by Cole Reid
He was in the hall for a total twenty-eight minutes before the door to the classroom opened. It wasn’t the door, just a door. Young students with weighted bags thrown over their shoulders stormed the hall. They flooded out of one door and turned the silence of the hall into loudness. It was inappropriate considering the scenario. Mr. Li summed up twenty-two years by sitting like a child in an empty hallway. Several dozen twenty-something students passed him in the hall labeling him as they went by. Despite their education they were ignorant. To them, he was a curiosity, an entertainment. But the entertainment was fleeting. They had more important things to do than stare at the unimportant man. The last person out of the room was an older man with younger clothes. His shirt was clean and white. His sleeves were short. He wore khaki shorts with brown loafers and his belt labored under the pressure of his protruding stomach. He looked down at Mr. Li. Mr. Li looked up at him.
“Can I help you?” asked the man.
“I’m waiting for Professor Wendy Lee,” said Mr. Li.
“Are you her student?” asked the man.
“Her first,” said Mr. Li.
“Wendy’s always willing to help her students,” said the man. Mr. Li looked him in the eye and nodded.
“She should be out in a few minutes,” said the man, “They stagger our classes by five minutes to avoid a crowded hall. Too many students is a disaster. There are accidents on the stairs and they overcrowd the elevator. Not good.” Mr. Li looked up at the man. It was a look of privacy. The old man understood.
“Why not stand up,” said the man as he walked, “She’ll be coming out soon. You don’t want her to see you sitting there like a little kid.”
“Yes, I do,” said Mr. Li in his head. The man kept going knowing he had lectured enough for one session. But he was right. As he headed down the stairs a second door opened. Mr. Li was right. The room wasn’t big. Around thirty students walked out of the room. Some were together. Others were alone. He watched them from his huddled position twenty feet away. They didn’t notice him. They all headed away from him toward the stairs. The hall was empty again. But Mr. Li sat with his head angled toward the door. It had been closed after the last student left. It had been closed for a while. The door opened. A woman walked out of the room and turned the lights off as she left. The sound of heeled shoes echoed through the hall just as the far off voices of students disappeared. She wore a black suit skirt and pantyhose. Her hair was not long but it flowed. It was blacker than the suit she wore. Her hair was in a medium-length Bob cut; it bounced as she walked away. It was her. His heartbeat went irregular. It skipped a beat then thundered back, hurting him. The last time he had seen her she was going away. She kept walking. Her heels echoed on the polished tile floor. With each step the echo dulled just a little bit. The feeling was different. He didn’t have the same boyish desire to run after her. He didn’t have to. He could stop her. He opened his mouth and prepared his voice to be louder than the sound of her shoes. His voice was deep but echoed. He said only one word, jie—sister.
She froze before turning. Her body just stopped, from the bounce of her hair to the flow of her skirt. The echo of her heels died immediately. She turned around quickly and saw a man sitting against the wall. He was staring right at her. Her instinct told her to run. She was alone in the hall with a stranger. He was seated about forty-five feet away. She was four steps away from the stairwell. She could make it. She should have. But there was that word, jie. Only one person called her that. She had completely switched lives and her identity along with it. Few of her colleagues even knew her birth name. She was either Wendy or Professor Lee. Even her Chinese colleagues called her Xiao Wen. She left the name Xiaofeng behind, switching names as she switched continents. But one word had followed her, jie. She left the name Xiaofeng when she left China but she left the name jie when she left him, her brother.
Her heart skipped for several seconds before it found its rhythm. Her mind had a twenty-two year old picture of an eight year-old boy, small but strong—head shaven. The stranger in the hall was clean-shaven but had a full head of hair—long and wavy, combed back. The stranger’s face was an explanation. It told what happened to the eight year-old boy, especially the eyes. They said the story was long.
• • •
Faced with the inevitable truth, she put her hand over her mouth. Her face turned red. Guilty tears scratched her cheek but kept going. Her eyes closed. Her face felt a tremor. She stood in the hall erupting with personal turmoil. She had so much buried. And it came up. Not seeing him pushed her guilt downward on a ramp. But it was a ramp not a pit. His presence pushed the guilt back up. She had left him; he had found her. She walked straight toward him. Her heels echoed her determination on the tile floor. Mr. Li didn’t move at all. She knelt down. She threw her arms around him. She was defenseless.
