Myosotis Arvensis: Forget Me
Finding People
Rather than attending the last few minutes of his martial arts class, Zitao returned to the traveling agency where they had stood staring in through the window. Pleasantly, he entered when he recognized the same beautiful girl from before. She was on the phone, but gave him a polite nod. After delicately hanging up she welcomed him.
“How can I help you?”
“I have a few questions.”
“I have a few answers.” She beamed, “So tell me, where are you going?”
“Oh. Uh- Uganda?” He forgot she was still a travel agent at a business.
“Ah, you’re adventurous? Noonas like that.”
“Do you like that?”
“Yes, I do.” She was cloyingly friendly, but caught off guard by the personal question. She spent a few more minutes interrogating Zitao about his plans to Uganda, when she realized he was completely unprepared to travel. Of course, this didn’t matter to him in the least, since he had no intentions on traveling there. She filled his hands with pamphlets and brochures and sent him on his way after making another appointment for later in the week. Naive and doe-eyed he read through the information.
-
When Zitao left, Wufan felt his chest constrict. He thought that by ridding himself of Zitao he would feel relaxed, not even more vexed. But there was something about letting him leave with nothing more than a bus to reunite them that filled his body with anxiety. For a moment he thought to simply stay put, to remain where they had said goodbye. Surely, Zitao would return there to look for him, right? Yet, his feet were not as patient, and in all reality, far more pragmatic than Wufan’s mind.
He strolled by conversant streets and buildings. He tried to avoid a coffee shop, but the rich, sweet scent brought back memories by itself. Wufan considered crossing the street, going inside, ordering a cup, and reveling in the past, but as a car sped in front of him he changed his mind.
The gust of wind kicked up by the speeding car carried a dried leaf to the edge of a gutter, where it hung between the sunshine and darkness. The passing of two other cars finally pushed the leaf through the cold, metal grate. More cars, and another withered leaf was soon to follow after the other.
That’s the way it should be, following after.
It wasn’t much longer until Wufan arrived at his old suburban home. He eyed the roof, the windows, the door, the yard where he… Where there now stood a ‘For Sale’ sign. He stared a while longer before passively approaching the door. His knuckles rapped on the hard wood three times and he stepped back to wait. Breathing in the past, letting it circulate through his lungs, and exhaling, he waited till the kind stranger answered. The boy tossed his rich, brown hair, slightly curled after having taken a shower, and welcomed him in. A few things were off, the couch was pushed against a different wall, a new recliner was added into the living room, and family photographs were scattered throughout the space peppering the walls, but there was no doubt that Wufan had spent a chapter of his life there.
“Thank you for taking care of this place.” He said laying his hand on a wall.
“Of course, it’s been home to me too.” Yixing replied smoothly, his voice falling on Wufan’s ears like a charming melody.
“So the sign outside?”
The boy nodded amiably, “Yes, my mother is no longer comfortable with the stairs, we’ll be moving to a smaller home where she can get to everything easier in her old age.”
“When you saw me on the street, you thought I would be interested in buying it back?”
“No, you just caught my eye.” Yixing dropped down onto the couch with a glint in his luminescent expression. He pulled his bare feet up onto the couch and Wufan watched with initial abhorrence. However, there was something lithe and graceful about each of Yixing’s movements, flowing together like it had been a choreographed piece. The boy’s feathery actions enticed Wufan into joining beside him. Their afternoon began with pleasant small talk, mostly about the condition of the home, and began to flourish as Yixing offered liquor later in the evening.
He stood from the couch and opened a cabinet, pulling out two small, crystal glasses and an expensive bottle half-way filled. As Yixing poured into the glasses, light refracted from the amber liquid into the eyes of them both, shining against their faces, and outlining every contour of their features. The glass was set before Wufan on the coffee table, hues of gold shifting inside as Yixing took his seat once again. Wufan lifted the glass to his lips, wrapping his hand around its cool exterior in a way he had done a thousand times before, but this time his eyes were on the camber of his company’s smile, not an empty bar counter. The glass slipped from his grip and spilled out onto his chest. It darkened his shirt immediately, and he stood setting the glass aside with apologies. He excused himself and went to the bathroom where he carefully removed his shirt in front of the mirror. He turned on the faucet and let the water run through his fingers before immersing his shirt. A knock came from behind him and Yixing entered the bathroom without waiting for a response. Yixing nonchalantly handed him a spare shirt and his eyes briefly traced over Wufan without any sense of violation. Once Yixing noticed Wufan’s startled expression he left the room, closing the door behind himself.
