by Winfred Wong
The bus stop with a rudimentary shelter was located on the other side of the single-track road. Drew in a refreshing breath to soothe my impatience and hastened along the sidewalk paved with rectangular red bricks, which the gaps between bricks were filled with glue, by jostling my way through the crush to a crosswalk at the end of the street, I halted, grasping the railing that was half of my height for support at the edge of the road, and waited for the traffic light to change to purple. When it changed, the seething mass of crowd, including me, began crossing the street like a battalion of Trade Federation droids marching into battles; of course, we were all moving in a pace much faster than those droids.
Midway across the road, I noticed that a red double-decker was approaching the bus stop. And I instinctively ran toward it in the road to avoid getting caught up in the throngs of pedestrians on the narrow sidewalk and successfully boarded it. Despite the morning rush hour constituted by few dozens of private vehicles driven by egocentric people, I got off the bus at my usual stop at the usual time and headed for the Burlinger Tower, a forty-story commercial building that stood out from all of its neighbors because it looked ridiculously like a giant mirror from the outside, and waited in front of a modern cafe embellished with detailed maps of every countries in the world for a new colleague, Aaron Moore, the man hired to replace my position merely because I had rashly handed in the resignation letter a month ago, which I had always been yearning to do ever since the day of the plebiscite last year, and I never regretted it; on the contrary, I was overjoyed at it as it meant I could finally leave this place.
My eyes were gleaming with elation that made the world seem a better place to be in when a cool morning breeze brushed against my pale cheek, reminding me that it's already quarter to nine, fifteen minutes past the scheduled time, but there was still no sign of him, and it frustrated me. Leaning against a road sign that showed the way to The Academy for Performing Arts, I began snapping my head around, looking for him, until a jet-black roadster with an engine emitting an intolerable deafening racket stopped at the edge of the sidewalk in front of me and engrossed me wholly. I gazed at the young motorcyclist, who was wearing a black coat with a pentagon-like reflective logo on his chest, as he planted his feet on the ground and was taking off his rock-hard, crimson-red helmet, revealing a head of brown curly hair.
“You must be Ashton,” the motorist said, staring back at me with a silly grin.
He seemed nice at first. “Yes, I am. And if I'm not mistaken, you must be Aaron,” I replied, in a corresponding tone of voice that fitted that occasion, moved forward and reached out to try to shake his, but never grabbed a hand.
He was busy double-clicking the touch screen of his overpriced phone, which he just pulled out from his left blue jean pocket, and was completely unheedful of my outstretched arm. The world seemed to have hushed at that particular awkward moment when I left my hand hanging in midair, and to shake off the awkwardness that had bloomed, I had to draw my arm back and cough twice intentionally to catch his attention while maintaining a dramatic visage of cheerfulness.
So he finally cast a cursory glance at me with widened eyes like he was puzzled at what was going on when I espied a filthy-looking furry rat racing past in between his feet, and instinctively, I flurried to take a step backward to stay away from it; the existence of rats was far worse than someone being ignorant.
“Yeah, nice to meet you, Ashton,” he said airily, as he swiveled his eyes down on the screen again and cocked his head slightly as though attempting to find a better angle, his eyes never deviated from it then.
I bet he didn't really think it's nice to meet me, so I flurried to take one more step backward again as though he was a rat, with my shoulders shrugging this time. It wasn't the ungracious rudeness that agitated me, but the inexcusable phoniness that I found undesirable. And that's how I then came to a conclusion that he must be one of those freedom-pursuers.
“Thank you. It's very nice to meet you as well,” I said with a sarcastic grin, and on a whim, I looked up at the road sign and continued. “Are you a graduate of The Academy for Performing Arts?”
“No. Why?”
“Because you seem to have a natural acting talent, and your blue jean. It really makes you look like one of the students there, not to mention the phone you're holding. It's definitely one of the best, which every students would love to have one.”
Made a rolling motion with his phone like a kid showing off his new toy, “Thanks, but let's not waste any more time standing here, shall we? I'm freezing.” He then scurried to the revolving door installed at the main entrance of the building alone and entered it.
I knew he felt flattered when he left, judging by the faint smile that flickered across his face. So, feeling triumphant, I walked behind him.
“Tenth floor, is it?” he asked, as he hit the up button.
“Yes. When we arrive, I'll show you around the place first, though there's not really much to see, but it's a really good chance to get to know the people who you are going to work with and establish some positive relationships first,” I said when we were walking into an elevator.
“So, can I ask you a question please?”
Honestly ‘please’ was the last word I'd expect to hear from him after experiencing his rudeness. And I had thought he was that type of people who would speak out their mind directly without caring about others' feelings.
“Uh-hm.”
“Why did you resign? I mean, did something bad happen?” he said modestly.
He being modest aroused my interest, and I decided to give him what he wanted to know. “No, it's not like that. Nothing bad happened, don't worry. People you are about to meet are really nice people. We always hang out together. The only thing you'll have to concern yourself with is getting your job done and causing no trouble. It's just like I woke up one day and I suddenly realized I didn't want to stay in this company any longer.” The elevator stopped. “But perhaps it's mainly because I am planning on leaving the country.”
