I was asked about my so-called boyfriends in high school in the recent reunion. At the time, I drew a blank. (When one is young and vain and all the usual things that young men and women are, one never thinks one is anything in particular; and, one never feels quite up to it.) So I responded to my old friends as honestly as I could, “I never had a boyfriend in high school. It was all a joke.”
I flew back to New York, and remembered a short I wrote when I was learning to write a few years ago. I had to dig deeper into my memory for creative inspirations, being a new writer. I did remember a secret, sad romance buried in me from a long time ago, perhaps from high school. In the essay, I aimed to tell a story as beautifully as I could (not necessarily as truthfully as I would.) Whether I succeeded or not, you’ll be the judge.
Here is the story.
Susie Li
May 29. 2007
I flew back to New York, and remembered a short I wrote when I was learning to write a few years ago. I had to dig deeper into my memory for creative inspirations, being a new writer. I did remember a secret, sad romance buried in me from a long time ago, perhaps from high school. In the essay, I aimed to tell a story as beautifully as I could (not necessarily as truthfully as I would.) Whether I succeeded or not, you’ll be the judge.
Here is the story.
Susie Li
May 29. 2007
Mount Kisco, New York
<~******************************************
****************~>
Yours Forever
You were one I never had thought I would have. When we meet again in heaven, I will tattoo my kisses all over you, in China ink that never fades, and not let go of your hand ever - "It's been so long, my dear, I miss you." And you will introduce me to everyone, something you never did in life!
I was in high school, going on 17, when you came for me. Back then, I was shy and virgin, but I got tired of people judging me by my brain. I began to feel this lump in my chest wanting to be noticed by a boy, me in a strapless gown, him holding a glass of plum blossom wine crooning sweet romance into my ears.
When the telephone rang that evening, it was HanSheng asking if I could go to a party with his guests, a group of Cambodian officer athletes visiting Taipei. The party was given by the Cambodian ambassador in their honor before going home next morning, home where fighting was waiting, the U.S.-backed Lon Nol government against the Khmer Rouge. I was unsure at first: I didn't think I would be attractive enough with my short straight hair, my flat chest, goofy hands and awkward glasses; I didn't know what to say to these strangers who spoke only French. But, it was full moon tonight, too beautiful to waste, and I was a seething seventeen thinking of only the warm and woolly man bodies. So I spun a careful web to tell mama that I was going places with my girlfriend. My chance to act grown-up, to see somebody different.
In the dim light of the moving van, two young girls and seven men, I could only guess at these men's vanishing looks: Muscular copper-skinned men, nothing like the flabby Chinese boys I had seen. HanSheng did his best translating between French and Chinese. The trip to the party was continuing intrigue: the nervous how-I-wonder-what-you-are, the butterfly stomach, the quiet wars, the velvet laughs, like stray lovers chasing.
We arrived at the party pavilion on the outskirts of Taipei, capital of Taiwan. The warm breeze of the summer night felt nice, and the ancient music mysterious and regal with its gong and drum. But we weren't exactly relaxed, suddenly exposed to the bright light, the ambassador and his entourage. I shrank from gazing at the men with my naked eyes, crazy thing that proper ladies just didn't do. After small talk and courtesies, the Cambodian gentlemen would ask the Chinese girls to join in their classic opera dancing, with rich choreography of hands meant for the god.
Just as I sat there thinking of the sweet smell of a man and wishing for one, you came before me, putting out your smooth big hand. This face of yours, handsome of a grown man, the clear onyx eyes glittering underneath the thick locks of hair, a full mouth resting upon the strong chin, half-smiling at me tenderly.
Nobody had ever looked at me that way before, you with your eyes so deep they shook the soft heart of a virgin. I grew suddenly womanly. For the rest of my life, I should forever remember that brief moment, when you stood tall in front of me, when I faced my destiny with a frightened soul, when everything changed.
The party went on. We teased, sang and amused each other well into the night, more dance, teaching how to dance, than word, weaving the bond between our secret mind and flesh. Small touching, tender looking, ancient ritual, melody, messages, and sweet submission. You stuck by me and never let go. How easy it was to cross over to fall in love with you, beautiful and nice and thoughtful, from a different culture. The language barrier made us more resourceful, that I listened and watched you with a purer mind, with awe and respect and innocence. You were the crush I looked for all my life, I had no other lover. I swore to be your faithful wife one day.
Late at night, you held my hands close to your heart, asking your older brother, another athlete on the team who spoke a little English, to translate back to me, "I've been watching you ever since you stepped into the van." I knew it was true.