Wufan slipped the soft blue shirt over his head and noticed its sweet, woody scent. He pulled the collar to his nose and breathed it in. After adjusting it, he looked around the bathroom with unfamiliar curiosity. Quietly, he opened a mirrored cabinet, tossing light across the tiled walls. His eyes widened as he saw pill bottles lining the shelves inside. He picked one at random and read the label: Desmopressin acetate. He picked up another, and another, reading all the labels while his heart raced with anxiety. Overwhelmed by the medications, Wufan exited the bathroom and rejoined Yixing on the couch.
They carried conversation over the clinking of glasses and draining of whiskey. Wufan stayed firm and conscious, but Yixing became drowsy and tipsy. As the night drew darker and conversation became slurred, Wufan reluctantly excused himself from Yixing’s company.
“Thank you for the invitation.” Wufan said looking down at Yixing who was draped across his seat. Yixing was lost, but simply smiled. “I’ll be going now.”
Wufan left Yixing lying drunkenly about. He closed the door behind him and was struck by the outside chill. He dug into his pant pocket and withdrew a packet of cigarettes. He slid one out into the palm of his hand and shoved the rest away. After fingering the papery confidant, he pressed it between his lips. The paper softened with the dampness of his mouth as he took out the lighter. Wufan’s thumb slid onto the lighter producing a spark that burst into a small flame. He watched the shadows fall on the porch and took in the minimal warmth of the fire. Eventually, he raised the flame and lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke escape from his lungs after it had spiraled long enough. It wafted up into the air and dispersed soon afterward. He breathed in the heavy, permeating scent for a while longer before tossing away the cigarette butt. The bitter taste of tobacco lingered on his tongue when he remembered the stained shirt he had left inside. He let himself into the yellow light of the house again, and was met with an alarming scene.
Inside, Yixing was picking up shards of a broken whiskey glass. The glass covered the carpet like a translucent mosaic, and Yixing kneeled half aware in front of it. Blood was collecting in one of Yixing’s hands along with bits of glass. His face was ghostly white.
Wufan crouched at his side and pulled him away from the mess. He threw Yixing’s arm around his shoulder and guided him to the bathroom. With difficulty, Wufan rinsed off the drunken Yixing’s hand and removed all of the glass. He bandaged the hand, but it was soaked in blood a minute later. Wufan replaced the bandage two more times, each time with the same result. By the fourth bandage, he simply allowed it to dye red and let it heal on its own. Yixing grew more and more tired so Wufan laid him out on the couch, collected his stained shirt, and left the house.
“How can I help you?”
“I have a few questions.”
“I have a few answers.” She beamed, “So tell me, where are you going?”
“Oh. Uh- Uganda?” He forgot she was still a travel agent at a business.
“Ah, you’re adventurous? Noonas like that.”
“Do you like that?”
“Yes, I do.” She was cloyingly friendly, but caught off guard by the personal question. She spent a few more minutes interrogating Zitao about his plans to Uganda, when she realized he was completely unprepared to travel. Of course, this didn’t matter to him in the least, since he had no intentions on traveling there. She filled his hands with pamphlets and brochures and sent him on his way after making another appointment for later in the week. Naive and doe-eyed he read through the information.
-
When Zitao left, Wufan felt his chest constrict. He thought that by ridding himself of Zitao he would feel relaxed, not even more vexed. But there was something about letting him leave with nothing more than a bus to reunite them that filled his body with anxiety. For a moment he thought to simply stay put, to remain where they had said goodbye. Surely, Zitao would return there to look for him, right? Yet, his feet were not as patient, and in all reality, far more pragmatic than Wufan’s mind.
He strolled by conversant streets and buildings. He tried to avoid a coffee shop, but the rich, sweet scent brought back memories by itself. Wufan considered crossing the street, going inside, ordering a cup, and reveling in the past, but as a car sped in front of him he changed his mind.
The gust of wind kicked up by the speeding car carried a dried leaf to the edge of a gutter, where it hung between the sunshine and darkness. The passing of two other cars finally pushed the leaf through the cold, metal grate. More cars, and another withered leaf was soon to follow after the other.
That’s the way it should be, following after.
It wasn’t much longer until Wufan arrived at his old suburban home. He eyed the roof, the windows, the door, the yard where he… Where there now stood a ‘For Sale’ sign. He stared a while longer before passively approaching the door. His knuckles rapped on the hard wood three times and he stepped back to wait. Breathing in the past, letting it circulate through his lungs, and exhaling, he waited till the kind stranger answered. The boy tossed his rich, brown hair, slightly curled after having taken a shower, and welcomed him in. A few things were off, the couch was pushed against a different wall, a new recliner was added into the living room, and family photographs were scattered throughout the space peppering the walls, but there was no doubt that Wufan had spent a chapter of his life there.
