Today’s the first time I’ve seen you with her. She’s beautiful, you know. From the park bench I sit on I notice the way you hold her hand with a certain gentleness, and you stroke her skin with a careful caress. You smile when she does. You laugh when she laughs. I’m sure you cry when she cries.
You’re standing by the oak tree, and I know you’re happier then you ever could have been with me. I want to tell you that I’m happy for you and that I can see how much you adore her by the simple way your gaze meets hers. The thing is, whenever I think I’m gathering enough strength to call to you, I hesitate and stop. I came here to tell you something. I came here so that you would know.
A year ago, in a world far from here, you fell in love with me.
I had fallen from my bike in the middle of the street, and you were the first to run over to me and take my hand to pull me up.
I had said, “Thank you—“ But I stopped when I realized that you were not from around here. Unlike the majority of people in Hong-Kong, you didn’t have the blackened hair or slanted eyes. Instead, your face was oval and when you smiled your narrow cheekbones were exposed. Your light blonde hair was wavy nearer to the top and your eyes were a brown I had never seen.
“Hey there, you alright?” you asked, as I stood up.
It took me awhile longer then it should have to reply, and when I noticed, I let out, “Yes. Thank you.”
“That’s good. I’m Jon.”
“Ying-Shen.”
You smiled, and I remember feeling the warmth from it make my cheeks burn.
You said, “That’s a really pretty name.”
I didn’t know how to say thanks again, so instead I said, “So is Jon.”
That was the first time I made you laugh.
I said, “Jon.” “Yes?” “You still have my hand.”
We watched the fireworks that night, while you told me your story. You said you had come over on behalf of the United States government to deal with some transactions that were taking place. You tried to explain it more, but my English wasn’t good enough and I’m sorry to say I didn’t quite understand everything.
You did, however, say that you were expecting a daughter, but that things weren’t going well between your wife and you. So I guess you can understand that when we fell asleep together in my bed that night and you told me you loved me, I wasn’t ready to say it back. I was still so sure two strangers could not love one another after one night.
A week later I was still waking up in the morning to find a cup of tea at my bedside and the curtains opened, because you said the way I looked when the early morning sun struck my face was like nothing you had ever seen before.
I think my favourite moments with you were the ones we spent on the hilltop when dawn was approaching. I’d sit by your side and every day you’d tell me more different and interesting things about that place you called “New York”. You made it sound so beautiful. The city drenched in snow in winter and the children singing on the street corners sounded like something out of a fairy tale to me. Sometimes, I got the impression that you missed that place, but that for some reason, you were also afraid to return to it.
You asked me about my life and how I had come to be the way I am. I told you of my many brothers and sisters, many of who had moved away. I told you how my mother had died two years previous and my dad a couple of days after her from a broken heart, or so I suspected. I ran the local library and even though the pay wasn’t nearly as good as I would have wanted, I loved my job and wouldn’t think of trading it for anything.
I loved talking with you. It was easy to tell you about things that I didn’t think anyone else wanted to know about. When you slipped your arms around my waist and held me I thought I’d fall apart, because I had never felt so strongly towards anyone before, especially a man of a different origin.
When we were together on that hilltop it was as if the two halves of the world had somehow found each other, and it just seemed right. We were so different, but at the same time, we were so alike.
I memorized the curves of your lips and the way your hands felt against mine. I studied your different expressions and how each meant something even more intriguing.
The wind would whip against our faces and make the air bitter, but we never left one another those days. The tree leaves would bristle and you could taste Autumn with every breath. You could even feel it in the soft long grass we lay in.
And then the time came, as I knew it would, when you had to leave. I woke up to find you sitting up in bed crying. I had never seen a man cry before, and I didn’t know how to react. I sat up and wrapped my arms around you from behind, trying to stop it. I rested my head on your back and it came to me that I might not get to do that again. You turned and kissed me, and when you were done you pulled away and said, “I’m so sorry.”
You took both of my hands in yours and said, “I do love you.”
The park bench is cold now though. I’m not used to New York. I’m covered by a scarf, a coat and large furry boots, but that’s still not enough to keep me warm. I suppose the only thing that ever was were your arms around me.
She walks down the path towards the both of you. You embrace her and kiss her lips, smiling. She takes your daughter from your arms and holds her against her.
I bite my lip, trying to remember how to feel. I’ve spent the last year of my life remembering something I’m not too sure ever happened. But it must have, because I wouldn’t have traveled this far just to tell you I love you.
