Chocolate- Mint Whiskream

Do not make a sound. I successfully stifle the sneeze but not the tears. They well up in my eyes when the sneeze is forced upwards instead of outwards in my throat. The words on the paper turn blurry. What's worse, while my left hand is rubbing my eyes and the other’s writing on the test paper, the reservoir of snot breaks down. Distracted, I am unhappy to find out that I've put the answer inside the wrong box.

My seat is in the middle of the classroom, at the perfect angle under the blizzard of the air conditioner and the dust storm of the ceiling fan. I can tell they are watching me from above, sniggering at my panic and my mime. I immediately cover my nose with the back of my left hand. A part of my mind is simultaneously rendering the image of me viewed from the seats around, so as to adjust my posture. I do not want to get any attention, I contemplate. My right hand, however, is angrily scrubbing the paper with my eraser, before making the correction. Though uneasy about Mrs. Lin’s sneer, a pure surmise of her reaction, when she will probably see the mark and interpret it as my hesitation of the answer, I am more worried about the time to save for something else I've planned for weeks.

After my constant secret evaluation, I conclude nobody’s watching, or they do not care at all. Mrs. Lin is busy at the front desk correcting our homework. And other students must be struggling in the mud of past perfect tense and past perfect continuous tense, especially in part three. That I went through with grace and confidence. As a model student, scores are the least of my concerns. My mind is like a sprinter who is also an archer, a diver, and a gymnast. With these, I believe I can get almost everything I want. So it was kind of a shock when I came to the conclusion that breaking rules was part of certain deals.

The situation becomes less severe, but I do not dare to take my left hand away, to prevent further disaster. I am now at the last part and if there are no more interruptions I can finish the dialogue and–

“Psss!” I look up, catching the corner of your left eye just in time before your head turns back to the front. Slowly, your left hand reaches behind and stops inches from my desk. Familiar with the hint, I gently put my eraser in the palm of your hand. It comes to me later that I completely forgot about my nose then and sent the eraser with my left hand, unaware of the possibility of repeating history.

When I get it back, it’s wrapped in layers of tissue paper, with a little blue smile hastily drawn in one corner. My face turns red, and I will argue that it's the annoyance of unpacking my eraser that makes it red. Though I do not need to erase anything anymore because the last question is solved then.

I complete the test by signing the date April 27th. Mrs. Lin grants me an early break. She addresses us in a sugar-coated voice, as I put my crumpled “dumplings” in my pocket and prepare to leave, that we must not go to the parade, even if it’s just one block away from the school. It's quite a large block, she says, and she stresses the words “candy” and “safety” by forming her warnings into a pun, pointing out that we can still join the celebration tomorrow on Sunday. I walk to the door wearing my most innocent and polite smile. On the wall, the clock says twenty minutes left for the next class.

Nobody's in the hall yet. I'm the first to finish the final test. I walk out of the cram school and start to think it to be as easy as taking a test.

The night air swells in the dark alleyway, announcing spring’s absence for the 10th consecutive year of my life. I can't see the spring even if it arrives someday, I mutter inside, since I will be sitting in the classroom most of the time. The road is empty and quiet, like always, except when students are leaving the school, picked up by one of their parents on motorcycles. I walk at a brisk pace. Seconds pass and sweat already condenses on my face and trickles down my neck, waiting for breezes to take them away. It's a deception conducted by the sea and the land, that's what Mom says. It's not going to be hard, I encourage myself. I have calculated the distance between the cram school and the old town street. It was actually unnecessary because the shortcut has already been on the map of my heart, since you and I play stilt-walking here every summer vacation, tease with caged dogs after school on weekdays, and watch firecrackers set out in a row in front of households every Chinese New Year. I can still hear our laughter somewhere, and it makes the air more soothing somehow.

But now I am all alone, not much different from being in the classroom. School takes our time away with reasons I cannot understand. I must be careful to take that back into our hands again.

I tiptoe in peaceful quietness. Every part of me is trying hard to be as light as the lanterns floating between the electric poles. Sound attracts every trouble, especially in school. My eyes stick to the glow inside each transparent sphere. Together they resemble the shape of a slightly curving dragon’s torso. But the action causes trouble. I groan as my left foot stumbles on a hole, therefore waking up all the neighborhood dogs. Everything suddenly moves faster around me. Under the bombardment of barks and clashing sounds of metal chains and cages, I fling my caution and soul to the lifeless wind and dash forward. The lights behind each distant window stretch into a blur. Walls press tighter than ever, on top of which barbed wire gleams a malicious smile, one after another. The escape feels like ages, and every footstep is frozen in time. At first, the inhale and exhale are painful, since my nose begins to stuff itself again. But gradually it turns better, and I feel even grateful when the smell of fish and meat pours in. I usually avoid them as much as I can. Now it means I'm passing the morning fish bazaar, the last part of the journey. Making sure it's empty, I hold my breath and sprint forward.

I almost bump into the walls of the crowd. Sweat drops dangling on my front hair make their ways to the ground. I stand panting for a while, then hold my head high and start squeezing my way through, like a baby green sea turtle scrambling through the beach sand after breaking the hatching shell from inside, heading towards the ocean.

Excuse me, I mutter vainly, pushing past leg after leg, covered with either tickling hair or oily lotion. Don’t faint, I say to myself, to my rumbling stomach and my heaving chest.