Six minutes went by. Not a word was spoken. Mr. Li could feel his sister’s tears seeping through his shirt. It moved him, which was difficult. He was unused to internal movement. That was the nature of their connection, internal. She lifted her head from his chest and looked at him. The look on her face showed extreme pain. But it was different than the pained expressions Mr. Li was used to. He was used to expressions that couldn’t last. The expression on his sister’s face was different. There was a pain that hadn’t been dealt with. And it had been killing a part of her. He didn’t know anything about it. Mr. Li saw his sister and she was in a different world of hurt, a world not spied on. It was her own soul. Xiaofeng was tormented by an unyielding enemy, herself. She looked at her brother. A smile forced itself onto her red face. He was handsome. There were scars on his face but not enough to undo his face. She didn’t see him as her brother; she didn’t feel as if she deserved that. Instead, she saw her mother’s handsome son. She knew her mother would be happy her son had grown up dashing. She played with his hair as she looked at him. When he was young she kept his hair shaved for his own benefit. She rubbed her hand from his hair down the side of his right cheek.
“Shuaige,” she said. Handsome boy.
“Jie jie hao,” he said. Hello sister.
“Xiaoyu,” said Xiaofeng, “Xiaoyu.”
“Let’s stand up,” said Mr. Li, “I’ve been waiting here for a while. My butt hurts.” Xiaofeng laughed, so much she rolled back. Mr. Li pressed the wall with his back. He used his legs to leverage his body, dragging his feet underneath him. From there he stood up against the wall bringing Xiaofeng up with him. He took his first real look at her. Her round face had become an oval. Her chin pointed. Her face was made up, not over decorated. A simple lip-gloss, a bit of foundation powder to hide the discolorations and that was it. Little lines escaped from the corners of her eyes and almost escaped notice. The lines were fine, etched with nature’s razor. She had aged but in a humble sense. Her age wasn’t overstated so she didn’t try to fight it. It was 2011, late in the year—passed both their birthdays. If he was thirty, she had made forty-four. But his face was the older of the two—not the look—the impression. Mr. Li’s face managed mostly seriousness, an almost hostility. Xiaofeng could make her point on different notes. Her expressions naturally had a wider range but not much wider. She suffered a guilt that made her question the person she was. Deep down she didn’t deserve to smile. She broke her last promise to her mother, to care for her brother. The guilt limited the range of her facial expressions.
• • •
Mr. Li was different. His facial expressions weren’t limited. They just weren’t there. He was very young when he stopped smiling—nothing to smile about. He had forgotten how to smile and was too old to be taught the trick. His smile was a suspicious one. The corners of his mouth could go up a bit but his eyes would sneak off like he forgot where he was. But it was a smile that could be understood. And it was a smile nonetheless.
“Come with me to my office,” said Xiaofeng. She walked the road upstairs to the end of the hall. The second door from the end was hers. But Mr. Li already knew. She used her
key to unlock the door as Mr. Li watched. His mind commented on the differences. He had entered the same door an hour before, keyless. Xiaofeng opened the door and turned the light on.
“This is where they keep me,” said Xiaofeng. She grabbed the photograph of their younger selves and handed it to Mr. Li.
“That’s all I’ve seen of you for all these years,” said Xiaofeng. Mr. Li pretended to have never seen the photo.
“Where have you been?” asked Xiaofeng. The question was blunt. Her mind had driven a wide wedge between the memory of her little brother and the strange man standing in her office. Only logic told her they were one and the same.
“I’ve been…everywhere,” said Mr. Li.
“Grandma called me and said you were gone,” said Xiaofeng, “That she woke up one day and you and uncle were gone. We worried. Then I got the letter from you in Hong Kong so I told her you were ok. I heard nothing after that. What happened? Where did you go?” Mr. Li bent his neck. Without looking at her he thought about how to address her. They were no longer the boy and the young woman. They were barely brother and sister. But they were together no matter how awkward. He thought for a while and remembered something he had forgotten. He remembered why he went with his uncle to Hong Kong. He went for her, Xiaofeng.