I look at the three of you though. I see how happy you are. You give them the same smile you gave me those nights.
I came here to tell you I love you Jon, just to realize that I no longer do.
You’re standing by the oak tree, and I know you’re happier then you ever could have been with me. I want to tell you that I’m happy for you and that I can see how much you adore her by the simple way your gaze meets hers. The thing is, whenever I think I’m gathering enough strength to call to you, I hesitate and stop. I came here to tell you something. I came here so that you would know.
A year ago, in a world far from here, you fell in love with me.
I had fallen from my bike in the middle of the street, and you were the first to run over to me and take my hand to pull me up.
I had said, “Thank you—“ But I stopped when I realized that you were not from around here. Unlike the majority of people in Hong-Kong, you didn’t have the blackened hair or slanted eyes. Instead, your face was oval and when you smiled your narrow cheekbones were exposed. Your light blonde hair was wavy nearer to the top and your eyes were a brown I had never seen.
“Hey there, you alright?” you asked, as I stood up.
It took me awhile longer then it should have to reply, and when I noticed, I let out, “Yes. Thank you.”
“That’s good. I’m Jon.”
“Ying-Shen.”
You smiled, and I remember feeling the warmth from it make my cheeks burn.
You said, “That’s a really pretty name.”
I didn’t know how to say thanks again, so instead I said, “So is Jon.”
That was the first time I made you laugh.
I said, “Jon.” “Yes?” “You still have my hand.”
We watched the fireworks that night, while you told me your story. You said you had come over on behalf of the United States government to deal with some transactions that were taking place. You tried to explain it more, but my English wasn’t good enough and I’m sorry to say I didn’t quite understand everything.
You did, however, say that you were expecting a daughter, but that things weren’t going well between your wife and you. So I guess you can understand that when we fell asleep together in my bed that night and you told me you loved me, I wasn’t ready to say it back. I was still so sure two strangers could not love one another after one night.
A week later I was still waking up in the morning to find a cup of tea at my bedside and the curtains opened, because you said the way I looked when the early morning sun struck my face was like nothing you had ever seen before.
I think my favourite moments with you were the ones we spent on the hilltop when dawn was approaching. I’d sit by your side and every day you’d tell me more different and interesting things about that place you called “New York”. You made it sound so beautiful. The city drenched in snow in winter and the children singing on the street corners sounded like something out of a fairy tale to me. Sometimes, I got the impression that you missed that place, but that for some reason, you were also afraid to return to it.
You asked me about my life and how I had come to be the way I am. I told you of my many brothers and sisters, many of who had moved away. I told you how my mother had died two years previous and my dad a couple of days after her from a broken heart, or so I suspected. I ran the local library and even though the pay wasn’t nearly as good as I would have wanted, I loved my job and wouldn’t think of trading it for anything.
I loved talking with you. It was easy to tell you about things that I didn’t think anyone else wanted to know about. When you slipped your arms around my waist and held me I thought I’d fall apart, because I had never felt so strongly towards anyone before, especially a man of a different origin.
When we were together on that hilltop it was as if the two halves of the world had somehow found each other, and it just seemed right. We were so different, but at the same time, we were so alike.
I memorized the curves of your lips and the way your hands felt against mine. I studied your different expressions and how each meant something even more intriguing.
The wind would whip against our faces and make the air bitter, but we never left one another those days. The tree leaves would bristle and you could taste Autumn with every breath. You could even feel it in the soft long grass we lay in.
And then the time came, as I knew it would, when you had to leave. I woke up to find you sitting up in bed crying. I had never seen a man cry before, and I didn’t know how to react. I sat up and wrapped my arms around you from behind, trying to stop it. I rested my head on your back and it came to me that I might not get to do that again. You turned and kissed me, and when you were done you pulled away and said, “I’m so sorry.”
You took both of my hands in yours and said, “I do love you.”
The park bench is cold now though. I’m not used to New York. I’m covered by a scarf, a coat and large furry boots, but that’s still not enough to keep me warm. I suppose the only thing that ever was were your arms around me.
She walks down the path towards the both of you. You embrace her and kiss her lips, smiling. She takes your daughter from your arms and holds her against her.
I bite my lip, trying to remember how to feel. I’ve spent the last year of my life remembering something I’m not too sure ever happened. But it must have, because I wouldn’t have traveled this far just to tell you I love you.
I look at the three of you though. I see how happy you are. You give them the same smile you gave me those nights.
I came here to tell you I love you Jon, just to realize that I no longer do.
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