“Leaving the country?”
“Yeah, I'll be going to my dad's home country, where the people there still value the importance of maintenance of order and where I was born.”
“Where are you from? You don't have an accent.”
“Felomeim. I moved here when I was like two or three.”
“For real!?” he said in a dubious tone. “I mean it's always a good thing to go on a trip back home, but Felomeim? Will you ever be able to come back safely?”
“What makes you think I'll come back?” I asked, but never got an answer from him.
The office, which overlooked the front of the building, occupied a whole floor, which I considered unnecessarily large, except the fine red brick wall behind the reception desk, and we exited the elevator when I had my eyes on a delicate glass-made flower vase holding a Victorian carnation with gray-green leaves and ostentatious red flowers that somehow smelt like a lavender sachet on top of the reception desk.
“Good morning, Oli,” I said to an elegant, red-haired lady sitting behind the desk that veiled her face.
She stood up, revealing her adorable face. “Good morning, Ashton and – “ She paused dramatically when she set eyes on Aaron.
“A– “ I opened my mouth to speak, but he interjected, enthusiastically but impolitely; after all, to him, modesty was just a myth.
“I'm Aaron,” he said and stretched out his arm to shake hers.
“I'm so glad to meet you, Aaron. I'm Olivia. You can call me Oli,” she said, inclining her slender torso forward ravishingly.
“My pleasure, Oli.”
CHAPTER TWO
* * *
It was not until their little friendly handshake that I discovered how cordial her wide smile was for the first time in five years of working together with her when she brought her enviable cheekbones into prominence, radiating confidence. I noticed she had incomparably tender skin, with one shallow line grooved on her left face, and an almost indisce
rnible small scar just a centimeter above the bridge of her pert nose. I reckoned it was because I had never really snatched at the opportunity to look at her long enough to study her countenance – every time when our eyes met, I would shy away from starting a conversation with her – without, inadvertently, being deemed as a lunatic despite the deplorable fact that I had always found her deadly captivating. It only occurred to me that I had been keen on her the whole time later and perhaps back then I was just too timid to be able to acknowledge my own feelings.
“It's like a custom to start off with a handshake with the reception lady, and it's always good to start off this way,” I said. “And now, if you would.” I motioned him to go inside with me.
“I like your hair,” Oli said as if she didn't hear me.
“Thank you. I like your hair too. It's so shiny,” he said, running his fingers through his outer hairs, giving out a confident beam that was nearly as cordial as hers.
I don't know why, but I can remember there was a sticky bad feeling out of nowhere welling up inside me at that time and I just wanted to stop them from looking at each other, and so I then coughed twice deliberately to intrude.
Realized my patience had worn out, “Oops, sorry, let's go,” he said, and then we walked away, though her eyes held his spellbound like their eyes were interlocked.
“She is beautiful, isn't she?” I said on a whim when we passed by the red brick wall.
“Yeah, she is gorgeous,” Aaron said.
He was still looking over his shoulder at that time. And he only turned around until the red brick wall had completely blocked his sight.
“Be careful, Aaron, be careful. I think she is a maneater,” I said, partly jokingly, partly seriously.
“A maneater?”
“Watch out boy, she'll chew you up,” I sang, but he looked bewildered, with his lips dipping down into a frown and his wrinkled lively nose. “Never heard that before?”
He shook his head, and I shook mine.
“It's one of the most famous songs back in 1980s and I think it's one of the best songs of all time.”
“Wow. That's about, half a century ago,” he drawled, then gave out a vicious smile, which lasted only for less than a split second, as though he had discovered something ridiculous.
But I caught sight of it. And I thought he was disrespectful, like he thought old songs were not worth listening to purely because they were old, so I shook my head again when I suddenly heard something that I thought can only be regarded as a dreadful racket, but was described by him as his favorite song of all. And I figured maybe that's why he could tolerate the noisy engine on his motorcycle.
“What!?” I said to myself, stunned by the discovery that someone was actually fond of it, when he was hurrying to the window.
Prompted by a wave of curiosity, I edged over to him and managed to convince myself to take a look out onto the road. And from there, I saw a pair of large loudspeakers relentlessly converting electricity into unpleasant noise on the backseat of a roofless black van moving forward at a very slow pace. It was like the attention-seeking driver was trying to show off his newly acquired toys by wittingly turning up the volumes to maximum.
“That's your favorite song? You can't be serious,” I said in a murmuring voice, as he was humming softly to himself. “I would've called the police already if it were yesterday.”
But when he heard what I said, he stopped humming theatrically and glared at me with deep furrowed brows and unspoken disapproval emanating from his visage, like I had just done something abominable.
“What!?” I said, not knowing what else to say or do, my eyes moving round on his patronizing look.
He swayed his head a little. “Nothing, just wondering where everybody is.”
