時間的灣
一
那一年你十八歲, 在馬蹄灣， 那個科羅拉多河轉了幾乎360度彎的地方。 湛藍的天空， 見不到一絲雲彩， 而馬蹄灣的河水比天空還要藍。 紅褐色的峭壁環繞著蜿蜒的河， 在河麵上灑下它們蒼老的倒影。 站在懸崖邊的你， 小心翼翼地前傾著， 低頭望著那似乎紋絲不動的河麵。 是的， 你清楚的記得， 那時你看不出河水有丁點兒的流動， 那時的你也感覺不到時間的流走。
你登上了馬蹄灣景區的最高處， 是人能攀至的最高處。 一塊巨大的岩石形成一個約50米高的山丘， 在它的光滑的的斜坡正中， 突兀地拱起一塊， 頂部比根基大出很多， 懸空的部分， 略微向上揚著， 對著馬蹄灣， 像斜坡上生出一個鷹頭， 而鷹嘴斜刺向天空。 你驚訝為何這一塊岩石獨自在千百年的風蝕中生存下來， 為何風， 還有時間， 會從它的身邊繞過。
你有些許失望， 一個和你年紀相仿的女孩已經坐在岩石的鷹嘴上， 每個登上來的人都渴望留影的位置。 她的年紀是你憑著她的發型， 背影， 和衣著猜測的， 也許還有隨風飄來的清香。 你站在離她幾米遠處， 望著她， 希望她能早點離開。 可她的背影吸引著你， 沒有移動， 沒有聲音， 恬靜地望著遠方， 融入湛藍的天。 你湧起坐在她身邊的衝動， 和她一起， 靜靜地把時間停住。
朋友在喊你的名字， 你這才想起要趕回拉斯維加斯去看今晚的【披頭士的愛】。 朋友指了指腕上的手表， 然後舉起相機做出照相的手勢。 你隻好就地坐下來， 匆匆給朋友的鏡頭留下一個微笑。
你和朋友快步離開馬蹄灣景區， 走向停車場。 你回頭一瞥， 女孩不知何時已離開了。 你在過往的人群裏搜尋， 深藍底， 紅格子棉襯衣的背影， 和一張恬靜純真的臉， 融入藍天的女孩該是恬靜的， 純真的。
。。。。。。
拖拉的朋友終於把照片寄給了你。 相片裏， 你笑得少有的自然。 朋友取景的技術很不錯， 湛藍的天， 紅褐色的岩石， 還有那個女孩， 在左側的背景裏。 讓你驚訝的是， 那個女孩也正扭過頭來， 臉對著鏡頭。 你隱約看到一張恬靜， 純真的笑臉。
。。。。。。
這是你和她的第三次約會， 也是第一次晚餐。 你和前妻二十年的婚姻走到盡頭後， 熱心的朋友已經給你介紹了十來個。 她是第一個你能前進到第三次約會的。 走出餐館， 她邀你去她家喝茶， 說這兒離她家很近。 雖然有些意外， 可這盛夏的夜， 8點鍾時， 你感覺更像一個暖春的下午， 還是喝茶的好時光。
轉過幾個街角， 就到了她的家。 夕陽的柔光正擁著乳白色的門廊。 等你在沙發坐下後， 她去廚房泡茶。 你環視著她的家， 一切都簡約， 溫暖， 每一件家具和擺設都是自由的， 可又和諧的， 驅散了你的拘謹， 就像你和她一起度過的時光。 大多時候， 你隻是傾聽和注視， 她的聲音， 她的眼神， 她的微笑， 給你從未有過的自在和舒緩。 那種感覺在第一次見麵時就有了， 在她攪動咖啡後抬起頭的一瞬間。 當她和你的目光交匯時， 你仿佛聽到了約書亞·貝爾拉著他改編的德彪西的小提琴曲【亞麻色頭發的少女】， 雖然你眼前是烏黑的長發， 烏黑的雙眼。 你聽到自己的心跳緩下來， 聽到她說 “我年輕時很喜歡旅行， 隨著樂團去看不同的風景。 現在卻喜歡呆在家裏， 教不同的學生”。 你才留意到她的指甲修剪的非常短, 沒有塗指甲油， 隻有自然的潤澤。 第二次見麵時， 你談到了自己失敗的婚姻。 她沒有言語， 隻是伸出左手， 輕柔地摩挲著你的手背。 你能感到她指尖的繭。 然而就是那微微粗糙的繭輕輕地揉搓著你的手背， 產生了微妙的溫暖， 撫去了你所有的失落和傷感。