So sad that you must leave so soon, to catch that next plane home, to go to war for your country.
Of course, I would let you take me tonight, if you wished. I was going to. But while my lips were soft and red and my eyes filled with tears, you kissed me good night and let me go. "Wait for me, my love," you said it in the most lyrical English I had ever heard.
While I could not have known the full meaning of war, it was clear that you might not make it out alive. Whatever your intentions might have been, however faithfully you had written me for the next three years, the separation had taken its toll. "You must not think hard of me, my little one. I would give the world to see you one more time in my life. Pray for me and this cruel war to end," you wrote.
I thought of you often, keeping your only photo under my pillow to warm my bed. It was a breathy shot of you, all chest in black and white, lounging in a hammock, flashing the twinkle of a smile at the camera. We had loved. I dreamed that someday you'd travel back to take me home to Phnom Penh, to be your wife, to tell stories about my Chinese ancestors to our children someday.
When I got a little older, I felt a loneliness. My heart mourning over my prospect as neither wife nor widow, my eyes started wandering after other men. The truth was, I quit the hope of seeing you again. Bit by bit, you became a faded memory of my past, like a cloud crossing the sky, the hollow wind blowing behind my ears. For while I was sleeping, you could have been killed…And I, still living, fully breathing and smelling the flowers of womanhood ahead…the college, the men of the moment, and someday a real husband.
No longer a virgin, I turned a determined veteran of affairs armed with weapon. This business of men and love was tiring. The pursuit of pleasure left me dejected, even when I was winning. I grew up slim and silky, with a cool cold heart.
One day, three years later, I got a call from HanSheng, saying that you came back in Taipei for the same tournament. You asked to see me. This, after months of no correspondence. I felt a dizzy spell, like a wife caught cheating on her husband. But I went to the hotel where you stayed, for old time's sake. I thought I could be brave.
The war had shriveled you into a thinner man than I remembered you. Your eyes grew darker, more pensive and piercing, telling me that life had dealt you a tortured hand. Your eyes, they immediately connected with my inner soul. Ah, there was no need for me to explain. I loved you, and we still loved, the magic had never left. You accepted me quietly. Your mind's eyes knew how I had changed or not changed.
Then I turned around, just you and you alone in the room, all the other people were gone. Time had come. Gently you lifted me to the bed, the way a precious flower was put on a pedestal. This was how you took me, the first and the only time. Oh my life. My pilgrimage to heaven, my way back to earth with you, up and down, in and out, sad and happy, caring, indulging, only you. My body and yours, swallowing each other whole. My sexy, my husband, all my life I had wanted this with you. I can't forget you, your gift to me, I won't let myself.
Next morning, I saw you off at the airport. That was the last time I ever saw you alive. Forever you remain young and glorious, strong and beautiful. I am sorry I was powerless to stop your death, but I always pray that you come back for a visit.
I am so lucky to have had you, here twice with me, to teach me the grace of love.
<~******************************************
****************~> Yours Forever
You were one I never had thought I would have. When we meet again in heaven, I will tattoo my kisses all over you, in China ink that never fades, and not let go of your hand ever - "It's been so long, my dear, I miss you." And you will introduce me to everyone, something you never did in life!
I was in high school, going on 17, when you came for me. Back then, I was shy and virgin, but I got tired of people judging me by my brain. I began to feel this lump in my chest wanting to be noticed by a boy, me in a strapless gown, him holding a glass of plum blossom wine crooning sweet romance into my ears.
When the telephone rang that evening, it was HanSheng asking if I could go to a party with his guests, a group of Cambodian officer athletes visiting Taipei. The party was given by the Cambodian ambassador in their honor before going home next morning, home where fighting was waiting, the U.S.-backed Lon Nol government against the Khmer Rouge. I was unsure at first: I didn't think I would be attractive enough with my short straight hair, my flat chest, goofy hands and awkward glasses; I didn't know what to say to these strangers who spoke only French. But, it was full moon tonight, too beautiful to waste, and I was a seething seventeen thinking of only the warm and woolly man bodies. So I spun a careful web to tell mama that I was going places with my girlfriend. My chance to act grown-up, to see somebody different.
In the dim light of the moving van, two young girls and seven men, I could only guess at these men's vanishing looks: Muscular copper-skinned men, nothing like the flabby Chinese boys I had seen. HanSheng did his best translating between French and Chinese. The trip to the party was continuing intrigue: the nervous how-I-wonder-what-you-are, the butterfly stomach, the quiet wars, the velvet laughs, like stray lovers chasing.