“Thank you for taking care of this place.” He said laying his hand on a wall.
“Of course, it’s been home to me too.” Yixing replied smoothly, his voice falling on Wufan’s ears like a charming melody.
“So the sign outside?”
The boy nodded amiably, “Yes, my mother is no longer comfortable with the stairs, we’ll be moving to a smaller home where she can get to everything easier in her old age.”
“When you saw me on the street, you thought I would be interested in buying it back?”
“No, you just caught my eye.” Yixing dropped down onto the couch with a glint in his luminescent expression. He pulled his bare feet up onto the couch and Wufan watched with initial abhorrence. However, there was something lithe and graceful about each of Yixing’s movements, flowing together like it had been a choreographed piece. The boy’s feathery actions enticed Wufan into joining beside him. Their afternoon began with pleasant small talk, mostly about the condition of the home, and began to flourish as Yixing offered liquor later in the evening.
He stood from the couch and opened a cabinet, pulling out two small, crystal glasses and an expensive bottle half-way filled. As Yixing poured into the glasses, light refracted from the amber liquid into the eyes of them both, shining against their faces, and outlining every contour of their features. The glass was set before Wufan on the coffee table, hues of gold shifting inside as Yixing took his seat once again. Wufan lifted the glass to his lips, wrapping his hand around its cool exterior in a way he had done a thousand times before, but this time his eyes were on the camber of his company’s smile, not an empty bar counter. The glass slipped from his grip and spilled out onto his chest. It darkened his shirt immediately, and he stood setting the glass aside with apologies. He excused himself and went to the bathroom where he carefully removed his shirt in front of the mirror. He turned on the faucet and let the water run through his fingers before immersing his shirt. A knock came from behind him and Yixing entered the bathroom without waiting for a response. Yixing nonchalantly handed him a spare shirt and his eyes briefly traced over Wufan without any sense of violation. Once Yixing noticed Wufan’s startled expression he left the room, closing the door behind himself.
Wufan slipped the soft blue shirt over his head and noticed its sweet, woody scent. He pulled the collar to his nose and breathed it in. After adjusting it, he looked around the bathroom with unfamiliar curiosity. Quietly, he opened a mirrored cabinet, tossing light across the tiled walls. His eyes widened as he saw pill bottles lining the shelves inside. He picked one at random and read the label: Desmopressin acetate. He picked up another, and another, reading all the labels while his heart raced with anxiety. Overwhelmed by the medications, Wufan exited the bathroom and rejoined Yixing on the couch.
They carried conversation over the clinking of glasses and draining of whiskey. Wufan stayed firm and conscious, but Yixing became drowsy and tipsy. As the night drew darker and conversation became slurred, Wufan reluctantly excused himself from Yixing’s company.
“Thank you for the invitation.” Wufan said looking down at Yixing who was draped across his seat. Yixing was lost, but simply smiled. “I’ll be going now.”
Wufan left Yixing lying drunkenly about. He closed the door behind him and was struck by the outside chill. He dug into his pant pocket and withdrew a packet of cigarettes. He slid one out into the palm of his hand and shoved the rest away. After fingering the papery confidant, he pressed it between his lips. The paper softened with the dampness of his mouth as he took out the lighter. Wufan’s thumb slid onto the lighter producing a spark that burst into a small flame. He watched the shadows fall on the porch and took in the minimal warmth of the fire. Eventually, he raised the flame and lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke escape from his lungs after it had spiraled long enough. It wafted up into the air and dispersed soon afterward. He breathed in the heavy, permeating scent for a while longer before tossing away the cigarette butt. The bitter taste of tobacco lingered on his tongue when he remembered the stained shirt he had left inside. He let himself into the yellow light of the house again, and was met with an alarming scene.
Inside, Yixing was picking up shards of a broken whiskey glass. The glass covered the carpet like a translucent mosaic, and Yixing kneeled half aware in front of it. Blood was collecting in one of Yixing’s hands along with bits of glass. His face was ghostly white.
Wufan crouched at his side and pulled him away from the mess. He threw Yixing’s arm around his shoulder and guided him to the bathroom. With difficulty, Wufan rinsed off the drunken Yixing’s hand and removed all of the glass. He bandaged the hand, but it was soaked in blood a minute later. Wufan replaced the bandage two more times, each time with the same result. By the fourth bandage, he simply allowed it to dye red and let it heal on its own. Yixing grew more and more tired so Wufan laid him out on the couch, collected his stained shirt, and left the house.