收回目光， 你發現沙發旁的角桌上放著一個紅褐色的相框, 相框裏左半邊嵌著一首詩， 右半邊是一幅相片。 詩是用炭筆手寫在乳黃色的紙上， 雖是流暢的行書， 卻透著溫柔和細膩。 你讀到：
時間的灣
我逆著光陰的河
去拾回散落的記憶
渾濁還是清澈
都來自我的心底
不知哪裏來的風
把我吹進了河灣
晨霧迷住了我的烏篷
和雙眼
風中飄著的春紗
帶來我熟悉的溫暖
而河畔搖曳的鳶尾花
讓我又聽見你的歡顏
而右半邊的相片裏， 藍天下， 一塊昂起的像鷹頭的岩石， 而那鷹的嘴， 揚起， 刺向藍天。 相片的中央是一個少女坐在鷹嘴上， 雙手扶在岩石的邊緣， 雙腳蕩在藍天裏。 她正扭過頭來， 對著鏡頭燦爛地笑著。 右側的背景裏， 一個大男孩， 戴著一副太陽鏡， 坐在岩石中央， 也燦爛地笑著。 你看到太陽鏡後一雙清澈， 充滿期盼的眼睛。
二
“昨晚我做了一個夢， 很長的夢。 在夢裏， 我回到了十八歲的時候， 我錯過了你， 然後， 。。。。。”
“也許我們該像你夢裏一樣的。”
即將成為禾前妻的宛打斷了禾， 遞給他黑色的圓珠筆。
“也許。”
禾重複了一遍， 在離婚協議上簽下名字， 收好自己的一份， 伸出雙臂， 懸在空中， 而宛一動不動地立著。 禾上前一步， 堅定地把宛攬入懷裏。
“你保重！”
禾提起旅行包， 有些吃力地， 因為裏麵塞滿抹不去的記憶， 走出門， 消失在刺眼的陽光裏。
三
正午的烈日下， 你在停車場裏張望來往的人流， 固執地守著一線希望。 幸運的你望見了她，在一輛綠色的甲殼蟲旁， 她和她的朋友正在打開車門。 沒錯的， 深藍底， 紅格子棉襯衣的背影， 正要進到駕駛座。
“你好！ 我叫禾。 我有一張你的相片想送給你。”
你對著背影大聲說。 她轉過頭來， 清澈的眼睛讓你心虛。 你趕緊拿出 Polaroid 相片給她看。
“剛剛我也在那塊岩石上， 朋友給我照相時， 把你照在裏麵了。 我想把它複製一份， 送給你。 ”
她低下頭， 盯著照片一會兒。 湛藍的天， 紅褐色的岩石， 她在左側的背景裏， 坐在岩石的尖端， 正扭過頭來， 燦爛地笑著。 她抬起頭， 看穿了你的把戲。
“你真逗， 我隻是在你的背景裏。 下麵是問我要地址和電話號碼了嗎？ ”
“不， 不是這個意思！”
你紅著臉否認， 遞給她寫著你電話號碼和電子郵箱的馬蹄灣導遊圖。
“這是我的聯係方式。 你想要照片時， 電話或電郵都可以。”
她遲疑了片刻， 收下來。
“好吧， 再見。 旅途愉快！”
“謝謝， 你也同樣！”
。。。。。。
一個月後， 你收到她發來的電郵， 還附有一張照片。 藍天下， 一塊昂起的像鷹頭的岩石， 而那鷹的嘴， 揚起， 刺向藍天。 相片的中央是一個少女坐在鷹嘴上， 雙手扶在岩石的邊緣， 雙腳蕩在藍天裏。 她正扭過頭來， 對著鏡頭燦爛地笑著。 右側的背景裏， 一個大男孩， 戴著一副太陽鏡， 坐在岩石中央， 也燦爛地笑著。
你記得她電郵裏的這句話。
“你也在我的背景裏！”
四
在新租的公寓裏， 坐在床邊， 禾看著相片中央的宛和右側背景裏的自己， 嵌在紅褐色的相框的右半邊。 相框的左半邊嵌著一首詩。 詩是宛用炭筆手寫在乳黃色的紙上， 雖是流暢的行書， 卻透著溫柔和細膩。
