The so-called seven-year itch
In the autumn of my last year of elementary school, the house began to be filled with an indescribable strange smell.
It was not the aroma of my mother's stew, nor the smell of my father's tobacco, but a sour, rancid smell like overnight tea.
It was many years later that I found a name for that smell: it was the smell of a marriage beginning to decay.
I don’t know if the so-called seven-year itch really exists, but that year my father and mother started arguing frequently.
The quarrels were secretive at first, and they always tried to avoid me, but I could still hear the suppressed quarrels behind their closed doors.
"...Tell me clearly, where did you go that night?"
"Work! How many times do I have to tell you?" Dad's response was filled with impatience and gunpowder.
"...Where's the money? Why is it less this month?"
“You only care about money!”
Those quarrels became the most harsh notes in my childhood memories.
In the middle of the night, it was raining outside and I suddenly woke up.
The lights in the living room were still on, and the intermittent sounds of quarreling reached my ears. I heard my mother crying and my father sighing.
I couldn't hear what they were saying or what they were arguing about.
I didn't dare make a sound. I curled myself into a smaller ball, digging my nails into the cotton of the teddy bear.
The cotton has a sun-dried smell, which is the safe and secure feeling of "home" that I desperately want to hold on to.
The next morning, there was still warm milk and fried eggs on the table.
My mother's eyes were a little swollen, but she smiled and asked me if I had packed my schoolbag.
My father peeled eggs for me while reading the newspaper, his attitude was gentle and calm.
I looked into their eyes, trying to find any trace of the argument we had last night.
But they acted so well, I found nothing.
Although they hid it well, I could still see the cracks left over from last night in my mother's trembling fingers when she handed me milk and in the pauses in my father's laughter.
I didn't dare ask them what they were arguing about.
Will there be a day when I wake up and they calmly tell me that they are breaking up?
Just like that classmate in your class who transferred to another school after his parents divorced?
Before that year, my memories of my childhood were fragments, but from that year on, I began to remember many details and many emotions.
I remember my father frowning and taking a deep puff of cigarette, his face blurred by the smoke.
I still remember my mother cooking with her back to me, and she raised her hand and quickly wiped the corner of her eyes with her sleeve.
I remember I was sitting on the sofa watching "The Legend of Nezha". The little hero on the screen was having a great time making trouble in the sea. My eyes were fixed on the screen, but my heart was empty and I couldn't laugh at all.
It was a long time later that I learned that this emotion was called a sense of loss.
This kind of sadness that has nowhere to go will occasionally come out uncontrollably.
When the class was over again, Lu Xingye, as usual, pulled my ponytail from behind.
If it were any other time, I would definitely turn around and chase him to beat him up.
But that day, I don’t know what happened, I suddenly started crying loudly, crying so hard that I was out of breath. I scared him so much that he let go of me and backed away with his hands raised.
"Hey, Lin Nian, I didn't use any strength...don't cry!"
That was the day he started calling me "crybaby".
But I just couldn't stop crying.
Those salty liquids were filled with emotions that were unbearable for a little me.
At that time, I really hated Lu Xingye.
What does he know?
————
"Lin Nian, go out and play with Jiang Yuanzhou and the others." Mom tried to get me away again, her eyes slightly red.
"I'm not going! I want to watch 'The Legend of Nezha'!" I deliberately yelled, lying motionless on the sofa. But my heart was as clear as a mirror.
I know that as soon as I leave the house, their war will start again, with all the quarrels as before.
"obedient!"
She half-dragged, half-pulled me out of the house, and the door slammed shut in me.
I stood in the corridor, unable to move a step, listening to the faintly raised voices coming from inside.
That afternoon, I paced aimlessly in the yard, crushing the berries of the camphor tree one by one, revealing the shiny black seeds.
I could hear the cheers of Lu Xingye and his friends playing a war game from the sandpit, but I had no desire to join in.
Later, I came up with a "secret operation" that I thought was clever.
I dug out my father's old tape recorder that hadn't been used for a long time. It was the kind that was the size of a brick and could play tapes.
I hid it under the coffee table in the living room, covering it with the hanging tablecloth.
Before they "kicked" me out again, I pressed the record button.
I thought that maybe I could find out what they were arguing about from the recording.
At night, I locked the door and rewound the tape to the beginning.
Amid the hum of electricity, fragments of the quarrel pierced my ears like shards of glass.
Sometimes, it’s about money;
"You just complain. Am I under a lot of pressure?"
Sometimes, it’s because Dad comes home late;
"...It's so late every day, do you still want this family?"
"If I don't work, I'll just starve!"
Sometimes, the cause of an argument is ridiculously small, just because a bowl of soup at dinner is too salty or too bland.
As I listened, my heart grew heavier.
At that time, I was really weak and helpless. I couldn’t do anything, but I seemed to understand everything.
I am trying to protect this home in my own way and trying to understand the adult world.
Fortunately, the arguments in our house slowly turned into hushed conversations, and finally the sounds of my mom crying and my dad comforting her.
As spring was coming to an end, Dad's homecoming schedule began to become more regular.
My mother seemed to be in a much better mood and started to busy herself on the balcony again, loosening the soil in the flower pots that had been idle for a winter and sowing jasmine seeds.
She said you can smell the fragrance in summer.
My parents finally reconciled.
I breathed a sigh of relief and hid the tapes at the bottom of my box of old toys.
But after going through all this, I seem to no longer be able to laugh and play as heartily as before.
The carefree and transparent texture of childhood seems to be covered with a thin layer of dust.
My life seems to be back on track.
But Cheng Yu'an didn't seem so lucky.
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