We arrived at the party pavilion on the outskirts of Taipei, capital of Taiwan. The warm breeze of the summer night felt nice, and the ancient music mysterious and regal with its gong and drum. But we weren't exactly relaxed, suddenly exposed to the bright light, the ambassador and his entourage. I shrank from gazing at the men with my naked eyes, crazy thing that proper ladies just didn't do. After small talk and courtesies, the Cambodian gentlemen would ask the Chinese girls to join in their classic opera dancing, with rich choreography of hands meant for the god.
Just as I sat there thinking of the sweet smell of a man and wishing for one, you came before me, putting out your smooth big hand. This face of yours, handsome of a grown man, the clear onyx eyes glittering underneath the thick locks of hair, a full mouth resting upon the strong chin, half-smiling at me tenderly.
Nobody had ever looked at me that way before, you with your eyes so deep they shook the soft heart of a virgin. I grew suddenly womanly. For the rest of my life, I should forever remember that brief moment, when you stood tall in front of me, when I faced my destiny with a frightened soul, when everything changed.
The party went on. We teased, sang and amused each other well into the night, more dance, teaching how to dance, than word, weaving the bond between our secret mind and flesh. Small touching, tender looking, ancient ritual, melody, messages, and sweet submission. You stuck by me and never let go. How easy it was to cross over to fall in love with you, beautiful and nice and thoughtful, from a different culture. The language barrier made us more resourceful, that I listened and watched you with a purer mind, with awe and respect and innocence. You were the crush I looked for all my life, I had no other lover. I swore to be your faithful wife one day.
Late at night, you held my hands close to your heart, asking your older brother, another athlete on the team who spoke a little English, to translate back to me, "I've been watching you ever since you stepped into the van." I knew it was true.
So sad that you must leave so soon, to catch that next plane home, to go to war for your country.
Of course, I would let you take me tonight, if you wished. I was going to. But while my lips were soft and red and my eyes filled with tears, you kissed me good night and let me go. "Wait for me, my love," you said it in the most lyrical English I had ever heard.
While I could not have known the full meaning of war, it was clear that you might not make it out alive. Whatever your intentions might have been, however faithfully you had written me for the next three years, the separation had taken its toll. "You must not think hard of me, my little one. I would give the world to see you one more time in my life. Pray for me and this cruel war to end," you wrote.
I thought of you often, keeping your only photo under my pillow to warm my bed. It was a breathy shot of you, all chest in black and white, lounging in a hammock, flashing the twinkle of a smile at the camera. We had loved. I dreamed that someday you'd travel back to take me home to Phnom Penh, to be your wife, to tell stories about my Chinese ancestors to our children someday.
When I got a little older, I felt a loneliness. My heart mourning over my prospect as neither wife nor widow, my eyes started wandering after other men. The truth was, I quit the hope of seeing you again. Bit by bit, you became a faded memory of my past, like a cloud crossing the sky, the hollow wind blowing behind my ears. For while I was sleeping, you could have been killed…And I, still living, fully breathing and smelling the flowers of womanhood ahead…the college, the men of the moment, and someday a real husband.
No longer a virgin, I turned a determined veteran of affairs armed with weapon. This business of men and love was tiring. The pursuit of pleasure left me dejected, even when I was winning. I grew up slim and silky, with a cool cold heart.
One day, three years later, I got a call from HanSheng, saying that you came back in Taipei for the same tournament. You asked to see me. This, after months of no correspondence. I felt a dizzy spell, like a wife caught cheating on her husband. But I went to the hotel where you stayed, for old time's sake. I thought I could be brave.
The war had shriveled you into a thinner man than I remembered you. Your eyes grew darker, more pensive and piercing, telling me that life had dealt you a tortured hand. Your eyes, they immediately connected with my inner soul. Ah, there was no need for me to explain. I loved you, and we still loved, the magic had never left. You accepted me quietly. Your mind's eyes knew how I had changed or not changed.
Then I turned around, just you and you alone in the room, all the other people were gone. Time had come. Gently you lifted me to the bed, the way a precious flower was put on a pedestal. This was how you took me, the first and the only time. Oh my life. My pilgrimage to heaven, my way back to earth with you, up and down, in and out, sad and happy, caring, indulging, only you. My body and yours, swallowing each other whole. My sexy, my husband, all my life I had wanted this with you. I can't forget you, your gift to me, I won't let myself.
Next morning, I saw you off at the airport. That was the last time I ever saw you alive. Forever you remain young and glorious, strong and beautiful. I am sorry I was powerless to stop your death, but I always pray that you come back for a visit.
I am so lucky to have had you, here twice with me, to teach me the grace of love.