時間的灣
我逆著光陰的河
去拾回散落的記憶
渾濁還是清澈
都來自我的心底
不知哪裏來的風
把我吹進了河灣
晨霧迷住了我的烏篷
和雙眼
風中飄著的春紗
帶來我熟悉的溫暖
而河畔搖曳的鳶尾花
讓我又聽見你的歡顏
每當來訪的朋友們問起他倆的愛情故事， 宛總是拿這張合影來講解兩人的緣份。 不知過了多久， 禾才把相框放在床邊的床頭櫃上， 繼續清理著旅行包裏的物品。 算不上清理， 他隻是一件件取出來， 攤開在床的右半邊， 左半邊足夠他睡覺用的了。 這樣重複著， 直到他取出一張 CD , “ The Best of Simon & Garfunkel ” 。 分割物品的時候， 是宛把這個 CD 放進他的旅行包的。 禾產生了想聽的衝動， 才意識到他的新家沒有 CD 播放器。 他無法壓下這個念頭， 於是拿出手機， 去 Amazon Music 尋找。 幸運的很， 還真有， 包括在他的 Amazon Prime 會員裏。 禾坐下來， 在床邊， 這是公寓裏除了地板以外， 唯一能坐的地方。 他把手機音量調到最大， 點擊了 “ The Best of Simon & Garfunkel ” 專輯。 他閉上眼睛， 沉入歌聲裏。 當第四首歌， “懸擺著的對話” 響起時， 禾睜開眼， 凝視著透過百葉窗的一縷縷陽光， 和陽光裏舞動的塵埃。
懸擺著的對話
一幅水彩靜物
畫著已近黃昏的下午
陽光透過窗簾的蕾絲
房裏灑滿陰影
我們坐下喝著咖啡
蜷縮在我們的淡漠裏， 就像岸上的貝殼
你聽到海洋的咆哮
在懸擺著的對話裏
在膚淺的歎息裏
我們生活的界限
你讀著艾米莉迪金森
我讀著羅伯特弗羅斯特
用書簽標記讀到的地方
那也測量著我們的失落
就像一首糟糕的詩
在切分的節奏裏
我們是無律的詩節
是無韻的對句
被懸擺著的對話
和膚淺的歎息
我們生活的界限
是的， 我們講著需要關注的事
說著必須說出的話
“分析值得嗎？”
“戲劇真地死了嗎？”
而房間怎麽就柔緩地褪去
而我隻吻到你的影子， 觸不到你的手
此刻陌生的你
丟失在懸擺著的對話裏
在膚淺的歎息裏
在我們生活的界限裏
隨著歌聲禾回憶著， 是否有過這樣的一個下午， 宛坐在他的對麵， 一起喝著咖啡， 或是茶。 有過， 很多個這樣的下午， 隻是禾的杯子裏從開始的拿鐵變成了黑咖啡， 而宛的從綠茶過渡到了紅茶。
五
你麵前是一杯拿鐵， 還有她， 和她的咖啡， 在西雅圖 Pike Place 裏的一家咖啡館， 叫 Storyville 。 十幾分鍾前， 你還排在第一家 Starbucks 門前的長長的隊裏。 你隨著隊伍不耐煩地挪著步子， 後悔你做下的到此一遊的決定。 你無聊地打量著街上的行人， 好在是夏天， 可看的很多。 一個手捧著一束 pink tiger lilly 的女孩從你身邊走過， 她的背影讓你你莫名其妙地覺得眼熟。 女孩走出去十米遠了你才想起是她。 你衝了過去， 追上她。
“對不起， 你好。 還認得我嗎？”
她疑惑地看著他。
“我在你相片的背景裏。 在馬蹄灣。 想起來了嗎？”
“真的是你？！ 太巧了。”
她笑起來， 和相片裏的一樣。 你問她。
“你也來西雅圖玩？”
“我在這生活。 你來旅遊的？”
“是的， 剛剛在 Starbucks 排隊， 看到你走過， 就追了過來。”
