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Have you ever done anything you felt sorry for as a young kid?

Hot 1173 views. 2017-10-12 11:01 |Individual Classification:Reflection

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That is one of those questions that I never want to answer. I wish I could give a definite “Never” to that. However, a girl’s face popped up in the back of my mind and I knew my conscience won’t let me off the hook that easily.


Memory likes to play tricks. You never know what it would choose to hold to. So many years have passed by, now, I could still remember clearly about her face. Small, shallow and with two eyes too big in proportion.


But I couldn’t remember her name now. Ping? Maybe, or something like that. Anyway, she got a very ordinary name, a name so often heard of that whoever named her, must have just picked it up casually—no special feelings, no expectation attached.


She was my friend. Yes, even our friendship only lasted not more than several months, still once, she was my friend.


I knew her even before we actually met. Of course, everybody knew her and her mother. They lived in the most beaten-up, the smallest house of the community. She didn’t have a father and strange men visited her mother a lot. It’s the early of 80’s. What would you expect? Unavoidable, they had become the source of gossips, the easy target of jeers and outrageous disrespects.


Then one day, I was walking on the street with a mantou at hand, suddenly I felt someone was staring at me. I turned around and found her behind, staring at my mantou. I didn’t know what’s getting me at that moment, before I realized, I already stretched the mantou to her and asked:” Did you want to eat?” “Can I?” but before I answered, she already took the mantou away, forced it into her mouth and tried hard to swallow. I was stunned to watch this. 


I admit that I was curious about her, even her name was on the top of my mum’s do-not-get-involved-with list. But kids are naturally drawn to the unknowns. I was too young to understand all those gossips about her and her mother. That made her become one of the unknowns.


So from that day, a strange friendship between us gradually came into form. She was always hungry. I brought her some foods, foods I didn’t want but my mum forced me on. No matter what I brought, she could always eat them all within a minute. Another thing I admired her was that she could skip the school a lot. “Even I go, I couldn’t learn any way. My brain was damaged.” She once said proudly to me, “When I was three, an uncle came to my home, he pushed me and I knocked my head, here, take a look.” She moved her thin, yellow hair aside and revealed a long, ugly scar. “I am too stupid for school.” She declared as if it was the best thing that ever hit the planet. Okey, it might be cool to have a scar like that, but I seriously doubted it.


Her head might go dumb from this accident, but certainly her hands didn't. She could make very beautiful, cute dresses of rags for my doll. Another thing I’d played a lot with her except feeding her. However, this friendship never lasted long enough to come into the public.


What really happened is a blur to me now. Or subconsciously I just decided to brush it away, like it was something unpleasant but minor matter. One day, something of mine was missing, a beautiful box—I believe. I searched everywhere but it was gone. When my mum came to help, somehow, I let her name slip off the tongue. My mum was furious. “She stole it! Look at what kind of person you are bringing home! “I didn’t defend her. My head was full of those voices always around her. These voices had materialized themselves out of thin air and already sentenced her. All I remembered from here was the tears when I called her thief in the face. The fact was, I’d never seen her cry before. I found my box eventually, but days had passed by since we broke up. I never worked up enough courage to make apologize and I already made new friends. So, I just decided to move on.


Then after I came back from summer holiday,  I found that she was gone. Nobody knew where she had been. Like always, there was buddle of rumors, like that she mother sold her to some distant village, like her father showed up and took her away. Some days later, her mother also disappeared. Their run-down small house went empty, an only reminder left, indicating that once, there lived a mother and a daughter.  

Post comment Comment (1 replies)

Reply johnsonwu 2017-10-12 12:55
Almost a heart-breaking story. a retard and poor girl tends to be treated and misunderstood, because the immorality is the constant company of poverty in our minds.

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