It was a day off, and I felt much better than usual. I normally don’t write on days off—most of this kind of thing happens during stolen minutes at work—but there was something I wanted to keep.
I dreamed about a girl who ran through my whole middle and high school years. In the dream I followed her home. Her place had warm lamps, a little dim, but cozy. We were arguing about something, probably about meeting her family, maybe because I hadn’t brought them a gift. That part is faint. Her brother and sister-in-law came back, and I said hello to her brother—very blurry, because I’d never met them. Then her mother came home. She didn’t seem to recognize me as the bad kid who used to hover around the two of them outside No. 1 High School with no good intentions. After we talked for a while, her mother was all smiles and said she thought I was all right, then went into the kitchen. She wore black-framed glasses, and her skin still had a bit of a wheat color—or maybe it was the light. I was happy, too, and wanted to kiss her on the face. She looked like she wanted to laugh happily but was holding it back, shy. I kissed her, and the dream ended.
I know exactly why. The night before, I saw three movies: X-Men: Dark Phoenix, My Best Summer, and Chasing the Dragon II. I’d only planned to see two, but when I was buying tickets I found My Best Summer. I’d watched the web series version, so I could accept it; otherwise I usually avoid youth and campus films. For that kind of movie to work, the crew has to understand one thing: the audience has to feel it. In the film, the main characters take the 2008 high school entrance exam and enter high school. By coincidence, so did I.
So a lot came back. When Jay Chou released November’s Chopin, I copied the lyrics of “Hair Like Snow” onto a card and gave it to her. She tore it up and put it in my desk. A lot of people have probably done something like that—done stupid things to get the attention of a girl they liked. For me it was mostly fighting. I ran with some troublemakers and occasionally got into fights. But before I started one, I’d always check whether she was nearby. I wanted her to see me, and I wanted her not to get hurt. I couldn’t play basketball then, and I still can’t; girls didn’t watch basketball much anyway. In ninth grade, a friend of mine was very supportive. He was also a good friend of hers, so he helped me and talked to her, let her know I wasn’t really a bad person. Because of that, I tried to become better.
Maybe countless people understand that experience. My scores hovered around 230–240. Chinese essay and history made up most of it; the rest was basically random luck on multiple-choice questions in other subjects. After spending enough time with the troublemakers, I really stopped caring about staying in school. But she mattered more to me. She would go on to high school and college like a kid from a normal family. For her, and to be at the same school, I forced myself to make up for what I’d missed, starting after New Year’s Day 2008. From 240 to 300, from 300 to 400—I got closer and closer to her scores. I had to make my score as high as possible so I’d have a chance to choose a school. So when it came time to fill in the application, a lot of people thought putting No. 1 High School down was suicide. My dad included. He forced me to put No. 3 High School, a third-rate school. I was miserable that day, because I knew she had applied to No. 1. But I pulled off a miracle: my exam score came out at 501.
Word got around that she had changed her impression of me because of that. But her score wasn’t ideal, and I didn’t know whether she’d go to No. 3 or No. 1. My miraculous score got me a seat in the experimental class at No. 3, and paid admission qualifications for No. 1 and No. 4. I could only gamble. I didn’t know which school she’d choose. I stood under the overpass, the intersection that led to all three schools. I bet on No. 1. Twenty minutes later, when I saw her at the gate of No. 1, I almost cried. But she still didn’t like me.
When classes were assigned, I was in Class 1, she was in Class 4—not far. My friend Xiaode thought my way of liking her was too cowardly and decided to help. At the same time, Lao Tan—her classmate then, her friend, and my old desk mate from middle school—also decided to help. I don’t know what happened; maybe Xiaode and Lao Tan talked to her together. They told me to go find her boldly, but I was still scared. During that PE class, I kept following her, not daring to speak and not knowing what to say. That heartbeat feeling—if she so much as spoke a word to me properly, my brain would go numb. Maybe she was in a bad mood, and because I kept following her without talking, she seemed angry...
I don’t know what Lao Tan said to her after that. On Christmas 2008, I received a gift for the first time—a gift she gave me herself. It was a cross. I wore it all the time, even after the chain rusted. Now I hang that cross on the lamp in front of my computer.
Later, she had other suitors—someone she liked too. I chose to give up. That was the first time I learned what it meant to feel like my heart was being cut. It also made me more resilient about relationships later. With nothing else to hold on to, I stopped worrying about grades. I no longer chased after her footsteps by trying to catch up in school.
I was still too rigid. I promised her I’d stop chasing her, and we became friends, more or less. But I still thought about her. Stupidly, I sent her a photo of a girl I’d met in college. I don’t know why. Maybe on purpose. Maybe to make myself feel better? In college she seemed to have a C++ elective, and she really couldn’t handle the final assignment, so she asked me to think of something. The code looks pretty simple today, but at the time I asked around everywhere and finally got her assignment done. She said she’d treat me to a meal to say thanks. But rigid me missed the chance again and again. Now I’ve wondered: if I had gone to Changchun to see her then, what would have happened? I don’t know.
Later she said she wanted to play World of Warcraft, so I specifically boosted a Horde blood elf warlock. She said she wanted to set up a WeChat official account, and I even taught her the plugins. I really did treat her only as a friend, but I also really couldn’t forget her. There were rumors she was about to get married. I don’t know if they were true. But that kind of thing—maybe one day she’ll just post a marriage certificate on Moments. It has nothing to do with me anymore. The reason I’ve said all this is... if only I could stay forever in the dream, at the moment I kissed her face.
Update: Wake up, man. Exactly one week after that dream, she got engaged hahaha.