“我來買花會朋友。 正好還有些時間， 帶你去個遠比 Starbucks 好的咖啡屋吧， 走路隻要幾分鍾， 我和朋友約好半個小時後在那見麵。”
“那太好了， 謝謝， 我正要放棄了。”
。。。。。
你看到她往咖啡裏加了兩袋糖， 和幾乎要滿出來的牛奶， 然後低下頭小心翼翼地攪勻。 你直直地盯著她在攪動的手, 和咖啡表麵優雅美麗的漩渦。 當她抬起頭， 目光和你的交匯時， 你仿佛聽到約書亞·貝爾拉著他改編的德彪西的小提琴曲【亞麻色頭發的少女】， 雖然你眼前是烏黑的長發， 烏黑的雙眼。 你聽到她解釋。
“我通常喝綠茶， 不喝咖啡的， 太苦。”
“哦!”
你努力想說出幽默又高深的評論， 卻隻擠出一個平淡的驚歎詞。 你的心跳快起來， 逼得你躲開她的眼睛， 目光停在她攏著咖啡杯的雙手。 你留意到她的指甲修剪的非常短, 沒塗指甲油， 隻有自然的潤澤。
六
禾再次遇見宛， 是兩年後， 在他時常光顧的咖啡店裏。 自從搬回到新奧爾良， 他就喜歡上了這間離家不遠的小咖啡店。 店子裏正飄著一首老歌， 禾怔怔地聽著， 竟不由自主地在漆已斑駁的咖啡桌上搜尋起煙灰缸。
Rain drops in our coffee
We bid farewell on a rainy day,
at Cafe de la Rotonde we frequent.
Underneath one umbrella we gaze at the ashtray,
and see through its shiny surface bent and dent.
A moment we are flooded with words to say,
but our tongues fail us motionless and silent.
Upon a gust rain goes sideway,
into our cold coffee it descends.
So we finish our coffee in the rain,
and taste warm salty bitter grains.
歌手反複地唱著結尾兩句。
So we finish our coffee in the rain,
and taste warm salty bitter grains.
禾側頭望了望穿外， 真地不知何時下起了雨。 雨滴大而且急， 濺起水花， 催促著躲雨的行人。 一陣風掠過， 雨滴嗒嗒地敲著禾眼前的玻璃窗。 密集的雨點間禾看到了正小跑著的宛。 禾本能地一邊用力敲著窗， 一邊喊。
“宛！ 宛！ 宛！”
顯然宛沒有聽到， 飛快地掠過。 禾隻有一個念頭， 追上宛。 他剛衝到門口， 就呆住了， 推開門迎麵而來的是宛， 雨滴綴滿了她烏黑的發絲， 晶瑩透亮。 時間靜止著， 隻有雨滴順著宛的發絲無聲地流淌， 滴滴答答濺落在木板地上。
“Excuse me!”
是被宛擋在門外的人。 宛連忙閃到一邊。
“坐下來喝杯咖啡好嗎？ 或者茶？”
禾伸出手臂， 攬住宛的肩膀， 一起走到他剛起身離去的咖啡桌， 他的咖啡還在。
禾再又點了一杯拿鐵， 宛點了一杯咖啡。 禾看到宛往咖啡裏加了兩袋糖， 和幾乎要滿出來的牛奶， 然後低下頭小心翼翼地攪拌著。
“我通常喝綠茶， 不喝咖啡的， 太苦。”
“哦!”
