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Let Me Dramatically Forget You
墨書 Inktalez
The summer of 2004 seemed particularly rainy. I was used to wearing a dark green T-shirt and black shorts, with my short hair neatly styled, and I would slip on my dad's big flip-flops to go find Song Xiaoning on Sandao Street.
He often said that my look was a complete copy of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I would respond, "What nonsense are you talking about?"
Plagiarism is plagiarism, imitation is imitation; anyway, I was happy with it myself.
Song Xiaoning would say, "You know, I may not know much English, but I at least know 'Love You.'"
I took the half watermelon I had just eaten and placed it on Song Xiaoning's head as a hat. His expression changed for a moment, but he quickly resumed his chatter with me.
Every time I think back on it, I feel a vague sense that there was something profound in his gaze. They say that memories from youth are often unreliable; perhaps I have intentionally beautified them.
But I feel there's no need for that at all.
The young Song Xiaoning was stubborn, thin, and even slightly defeated.
Later, I thought it was precisely this imperfect little stubbornness that made him a real boy, one that I would remember fondly for a long time to come.
When I went to find Song Xiaoning, I often forgot to bring an umbrella. Even though it was only a twenty-minute walk, I frequently encountered heavy rain.
By the time I saw Song Xiaoning, I was already sneezing non-stop. He pushed half of his drink toward me to help warm me up.
I didn't refuse; after taking a sip, it burned my throat and made me tear up, but soon my body began to feel warm.
When Song Xiaoning drank, he wore a serious expression. He didn't have much tolerance for alcohol and often ended up feeling dizzy. On the way back, he would stumble a bit, and during those times, I would play the role of someone he could rely on.
Once, he was really drunk, and I couldn't handle it; we both fell to the ground. Song Xiaoning lay on the ground, staring at the stars, and I couldn't lift him up, so I could only stand by.
If it were anyone else, I wouldn't accompany them on the street late at night, but he is Song Xiaoning!
The two of us made a pact when we were eight years old to be together in this life and the next. Although we never mentioned it again as we grew up, I willingly took responsibility for him.
At that time, I thought that liking someone was a long-lasting thing.
At that time, I thought you were truly happy.
In 2004, Song Xiaoning dropped out of school.
He sat by his father's grave for an entire day, and when he returned, he looked pale.
I stood in front of his house and cautiously asked if he wanted to come to my place for noodles. He looked at me without saying a word.
His home felt empty and desolate, leaving one feeling unsettled. To pay for his father's medical treatment, he sold everything in the house to the second-hand market. The thirteen hundred yuan he got back wasn't even enough for two days' worth of his father's medication.
Later on, when he really couldn't come up with any money, the hospital stopped his father's medication, and Song Xiaoning had no choice but to bring his father home.
However, less than a week later, his father passed away.
Song Xiaoning ran around making arrangements for his father's funeral, handling everything meticulously.
From beginning to end, Song Xiaoning didn't shed a single tear.
At that moment, he curled up on the bed as if all his strength had been drained away.
He kept silent, so I had no choice but to bring him food and place it on the cabinet.
Suddenly, he hugged me tightly; at first, it was just a suppressed sob, then he broke down and cried loudly.
Hearing his cathartic cries made me feel relieved instead; burying sadness too deep for too long can lead to illness.
Later, Song Xiaoning became an apprentice at a repair shop. After class, I would go find him, squatting outside the shop to watch him work, and we would go together to the corner for wonton noodles.
During that time, I followed Song Xiaoning everywhere, getting myself covered in dirt; my clothes often smeared with greasy oil. But I enjoyed helping him so much that even his master remarked how well-matched Song Xiaoning and Chi Xiaoting were.
When he said this, a gust of wind blew through the shop, styling the old man's bushy beard in a charming way. I found him quite endearing and couldn't help but smile.
The sunlight shone on Song Xiaoning's face, and under that soft glow, the corners of his mouth seemed to lift slightly.
At that time, I thought Song Xiaoning was truly happy. I didn't realize he was like a plant that had lived too long in darkness and found it hard to adapt to the light.
How tragic this was for us.
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