His look then shifted abruptly from slightly angry to a bit wheedling, obviously trying to change the subject, as he started looking around, pretending to be as curious as possible with his arms unnaturally swinging back and forth. So I grasped the chance to pull down the noise-canceling blinds, which Brian snapped up from the December sales that got under way last week just because it's cheap, before taking a good look around.
The plainly adorned office was so spacious that half of it was empty because we only had a small team comprised of five people, four gentlemen and one lady, working in this place, excluding Olivia, and as I snapped my head around, I found out that, bafflingly, none of my colleagues were present. ‘How couldn't I have realized it before?’ that's what had popped up in my mind instantly at that exact moment. But looking back now, the reason was quite obvious. The sticky bad feeling hadn't even scattered a bit and had somehow blindfolded me until then.
So I turned back and took a glance at the ornate clock hanging high on the red brick wall, which showed it was already five minutes past nine. Knowing how much they value punctuality, I reckoned that they must be in the manager's room having a meeting, or discussing some minor matters, or some sort of that.
The manager room was weirdly situated on the left corner of the empty half of the office, and if anyone ever wanted to get there, he or she would've to cross the ‘grassfield’, the empty half of the office, first. And strolling across the ‘grassfield’ alone without being summoned was something we all considered a taboo, except when you were going to deliver a resignation letter. There were many reasons why it's a taboo, like because when you were in the empty half, everyone would automatically have their eyes upon you just because you were exposed as though you were a giant on an actual grass field and we all thought it was sort of not good for you to catch everyone's attention for some minor matters, but that's not the point here. The point is it's safe to cross the ‘grassfield’ at that time as I had Aaron by my side.
“Come. I think they're in the manager's room,” I said, striding across the empty half, and knocked on the thick wooden door, painted gray with a brass knot.
“Come in,” said a masculine voice, which belonged to the manager, and I turned the doorknob and went in.
“Just in time. Where is he?” the manager, slouching all the way back in a reclining ergonomic office chair set behind an L-shape office desk, said.
I pointed my thumb over my shoulder at the door. “Right outside.” And I beckoned at Aaron.
“Well then, tell him to come in. What is he waiting for? He has to listen to what Betty is going to tell us. It's very important,” he said and turned his head to look at a bulky man with an old-fashioned eagle tattoo on the back of his neck standing before the desk. “Brian, I don't need you here now, you can go out, and, Ashton, thank you for bringing Aaron here, but I believe you still have many things to do, right? It's your last day with us after all.”
“Yeah,” I said, wondering why he had such a dingy mood astride his cranium, realizing he had never told me to get out of his room with Brian before.
So, as Brian stepped out of the door while Aaron was coming in with a confident gait, head up, chest out, which contrasted greatly with Brian's sullen, dejected look, I followed him to leave. And when I was done with the door behind me, I found he was standing in the middle of the ‘grassfield’ staring at me in his usual ‘popping’ way, which was whenever he wanted to talk he would stare at me with his eyes popped out to seize my attention. And as time went by, we would sometimes say things like ‘I've been popping for you. Where've you been the whole day?’ and that's what I had believed to be some kind of a symbol of our friendship. Anyway, our usual practice was to wait for him to speak first, but in some occasions, like this time, I would take the initiative to break the silence first.
“Hey Brian, is everything all right with you?” I asked, hurrying over to him.
“Yes, everything is all right,” he answered after he let out an excessively long sigh of disappointment, which was his way of saying ‘hi’ – even on the usual practice occasions, he would do this to start a conversation – yet this time, it was something more than just saying ‘hi’. “It's just, you know, he declined my proposal, aga
in. He thinks Betty's suggestion is much more feasible and effective than mine.” He hissed. “Anyway, I think I'm just a little bit disappointed with myself. It's not the first time, after all. I wish I can do better.”
When it came to his proposals, which he would always ask for my opinion while crafting them, I would usually become speechless because, as a matter of fact, I could see his ideas weren't really creative enough for him to stand out in this team, I had never told him that though.
And this was what I would usually say to comfort him, and I did say it that time as well, “Don't worry. I believe one day he is going to find your proposal so impressive that he is going to kick Betty out of his room so that she couldn't steal your brilliant idea, and you'll be on top of the world.”
“Ha,” he uttered oddly, not actually smiling. “Oh, before I forget, I want to let you know that having the privilege of working with you for all these years has always been the highlight of my time here, my friend.” He kind of smirked and touched my shoulder twice.
“Thank you, Brian. I will be missing you.”
Then he frowned, his smirk switched into a pursed smile, “But why are you leaving? I have always wanted to ask you this. But are you not happy here?”
“Of course not. I'm not unhappy here. On the contrary, I do enjoy my time here, but I'm...” For a reason I didn't know, I just didn't feel like unearthing the truth that I was going to leave the country to him, probably because it would be too much trouble to explain; I wouldn't have to explain anything to the newcomer though.
“Because you're still mad at him, right?” he asked before I could make up an excuse.