禾會意地回答。 這時一束穿透雲層的陽光灑在了兩人之間的咖啡桌上。 這夏日傍晚的雨終不長久。
“到我家喝茶好嗎？ 我這兩年一個人， 倒學會了一點茶道。”
轉過幾個街角， 就到了禾的家。 夕陽的柔光正擁著乳白色的門廊。宛在沙發坐下後， 禾去廚房準備泡茶的器具。 宛環視著禾的家， 一切都簡約， 溫暖， 每一件家具和擺設都是自由的， 可又和諧的， 就像和禾一起失去的時光。
收回目光， 宛發現沙發旁的角桌上放著一個紅褐色的相框, 相框裏左半邊嵌著一首詩， 右半邊是一幅相片。 詩是宛用炭筆手寫在乳黃色的紙上， 雖是流暢的行書， 卻透著溫柔和細膩。
時間的灣
我逆著光陰的河
去拾回散落的記憶
渾濁還是清澈
都來自我的心底
不知哪裏來的風
把我吹進了河灣
晨霧迷住了我的烏篷
和雙眼
風中飄著的春紗
帶來我熟悉的溫暖
而河畔搖曳的鳶尾花
讓我又聽見你的歡顏
而右半邊的相片裏， 藍天下， 一塊昂起的像鷹頭的岩石， 而那鷹的嘴， 揚起， 刺向藍天。 相片的中央是宛， 雙手扶在岩石的邊緣， 雙腳蕩在藍天裏。 宛正扭過頭來， 對著鏡頭燦爛地笑著。 右側的背景裏， 禾戴著一副太陽鏡， 坐在岩石中央， 也燦爛地笑著。
gpt
In that year, you were eighteen years old, at Horseshoe Bend, where the Colorado River makes an almost 360-degree turn. The sky was deep blue, without a hint of clouds, and the river at Horseshoe Bend was even bluer than the sky. Red-brown cliffs surrounded the winding river, casting their ancient reflections on the water's surface. Standing on the edge of the cliff, you leaned forward cautiously, looking down at the seemingly motionless river. Yes, you vividly remember that at that time, you couldn't perceive any movement in the river, and time seemed to stand still for you.
You ascended to the highest point of the Horseshoe Bend scenic area, the highest point accessible to humans. A massive rock formed a hill about 50 meters high, with a smooth slope and a protruding part in the middle, much larger at the top than at the base. The suspended portion slightly tilted upward, resembling an eagle's head emerging from the slope, with the eagle's beak piercing towards the sky. You were surprised at why this rock had survived alone through centuries of erosion, why the wind, and time, would pass by it.
There was a slight disappointment; a girl of your age had already sat on the eagle's beak, a coveted spot for everyone visiting. You could only guess her age based on her hairstyle, figure, and clothing, maybe even the fragrance carried by the wind. Standing a few meters away from her, you watched, hoping she would leave soon. However, her silhouette captivated you; she didn't move, didn't make a sound, just serenely gazing into the distance, blending into the azure sky. An impulse surged within you to join her, to quietly freeze time together.
Friends called your name, reminding you to hurry back to Las Vegas to see "Love" by the Beatles tonight. A friend pointed to the watch on their wrist, then raised a camera to signal for a photo. You reluctantly sat down and quickly left Horseshoe Bend with your friends, heading towards the parking lot. Glancing back, you noticed the girl had left at some point. Amidst the passing crowd, you searched for the girl with the calm and innocent face, blending into the blue sky.
...
Finally, your dragging friend sent you the photos. In the picture, you were smiling naturally, a rare sight. Your friend's photography skills were impressive, capturing the deep blue sky, the red-brown rocks, and the girl on the left side of the frame. What surprised you was that the girl had turned her head towards the camera. You vaguely saw a serene, innocent smiling face.
...
This was your third date with her, also the first dinner. After a twenty-year marriage with your ex-wife came to an end, eager friends had introduced you to about ten potential matches. She was the first one you progressed to a third date with. After leaving the restaurant, she invited you to her place for tea, saying it was very close. Although somewhat unexpected, on this warm summer night at 8 o'clock, it felt more like a cozy afternoon for tea.
