Almond(26)

“How on earth can a human look like this.” He clicked on her pictures one by one with his mouth agape, but then suddenly jolted. “What the heck is this?”

The picture was titled “Brooke Shields Recent.” In her fifties, her wrinkly face filled the whole screen. While her youth may have faded, there was still some faint trace of her beauty. But Gon must’ve thought differently.

“Whoa, this is really shocking. My fantasies are shattered now. I shouldn’t have seen this.”

“It’s not her fault. No one can stop time, and people go through a lot in life.”

“Who doesn’t know that? God, you talk like an old fart.”

“Should I say I’m sorry?”

“Oh man, why . . . why Brooke . . . what happened to you . . . Dude, why did you show me this. It’s all your fault.”

That day, Gon vented at Brooke and me alternately, then he left without buying anything.

He came back two days later.

“So I was wondering . . .” he asked.

“What?”

“I’ve been looking at Brooke’s pictures lately. Not the old ones, but the recent ones.”

“You came here to tell me that?”

“You’re crossing the line lately.”

“I didn’t mean to, but I’m sorry if you thought of it that way.”

“Anyway, I was looking over her pictures, and it got me thinking.”

“About what?”

“About destiny and time.”

“What a surprise to hear those words from you.”

“Sheesh, did you know that even when you say the simplest things, you sound like a dick?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Now you know.”

“Yes, thanks.”

Gon burst out laughing. Hahahahaha. I counted five ha’s split in one breath. What was so funny about my response? I changed the topic.

“Did you know chimpanzees and gorillas also laugh?”

“Whatever, man.”

“And did you know the difference between their laughter and ours?”

“What the heck? If you wanna show off, just go ahead.”

“Humans can laugh a lot in one breath, but apes can only laugh a syllable in each breath. Like ha, ha, ha, ha.”

“I’m sure they build nice abs,” Gon replied with a laugh. More like a snicker this time. Then he inhaled deeply and gave out a long exhalation, Pheww, as if to calm his unexpected laugh.

Something was different now. Something had just changed in a moment.

“So, destiny and time. What about them?” I asked. It was strange to have this kind of conversation with Gon but I didn’t feel the need to stop.

“I mean . . . it’s hard to describe . . . but like, did Brooke know when she was young that she would change? That she would grow old? That she would end up looking completely different from her youth? You know in your head that you’ll age and change, but it’s like hard to imagine, right? That thought just came to me. Sometimes the people who weird you out, like those homeless people in the subway station muttering to themselves, or those beggars who drag themselves around on their stomachs because their legs are cut off . . . they might’ve looked completely different when they were younger, you know?”

“Siddhārtha also had similar thoughts and left the palace.”

“Sid . . . who? I’ve heard that name before.”

I got tongue-tied. I tried to come up with a response that wouldn’t get on his nerves. “Yeah, he’s famous.”

“Anyway.”

My answer must’ve worked—Gon didn’t react much. He gazed into the distance and lowered his voice. “I mean, you and me, maybe someday, we might become people we never imagined we’d be.”

“Probably. For better or worse. That’s life.”

“Just when I thought you were okay, you had to go and sound like a dick again. We’ve both lived a same number of years, you know.”

“It’s the same number of years, not a.”

“Shut up.” Gon pretended to hit me. “Strangely enough, I don’t feel like looking at those old magazines anymore. It’s no fun. It reminds me of how everything beautiful will fade eventually. Not that a dumb-ass like you would understand.”

“If you say you lost interest in Brooke Shields, maybe I can recommend another book that could help you.”

“What is it?” he asked nonchalantly.

I suggested The Art of Loving by a foreign author.* He looked at the title and wore a strange smile. He brought it back a few days later, telling me to cut the bullshit, but I thought the recommendation still made sense.





43


The days were slipping by and it was already early May. The unfamiliarity of a new semester fades away by this time. People say that May is the queen of seasons, but I don’t quite agree. The hardest job is transitioning from winter to spring. Frozen ground melting to let sprouts shoot up, colorful flowers blossoming from each dead branch. That’s what tough looks like. As for summer, it simply needs to take a couple more steps forward using the momentum of spring. That’s why I think May is the laziest of all the months. A month that’s overrated. And May was the month that always reminded me I was different from the rest of the world. Everything on the earth glittered, vibrantly. Only me and my bedridden Mom were stiff and gray, like an eternal January.