“After you left I thought how to follow you. I couldn’t stay in that house anymore. I knew uncle made money in Hong Kong. I went for the money,” said Mr. Li.
“I would have come back,” said Xiaofeng.
“You would have visited,” said Mr. Li, “You wouldn’t have come back.” Xiaofeng couldn’t recover. Mr. Li was right and the truth hit the bull’s eye, her guilt. Mr. Li was used to seeing a cornered opponent. It was the look in her eye. It was different to fighting an uphill battle. Being cornered wasn’t something to be recovered from. Yielding was the only way out. But he didn’t let up, not even for her.
“I left hoping to make enough money to buy a way to Beijing,” said Mr. Li, “With you.” Mr. Li raised his head to look her in the eye.
“Then I got your letter,” said Mr. Li, “It said you weren’t in Beijing anymore. It said you were in Arizona. I didn’t know where that was. But it was in the USA you said. I knew there was no way I could follow you there. I gave up, didn’t try anymore.” Xiaofeng had been weathered by self-torment. She had fought the same battle against herself for two decades. She wasn’t going to fight with Mr. Li. He’d destroy her.
Xiaofeng realized her guilt was mirrored by her brother’s anger, seeds from the same tree. She didn’t want to engage his anger. If she could drown in guilt, his anger could come in spades. They were siblings after all. They had a shared point of origin. And both had their mother’s tact. Xiaofeng used a bait and switch. She reached down toward a deep drawer under her desk. She opened the draw with her left hand and grabbed an expensive bottle of merlot. She used the end of the bottle to push the drawer shut. With the bottle in her left hand, she opened the top drawer with her right hand and pulled out a multi-purpose knife. She exposed the corkscrew and gave the bottle and the tool to Mr. Li.
“That was a gift when I made tenure,” said Xiaofeng, “I saved it for a special occasion.”
“I’m a special occasion?” said Mr. Li.
“You’re my family,” said Xiaofeng, “All I have.”
“Grandma and Grandpa,” said Mr. Li.
“She died in 2006,” said Xiaofeng, “He only lasted thirteen months without her. Uncle should be gone too the way you haven’t said anything about him.” Mr. Li was surprised at her skilled work. She could read him, still. He used the corkscrew to open the bottle, while Xiaofeng found two coffee mugs. She gave the more masculine one to Mr. Li. She took the bottle from him without asking. She served him first before pouring out her own. The bottle stayed open like a wound. They didn’t replace the cork. The bottle bled on their behalf. They were both wounded.
“You know I changed all your diapers,” said Xiaofeng. There was nothing for Mr. Li to say.
“Grandma tried a few times in the beginning but you’d dirty them up immediately,” said Xiaofeng, “She’d have to wash all day. When I did it, you lasted a bit longer. Why?” Mr. Li shook his head. The question was rhetorical. Xiaofeng took her first sip of wine. The flavor was long, going back to the beginning. It had been corked for twenty-seven years, back when she was still his big sister.
“I forgot to make a toast,” said Xiaofeng.
“We forgot,” said Mr. Li.
“Ok,” said Xiaofeng, “Let me think.” She took her time before holding up her glass.
“To everything that’s necessary,” said Xiaofeng.
“Everything necessary,” said Mr. Li pinging her glass and vying for his first taste of wine. He liked it.
“Why was that your toast?” asked Mr. Li.
“Because I needed to see you again,” said Xiaofeng.
“Why?” asked Mr. Li.
“Because a piece of me has been missing,” said Xiaofeng.
“And now?” said Mr. Li.
“It’s still missing,” said Xiaofeng, “But I’m starting to remember where I left it.” Mr. Li did his smile, the halfway.
“Let’s do this,” said Xiaofeng, “I have another class coming up in forty-five minutes. It’s a two-hour lecture. You can wait here for me and I’ll come back to get you. Then we’ll go home and I’ll make dumplings like grandma’s.”
