Chapter 1
I was looking for boxes to pack my old clothes the other day when I came across that old cardboard box in the storage under the staircase. The styrofoam wrappers were still inside the box, along with scraps of newspaper. The colour on the cardboard box was fading already. I had stuffed the box in the storage room a couple of years ago when I did not know where to place it, not wanting to throw it away, yet not wanting to be able to see it all the time. I paused for a few seconds then quickly stuffed the pile of old clothes I had cleaned out earlier into the box. I took the cardboard box full of old sweaters and pants down to the donation bin that afternoon, ridding myself of all unneeded memories.
You said you loved him, and I believed you. So did the rest of them.
It was the summer of 2000. It was also that summer when I first heard your name mentioned. All that time, I never quite understood why my mom’s look of pity whenever she spoke of you behind closed doors.
But I never hated you. Really. I never did.
For you, for him, and for her, everything started the year 2000. But for me personally, things started the year 2005. Dad came back to Taiwan in early July that year, as always. However, that year was a bit different. He was determined to stay in Taiwan upon retirement as a computer programmer in California.
That afternoon, I was home alone and happened to be the one to answer your call, asking for my mum. You knew instantly who I was.
“She’s out.”
Silence.
You tried to begin a conversation. You asked me where my parents went, what I liked, what I did this summer, and so on. You sounded practised.
“You like Granny Smith apples?” You asked me when we came to the topic of what kind of food I liked. “My brother works for a fruit importer.”
I was especially fond of Granny Smith green apples, but I did not say anything. I was dying for the conversation to end right then, but you went on and on about everything and anything, saying just anything to keep this conversation going. Finally, you came to the part I was certain you were dying to speak about.
You apologized - many, many times.
Until this phone call, all I knew of you was from murmurs among relatives. I heard Mum say once that she pitied you, that you ought to get yourself out of this mess, that you should never have treated yourself this way.
“But I guess it’s always like this when you’re really in love with a person. You get a bit twisted.”
I was not sure whether she was speaking for herself, or of you.
You told me of how the two of you met that year at a friend’s baby shower, of how you fell for him, then realizing that the relationship would never work out. You told me how you understood that he’d never love you back the way you loved him, and that you’d never be able to receive anything from him. But it had been some many years already. It was just impossible to let go of all this; it was just impossible to stop loving someone whom you had loved for five years already. All these, I believed were words you had wanted to say to him but never had to the courage to bring them to your lips. And so, you poured out all your inner feelings on me.
I’m only eighteen, and I know too little of love. But I really do pity you.
I felt sorry for you. I knew I probably ought to blame you, to hate you, but I didn’t. You weren’t the only one who started all this mess. There were existing problems already anyway- according to Mum. He just was not all that faithful. There were others as well.
“And he’s staying, I suppose? Not just for these couple months…but actually staying?”
“Yeah.”
“I asked him earlier, but he said no.”
“Uh-huh. He lied then.”
The awkward conversation ended as I heard some noise outside the door. Dad came in the front door a few seconds later, carrying his business bag in one hand and loosening a tie I’d never seen him wear before with the other hand.
“Talking on the phone again?” he said as I put the phone back on its stand then walked towards the dining room without waiting for an answer from me.
I sat on the couch irresolute and numb. Hearing things from other people and experiencing them yourself are completely different. I had just gone through the latter after years of only hearing stories and opinions from the other. My opinion of you hardly changed after this phone call. I still felt sorry for you even more than I used to. Getting in a mess is one thing, but realising that you are left in it all alone?
Minutes later, Dad emerged from the dining room holding a big paper bag, He lifted a coloured cardboard box out of it, and the odour of fresh fruit mixed with wax hit me instantly. I felt the urge to puke.
“Who’s this from?”
“Oh, a colleague.”
I nodded my head but lingered to say thank you. My thought automatically flashed back to your voice, trying to picture the face behind that voice.
Where are you now?
My dad walked away as his mobile phone rang. Alone with the box of Granny Smith green apples, I couldn’t bring myself to look at it, but I couldn’t pull my gaze away from it either. All of a sudden, I hated my dad for all this. I felt my body sink deeper into the couch and just cried. It was tears of pity, of irresolution, of anguish.
