I know what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re definitely glaring at me. Didn’t you see me laughing? You said I wasn’t looking at you, but you weren’t looking at me either.”

"What's so interesting about people who laugh at me?" I huffed and waved his hand away. "Besides, you're sitting so low, how am I supposed to see you!"

His expression darkened, and I, unsure of what I had said wrong, nervously pursed my lips. That hazy feeling returned; his eyes were a blurry color, his forehead and hair like a blurred mosaic. The hazy colors, the indistinct photograph—I suddenly couldn't remember where I had seen what I was describing before.

My mother showed me a photo of me when I was a very young girl, around sixteen or seventeen years old. The years had turned the camera's frozen moment into a low-resolution, indifferent image. My smile was small and faint, and my mood was somber against a red backdrop.

He spoke to me, and I heard him perfectly. Yet, he seemed so far away, so distant. He was right beside me, but I had no way to get closer. I reached out to grab him, but the hem of his shirt kept slipping away. I couldn't do anything. I looked at him, but he wouldn't look at me. I gripped his mouse tightly, randomly clicking the left and right buttons, but even then, he wouldn't straighten up and show me the lower half of his face. I started to cry. I felt so wronged and heartbroken; my eyes stung unbearably. I wanted to see him. He was so distant and vague in my memory, long forgotten. I couldn't explain why it felt so far away, why the road seemed like the Milky Way in poetry, stretching endlessly.

I called his name over and over again: "■■! ■■! ■■■!" I cried so hard I could barely breathe. My throat was choked with tears, and I couldn't utter a single word. My face was burning hot. He looked at me with blurry eyes, but I could see that he couldn't see me in his eyes. He rushed out from behind the computer, frantically wiping my face. With the air conditioning on, beads of sweat began to appear on his forehead. I could still see the water droplets. I still couldn't see the lower half of his face, this time because he was wearing a mask. I could see his body below his head—it wasn't fake, it wasn't nonexistent. His warm body temperature turned cool on my face, the soft touch and the tissue sliding across my entire face. I grabbed his clothes, stubbornly refusing to let him move away from me even a little. He stood there helplessly and awkwardly, unable to deal with the computer, unable to stop me from crying. The crying quickly attracted my family. They surrounded me, laughing. Someone went to look at the computer, and after looking, they chuckled. He, blushing, also laughed there.

"You're so stingy! You don't even want your brother to play on the computer by himself?" Mom kissed my cheek. "Your brother is busy with something."

"This kid is so jealous," the father remarked from the side. "He needs to be taught a lesson."

My brother frowned disapprovingly, I couldn't tell if he was referring to the title "brother" or his assessment of my "lecture." He slowly walked up to me, bent down, and said, "Your eyes are going to swell up."

His actions were so affectionate, and I felt a closeness to him too, but looking at him, I burst into tears again. I couldn't see his face clearly; it was so blurry, so blurry that I felt like my eyes were playing tricks on me. I tried to wipe away my tears, but they kept flowing. But he's my brother! How I miss him! I want to see his face so badly! Why can't I see him? Dad, Mom, brother, [unclear]... I want to see you all so badly! Please take me to the hospital, okay? If not going to the hospital means I won't see you again, I'm willing to stay in the hospital until I die!

My eyes seemed to hear what I said; they didn't want to go to the hospital, so they let me see everything. My brother was still standing there, startled by my movement. I knew he was afraid I was angry with him, so he didn't dare touch me. I threw myself at him, hugged him tightly, wiping my tears all over his clothes, and giggled softly in his arms. I kissed him, kissed Mom, and kissed Dad. I skipped over to [unclear - possibly a name or title] and gave him a loud kiss: "I'm sorry," I said, pleading, "I'm so sorry!"

He stared at me, and after a long pause, his smile brighter than red. My parents and brother shook their heads with smiles and went back to their own things. He saved his computer files, no longer focusing solely on them. We played in the yard, the sun shining brightly on the flowers in the front yard. These flowers were planted by both our families, mainly by me, my brother, and him. The adults have their own greenhouse; this barefoot patch of wild land is our world. A rose thorn pierced my calf, water lilies quietly closed in the pond, and we looked up at the sky, our gaze suddenly met with the most severe repels in the world. Fortunately, before that, we caught a glimpse of the clearest blue and the thinnest clouds in the world.

We were tired from playing and needed to rest. I climbed up the wall and sat on the small edge. He stood below, looking up at my face.

"Come on up too!" I called to him, because it was so hot sitting here that I was about to scream. "It's so comfortable sitting here."

He looked at me and smiled, then picked me up and said, "But I still think you look better in shoes." He put my feet into slippers.

Plants peeked out from the small, developed squares beneath the railing, struggling to sway in the stagnant wind. Some of its siblings were withered, yellowed since last year. A few shrunken sunflowers grinned at me, the orange-red trumpet vines hadn't climbed here yet, their calyxes embraced by leaves, and the pink hibiscus stood on the branches, glowing hot from the sun.

I hugged his neck, feeling that today's happiness was no different from yesterday's. —No, a little happier than yesterday, because I'm happier every day than yesterday. I still want to play in the water, climb mountains, cover my face with banana leaves, and try my best to pry open that ball-shaped coconut.

I took his hand and we ran from here to there. I saw him laughing, and I laughed too, both of us laughing brightly.

I love every day so much that I wish everyone could be as happy as every day, with age, joy, money, and life never changing.

I called his name again, but it was habitually muffled. I could still see the smile on his blurred face. How I miss him.

My love in this world, my home.