Turning a few street corners, you arrived at her house. The soft light of the setting sun embraced the milky white porch. After sitting on the sofa, she went to the kitchen to make tea. You surveyed her home—simple, warm, each piece of furniture and decoration free yet harmonious, dispelling any awkwardness, much like the time you spent together. Most of the time, you just listened and observed—her voice, her gaze, her smile, giving you an unprecedented sense of ease and tranquility. That feeling had emerged from the first meeting, in the moment she looked up after stirring the coffee. When her gaze met yours, you almost heard Joshua Bell playing his adaptation of Debussy's "The Girl with the Flaxen Hair," even though before you was a girl with jet-black hair and eyes. You felt your heartbeat slowing down, hearing her say, "I used to love traveling when I was young, following the orchestra to see different sceneries. Now, I prefer staying at home, teaching different students." It was then that you noticed her nails were trimmed very short, no nail polish, just a natural sheen. On the second meeting, you talked about your failed marriage. She didn't say anything; she just extended her left hand, gently caressing the back of yours. You could feel the calluses on her fingertips. Yet, it was that slight roughness that gently rubbed against the back of your hand, creating a subtle warmth, wiping away all your sorrow and sadness.
Redirecting your gaze, you noticed a red-brown frame on the side table beside the sofa, containing a poem on the left half and a photo on the right. The poem, written with charcoal on pale yellow paper in a flowing script, exuded gentleness and delicacy. You read:
The Bay of Time
I go against the river of time
To retrieve scattered memories
Muddy or clear
All come from the depths of my heart
I don't know where the wind comes from
It blows me into the bay of time
Morning mist blurs my black umbrella
And my eyes
In the wind floats the spring gauze
Bringing me familiar warmth
While the irises swaying by the river
Let me hear your joyous laughter again
In the right half of the frame, under a blue sky, a rock lifted like an eagle's head, and the eagle's beak pointed towards the sky. In the center of the photo, a girl sat on the eagle's beak, hands resting on the edge of the rock, feet dangling in the blue sky. She turned her head towards the camera, smiling brightly. On the right side of the background, a big boy wearing sunglasses sat in the middle of the rock, also smiling radiantly. You saw a pair of clear, expectant eyes behind the sunglasses.
Last night, I had a long dream. In the dream, I went back to when I was eighteen, and I missed you. Then...
"Perhaps we should be like in your dream."
Wan, who was about to become He's ex-wife, interrupted He and handed him a black ballpoint pen.
"Maybe."
He repeated, signing his name on the divorce agreement, taking his copy, extending his arms, hanging in the air, while Wan stood still. He took a step forward, firmly embracing Wan.
"Take care!"
He lifted his travel bag, struggling a bit because it was filled with indelible memories, walked out the door, and disappeared into the glaring sunlight.
Under the noon sun, you scanned the people coming and going in the parking lot, stubbornly holding on to a glimmer of hope. Luckily, you spotted her next to a green Beetle; she and her friend were opening the car door. Yes, deep blue background, red checkered cotton shirt, about to get into the driver's seat.
"Hello! I'm He. I have a photo of you that I want to give you."
You shouted loudly at her back. She turned around, clear eyes making you feel uneasy. You quickly took out a Polaroid photo to show her.
"Just now, when my friend took a photo of me on that rock, you ended up in it. I want to make a copy and give it to you."
She lowered her head, staring at the photo for a moment. A deep blue sky, reddish-brown rocks, she in the left background, sitting on the edge of the rock, turning her head with a brilliant smile. She looked up, seeing through your trick.
"You're funny. I'm just in your background. Do you want my address and phone number below?"
"No, that's not what I meant!"
You blushed and denied, handing her a Horseshoe Bay tour guide map with your phone number and email written on it.
"These are my contact details. When you want the photo, you can call or email."
She hesitated for a moment before accepting it.
"Okay, goodbye. Have a pleasant journey!"
"Thank you, you too!"
...
A month later, you received an email from her, along with a photo. Under the blue sky, a raised rock shaped like an eagle's head, and the eagle's beak raised, piercing the blue sky. In the center of the photo was a girl sitting on the eagle's beak, hands resting on the edge of the rock, feet dangling in the blue sky. She turned her head, smiling brightly at the camera. On the right side of the background, a big boy wearing sunglasses sat in the middle of the rock, also smiling brightly.
