I just knew that his parent had divorced for a long time.
No wonder his behavior is so queer. He lived on the fourth story in the same building with me. I often saw his slow, casual way of walking on the way home, two hands in the pockets, often wearing in grey and a black coat when it's cold. His hard footsteps remind me of some monster when he passed my door.
No wonder his behavior is so queer. He lived on the fourth story in the same building with me. I often saw his slow, casual way of walking on the way home, two hands in the pockets, often wearing in grey and a black coat when it's cold. His hard footsteps remind me of some monster when he passed my door.
The first interaction wasn't a pleasant one. It's the one who killed my curiosity and pity and generated my great scorn on him. It's a morning when we both coincidentally would be late to school and made parent to drive us there. My dad happened to be ealier then them. So when we were in the car, his mom asked whether we can carry his son by the way. So he got on. But what made me angry is he spoke English to us, who just came to U.S, one can hardly understand a sentence and one just can for simple, slow talkings. A silence fell among us three. Of course, dad and I felt embarrased. Dad said ''oh'' or something with a reluctant smile. But I kept my face calm with surprise inside. He must be able to speak Chinese. I knew he speaks Chinese to his mom, of course. Does he hate China so much, like what mom had said? When we got school, I walked to him and asked in English,"Can you speak Chinese?" "Yes." I passed him and went into the building quickly. Then I know I wouldn't forgive him.
In my second year here, he happened to be in my composition class. I still remember my curious examine on him when he just closed his eyes when answering to the teacher's question. "How dare he?" I thought. In the next few days, I couldn't help to keeping an eye on him. Sometimes, he slept, crawling on the desk. Sometimes, he closed his eyes, sitting straight up. He surprised me when he talked so loud and fast, which I barely could follow, and caused others' laugh, agreements or disagreements. He shocked me when he laughed in a controled and crazy, true but careless way. It sounds like Jing Ju. But what made me excited is when his eye met mine intermittently and caused my heart to thump in my breast.
In my second year here, he happened to be in my composition class. I still remember my curious examine on him when he just closed his eyes when answering to the teacher's question. "How dare he?" I thought. In the next few days, I couldn't help to keeping an eye on him. Sometimes, he slept, crawling on the desk. Sometimes, he closed his eyes, sitting straight up. He surprised me when he talked so loud and fast, which I barely could follow, and caused others' laugh, agreements or disagreements. He shocked me when he laughed in a controled and crazy, true but careless way. It sounds like Jing Ju. But what made me excited is when his eye met mine intermittently and caused my heart to thump in my breast.
He is strange. Even the teacher said so. She told me that a Chinese usually writes essay in a poetic style and couldn't be easily understood. But that's not the case on him. He used big words and long sentences, which it's even difficult for Americans to follow. Haha, I was satisfied and somehow happy to know that.
Gradually, I hated myself when I looked at him, especially when he caught me. I knew clearly my irational feeling towards him is just a ephemeral thing. I knew he was hard to get near to. I knew he had formed his own way and was hard to change. But I've still been thinking how many days are left in the first semester. I still sometimes knit a picture using my incredible imagination that something happened.
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