Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 70

“ Miss ?” the girl asked again , looking just as confused as I was . “ Are you lost ? And why are you wearing such strange clothing ?” she brightened . “ Oh , are you a foreigner ? Is that why ?”
What do you mean ‘ strange clothing ’? My fashion sense is perfectly fine , thank you very much , I thought , slightly insulted by her remark . However , on closer inspection , she was garbed in what seemed to be traditional Chinese clothes . Weird .
“ If you ’ re here to do sightseeing , I can show you around ! Come on !” she said , tugging at my hand . “ W-wait !” I cried , stumbling after her , “ What sightseeing …” I heard my voice fade away as I stared up , gaping in shock . I was either no longer in the twenty first century or the museum had extremely realistic special effects .
On my left , buildings of gothic architecture rose up , stone fortresses decked with ribbed vaults and sheets of glass , topped with sharply pointed spires that spiraled into the sky ; to my right , the lake was a shimmering blue underneath the sun . Small boats were tethered to where little wooden docks were set up , and I could hear the fishermen chattering away as they hopped onto their boats and sailed out into the ocean .
“ Watch out !” the little girl tugged me back as I nearly crashed into someone else . “ Be careful ,” she scolded , “ I don ’ t know what it ’ s like back at your hometown , but Shanghai is a very crowded place !”
“ Wait , um …” I was jerked back and forth as she wove expertly through the throngs of people that swarmed around us , all in traditional clothing , the men with hair braided down their backs and women with theirs tied up in buns . “ Hold up , wait , what ’ s-what ’ s your name ?” I asked her , struggling to catch up with her . For such a small child , she was impossibly fast .
“ My name is Ai-liu ,” she answered . “ What ’ s yours ?” “ Emily ,” I replied . “ Ai-mee-lee ,” Ai-liu tried it out , then giggled . “ I ’ ve never heard of an Asian with an English name before !”
Once again offended , I opened my mouth to inform her that I , too , was Chinese , then decided to ask another question . “ So , uh , Ai Liu . What year is this , exactly ?”
She smiled at me bemusedly . “ Why , it ’ s 1929 , of course !”
1929 Shanghai ... my mind went blank . Was I dreaming ? The edges of some buildings and the faces of the passersby were blurred too , and I couldn ’ t even make out the features of some . Yet , the lively chatter of the people , the occasional laughter that rose up as swiftly and suddenly as a balloon set free from a child ’ s hand , the carriages that rumbled past and the neighing of the horses and Ai-liu ’ s hand in mine ; they were all too realistic and alien to be concocted by myself .
“ Come on , we ’ re almost there !” Ai-liu shouted over the noise . “ Up ahead is a shop that sells the best steamed buns around .” With her leading , we slipped through the crowds quickly-
“ Ow !” I collided with a wall that wasn ’ t there a few seconds ago . How did that suddenly appear in the middle of the street ? Rubbing my forehead , I looked up and saw the sign : 1900s exhibit .
“ What ?” I mumbled and spun around , coming face to face with red walls and display cases . “ Ai-liu ?” I called out uncertainly , and when no one replied , I was once again within the exhibition , left alone in a stunned daze .