Usually, the fresh smell of boiled peanuts and roasted broad beans lingering on every corner of the street fascinates me. They are put in bags of my height, together with meat-filling cakes in steamers, piles of dried garlic in baskets, and shelves of sesame oil in gallons. But now, everything in this living jungle of legs is mixed with incense and cigarettes, let alone the damp smell of T-shirts and socks. When I finally make it to the front, I have to swallow an overwhelming urge to retch, so I look to the distance as books told me, first from the right side where the towering temple stands, then to the bridge at the far side of the street opposite. It leaps in the air like a dragon, away from all the hustle and bustle.

Five roads radiate from the temple. The one where I'm standing is an ancient street. It has at least twenty food stores passed down through many generations. I am now actually standing at the edge of the temple square. The sky is wide, and I find peace from the moon dangling idly in the middle. The noises, the crispy sounds of shrimp chips and talking, are fading away. I wonder which deity is coming down to the town tonight, Mom’s bedtime story suddenly appears in my head. There is a beautiful lady, she said, my head on her laps, who lives longer than anyone on the moon, but is bored of listening to a man chopping an immortal tree every day. Eyes sparkling, she continued that under the moonlight, a very old man sat alone, one book in his left hand and a red thread in the other, which was so long it could surround the world hundreds of times. The last one she took me to the window first and pointed me to the highest roof in the town, under which I stand now. You see the statue standing there? That’s the lady of land and sea, and if you look closer between her hands, you can see‒

The crowd whistles and cheers. I wake up from distant memories. On the other side of the square something grabs our attention.

I hear the music first, a remix of a traditional Chinese melody. The parade comes out from the corner with white steam supposed to be clouds. A large long boat carried by cars slowly shows itself, draped in neon lights. A shining small temple follows. One by one, the floats greet the spectators. On the floats actors and actresses stand or sit on the top. They wear colorful robes and beautifully crafted crowns and accessories. Their hands are either holding something, an instrument, a paper fan, a red lantern, a basket, or simply in prayer. Most of them are children slightly older than me, but I certainly see one or two of them around my age. These impersonators of deities are accompanied by those of farmers, wearing bamboo hats. Their bodies sway slightly to the music while playing flutes.

I stand in awe and watch them in spotlights. Their distinct figures and the background of dim street houses make strong contrasts. When they proceed in our direction, however, a sense of fear rises in me, and I step back despite myself. These people, though similar to my age, are quiet up there, their cat-like eyes staring solemnly at the front or the sides. I accidentally make eye contact with one of them, and I feel like all of my secrets are coming to the surface of the water: my unfinished lunchbox today, a fake frog in my enemy’s school bag, and the purpose of breaking Mrs. Lin’s rules‒

The eyes blink. Suddenly those people come alive, move to the edge of the decorated cars, and wave at the crowd. The girls with baskets reach their hands in them and

toss something in the air. The next moment showers of candies fall like raindrops, as the girls keep grabbing and throwing in graceful arcs. People swarm forward before I know it, catching the sweets like bees after flowers. It is then that I realize there are kids like me around, some of them taller and single-handedly get the targets before they keep falling; others are on their parents’ backs, which carry them around like loyal horses. In the end, only a few candies reach the ground, and they are immediately snatched by anonymous shadows of hands. Despite falling behind, I do not give in. My small hands wave in front of me frantically as I head toward wherever there’s a flash of wrappers. The moon is no longer visible, and the sky narrows and broadens like a pumping heart.

The tail lights of the parade vanish near the distant bridge. Like at the end of a meteor shower, the crowd gradually disperses. Laughter and shrilling voices here and there. Families go home, boys and girls chase each other, and small kids fall asleep on their parents’ shoulders. Nearly everyone has something to take away from here. The pockets are full, the bags make soft cracking sounds, and the hands tighten to prevent the treasures from falling. All seems well.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts and follow my way back. For once, I let something slip away from me.

The night feels so heavy it sinks my spirit to the bottom of my heart. When it crashes on the seabed my watch beeps. Ten past eight, and everyone wonders where our model student is, never missing a class since the first grade. But this, plus Mrs. Lins’ fuss, are my least worries. Mom once told me that if I ever tried to get something, never went back empty-handed. I don’t even bring my wallet.

My footsteps echo in the alleyway. My body has never felt smaller, my mind more exhausted than ever. It is unusually quiet now. At first, I let out a little sniffle. I stop it in time before tears well up for the second time in my eyes tonight. I stare at my shadow and bite my fingernails to distract myself. That’s why I walk into someone.

“I’m sorry‒,” I look up to see who it is. It is a vaguely familiar old man. He has a white beard so long it touches my sandals. He is holding something in his hands. A gentle breeze is breathed into the alleyway from the direction behind the old man. I smell fresh mint and it reawakens something in me. His beard sways and it reveals a glowing red thread hanging on his ragged clothes.

“Well.” Mrs. Lin starts. Her expression looks like something has been taken away from her, after I explain my reasons of being late, a perfectly weaved story which is part of the plan. I puff up my chest. “You might be excused for this.” I take my seat and wait patiently for the end of the class. I don’t even know what was taught then, as I look back.

“Here,” I whisper, stuffing a small drizzled mint chocolate cake in your hand. You say thanks with an amazed face, and I continue to check my backpack to hide my reddened face. “Where did you get it, though?” you asked, smiling. “Not from the parade?”

I say no, pretending to be irritated. I take a peek at you picking up a delicate cassia petal made of cream yellow chocolate curls, sniffing it carefully, and taking a bite. I decide to tell you a different story, that this is actually the reward for fighting off a giant rat in the school garbage can. I know we will laugh about this, like we always do.