You remembered the sentence in her email.
"You are also in my background!"
In the newly rented apartment, sitting on the edge of the bed, He looked at the central figure of Wan in the photo and himself in the right background, embedded in the right half of the reddish-brown frame. The left half of the frame contained a poem. Wan wrote it with charcoal on pale yellow paper, fluent cursive exuding gentleness and delicacy.
Bay of Time
I go against the river of time
To pick up scattered memories
Whether muddy or clear
All come from the depths of my heart
I don't know where the wind comes from
Blowing me into the bay of time
The morning mist obscures my black umbrella
And my eyes
In the wind, fluttering spring yarn
Brings the warmth I'm familiar with
And the irises swaying by the riverbank
Let me hear your joyful laughter again
Whenever friends ask about their love story, Wan always uses this photo to explain their fate. It took He quite some time to put the frame on the bedside table, continuing to clean the items in the travel bag. It wasn't really cleaning; he just took them out one by one, spreading them on the right side of the bed, leaving the left side enough for him to sleep on. He repeated this until he took out a CD, "The Best of Simon & Garfunkel." It was Wan who put this CD in his travel bag. He felt the urge to listen and realized that his new home didn't have a CD player. Unable to suppress this thought, he took out his phone and went to Amazon Music to find it. Fortunately, it was available, including in his Amazon Prime membership. He sat down by the bed, the only place to sit in the apartment besides the floor. He turned up the volume on his phone, clicked on "The Best of Simon & Garfunkel" album, closed his eyes, and sank into the music. When the fourth song, "The Dangling Conversation," started playing, He opened his eyes, staring at the sunlight filtering through the blinds and the dust dancing in the sunlight.
The Dangling Conversation
A watercolor still life
Painting a late afternoon near dusk
Sunlight through the lace of the curtains
Casting shadows in the room
We sit down drinking coffee
Curling up in our indifference, like shells on the shore
You hear the roar of the ocean
In the dangling conversation
In shallow sighs
The boundaries of our lives
You read Emily Dickinson
I read Robert Frost
Marking our places with bookmarks
That also measure our losses
Like a bad poem
In the segmented rhythm
We are irregular stanzas
Unrhymed couplets
In the dangling conversation
And shallow sighs
The boundaries of our lives
Yes, we talk about things that need attention
Speak the words that must be spoken
"Is analysis worth it?"
"Is drama really dead?"
And how the room gently fades away
And I only kiss your shadow, unable to touch your hand
The stranger you are at this moment
Lost in the dangling conversation
In shallow sighs
In the boundaries of our lives
As the song played, He recalled whether there had been such an afternoon, Wan sitting across from him, drinking coffee or tea together. There had been many such afternoons, only He's cup had transitioned from latte to black coffee, and Wan's from green tea to black tea.
In front of you is a latte, along with her and her coffee, in a café called Storyville in Pike Place, Seattle. Just a few minutes ago, you were in a long line in front of the first Starbucks. Impatiently shuffling along with the queue, you regret the decision to make this touristy stop. Bored, you gaze at the pedestrians on the street, thankfully it's summer, and there's plenty to see. A girl holding a bouquet of pink tiger lilies walks past you, her silhouette strangely familiar. It takes you ten meters to realize it's her. You rush over and catch up with her.
"Excuse me, hello. Do you recognize me?"
She looks at him with confusion.
"I was in the background of your photo. At Horseshoe Bay. Remember?"
"Is it really you?! What a coincidence."
She smiles, just like in the photo. You ask her,
"Are you here in Seattle for a visit?"
"I live here. Are you here as a tourist?"
"Yes, just stood in line at Starbucks and saw you walk by, so I followed."
"I came to buy flowers for a friend. Luckily, I have some time. Let me take you to a coffee shop much better than Starbucks, just a few minutes' walk away. I'm meeting my friend there in half an hour."
"That's great, thank you. I was about to give up."
...