“Ok,” said Mr. Li, “I don’t remember her dumplings.”
“You will,” said Xiaofeng taking her final sip of wine. She reached in her desk drawer and pulled out a novel written in Mandarin. It was marked near the end. She put it on the desk.
“The rest of the books in here are in English and they’re about economics and policy,” said Xiaofeng, “Help yourself to whatever, but this one is better to pass the time. I have to go across campus. I’ll be back.” She opened the door and put one foot out of the room.
“If you get bored, remember the wine,” she said before closing the door. He didn’t read or drink. He slept. The time passed more slowly in his unconscious wandering mind. And he wasn’t limited to real time. He could go back and relive what was already gone. He went back to his boyhood, his earliest memories of his sister. He remembered her as she was, but his perspective had changed. He remembered things he hadn’t noticed when he was a child. She was always grimacing subtly, labor pains. It wasn’t the pain of giving birth to him but the pain of raising him. His mother had experienced the one while his sister experienced the other. Mr. Li could see her face more clearly, submerged in his subconscious. He had never noticed the subtleties before. The slight wrinkle at her brow, the momentary gaze. He could see better in his memory, looking at her for the first time with adult eyes. When he was a boy he thought they were happy together, but his memory served him. The years had changed his perspective, which made looking back damning. In his subconscious, her face was revealing. He troubled her. He had always been too young to see it. It was the reason for the devastation when she left. It was the surprise of it all, the lack of explanation. But he saw reality reflecting against the still water of his mind. There was an explanation. She had been explaining all along. Her explanation was in writing and it was all over her face, for years. It was what Baba saw so much of. Mama saw it as well. His sister hated taking care of him. It explained Baba’s violence toward him. Baba knew he was ruinous. He had taken his mother’s life and made his sister’s life miserable. The images of his sister from her younger years morphed into the most recent images in his head. He compared the two. Her face was older but looked less labored. Her eyes were still and blocked. She held her emotion like at the gaming table. Her eyes kept him guessing. It was a visage that was practiced. So much so, it became natural. It was fitting that his sister no longer went by the name Xiaofeng. She was so different. Xiaofeng’s belabored eyes were gone. Wendy’s eyes were different and told a very different story—none at all.
• • •
He woke up without knowing
where he was. He looked around the tiny office and forced the recollection on himself. It was a familiar feeling, waking up in a place he didn’t remember. His dreams had passed so slowly. He felt the time was enough to be taken anywhere. He searched for clues, the quick kind. Walls. Floor. Chair. Walls. Floor. Walls. Walls. Desk. Then he saw the photographs. They were stationary on the desk and stationary in time. Then it came back, the day’s events. The campus and the classes. He remembered sitting, alone in the hallway—waiting. He remember calling out to his sister only once and she stopped in place. He contrasted it with when he was a boy. He chased her. He called out her name. He cried. But she didn’t stop. The car gained speed as it moved forward down the road. His little legs couldn’t keep up. She left him literally in her dust. But that was then and there were so many years between. But the memories of his sister were consolidated and few.
His contemplation was interrupted by the opening of the door. She caught him swimming through his memories, the deep end. He came up for air and caught Xiaofeng by the eye.
“I’m done for today,” said Xiaofeng, “Are you hungry?” Mr. Li nodded.
“Ok,” said Xiaofeng, “Let’s get out of here.” Mr. Li got out of the chair and followed her out of the room. A third-party observer would have commented on the boyish way he walked behind her. Her car was in a reserved spot, much of her life had been reserved. Some reservations were inherited. Some she had earned. Her car was a 2007 Toyota Corolla, small and unassuming. It didn’t whisper outward success. It whispered practicality, a kind of lesson. Mr. Li climbed in on the passenger side. Xiaofeng admitted she didn’t have enough ingredients to make dumplings. She had the flour but nothing to make the filling. She didn’t have eggs either. Driving the car with her brother in the passenger seat was like a subconscious dream. The dream was so real it laid siege to her conscious mind. The idea of her brother as an adult was far-fetched. She felt so much outstanding guilty over leaving him, the boy. That was why the role came back to her. She could flirt with being his big sister again.