You see her adding two sugar packets and almost overflowing milk into her coffee, then carefully stirring. You stare straight at her stirring hand and the elegant and beautiful swirls on the coffee surface. When she looks up, meeting your gaze, you hear Joshua Bell playing his adapted version of Debussy's violin piece "The Girl with Flaxen Hair," although the girl in front of you has dark hair and eyes. You hear her explain,
"I usually drink green tea, not coffee. It's too bitter."
"Oh!"
You try to come up with a humorous and profound comment but only manage a flat exclamation. Your heartbeat quickens, forcing you to avoid her eyes, focusing on her hands holding the coffee cup. You notice her nails are trimmed very short, no nail polish, just a natural sheen.
You meet Wan again two years later, in a coffee shop he often frequents. Since moving back to New Orleans, he has developed a liking for this nearby small café. A nostalgic song is playing in the shop, and Wan absentmindedly listens, involuntarily searching for an ashtray on the worn coffee table.
Rain drops in our coffee
We bid farewell on a rainy day,
at Cafe de la Rotonde we frequent.
Underneath one umbrella we gaze at the ashtray,
and see through its shiny surface bent and dent.
A moment we are flooded with words to say,
but our tongues fail us motionless and silent.
Upon a gust rain goes sideway,
into our cold coffee it descends.
So we finish our coffee in the rain,
and taste warm salty bitter grains.
The singer repeats the last two lines.
So we finish our coffee in the rain,
and taste warm salty bitter grains.
Wan looks out the window and realizes it's raining. The raindrops are large and fast, splashing and urging pedestrians to seek shelter. A gust of wind passes, and raindrops tap on the glass window in front of Wan. Amidst the dense raindrops, Wan sees Wan running. Wan instinctively pounds on the window and shouts,
"Wan! Wan! Wan!"
Apparently, Wan didn't hear, swiftly passing by. Wan has only one thought, catch up with Wan. He rushes to the door, but freezes as he pushes it open. Wan is coming towards him, raindrops decorating her dark hair, glistening. Time stands still, only the sound of raindrops silently flowing down her hair, dropping on the wooden floor.
"Excuse me!"
Someone blocked by Wan. Wan quickly steps aside.
"Sit down and have a cup of coffee, or tea?"
Wan reaches out, embraces Wan's shoulder, and walks to the coffee table he just left; his coffee is still there.
Wan orders another latte, and Wan orders a coffee. Wan sees Wan adding two sugar packets and almost overflowing milk, then carefully stirring.
"I usually drink green tea, not coffee. It's too bitter."
"Oh!"
Wan replies understandingly. At this moment, a beam of sunlight pierces through the clouds, illuminating the coffee table between the two. The summer evening rain doesn't last long.
"Would you like to come to my place for tea? I've learned a bit of tea ceremony in the past two years living alone."
Turning a few corners, they arrive at Wan's home. The soft light of the setting sun embraces the milky-white porch. After Wan sits on the sofa, Wan goes to the kitchen to prepare the tea utensils. Wan surveys Wan's home; everything is simple, warm, each piece of furniture and decoration is free yet harmonious, just like the lost time with Wan.
Taking back his gaze, Wan notices a reddish-brown photo frame on the side table near the sofa. The left half of the frame is embedded with a poem, and the right half contains a photo. The poem, written by Wan in charcoal on pale yellow paper, flows in fluent cursive, exuding gentleness and delicacy.
Bay of Time
I go against the river of time
to retrieve scattered memories
whether muddy or clear
all come from the depths of my heart
don't know where the wind came from
it blew me into the bay of time
morning mist obscures my straw hat
and my eyes
in the wind, the spring gauze flutters
bringing familiar warmth
while the irises swaying by the river
let me hear your laughter again
In the right half of the photo, under the blue sky, a rock with a raised eagle-like head, the beak pointing towards the sky. In the center of the photo is Wan, hands resting on the edge of the rock, feet swinging in the blue sky. Wan is turning her head towards the camera, smiling brightly. On the right side of the background, Wan wears sunglasses, sitting in the center of the rock, also smiling brightly.
